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Incorruptible Body
Back on Memorial Day weekend I started seeing news stories about an incorruptible Body drawing large crowds in Missouri. It seems an elderly nun had died 4 years ago, not embalmed and buried in a pine box was disinterred and found to be in pretty good shape. I was intrigued enough to find a story of her life and that had pictures and she did look pretty good, all things considering.
As I lay in bed Sunday night I decided to map out how far Gower was and if it was less than an hour I’d road trip over there. How often do you get to see a full on miracle?
I usually get up with the sun and I learned Gower was only 45 minutes from Leavenworth. The convent requested you not arrive before 8:00 am, people live there, for God’s sake, and they were going to inter her in a glass coffin in the afternoon so I really had my last chance to see her aur natural.
It was a pretty drive through the country. The loess hills of Western Missouri and Eastern Kansas aren’t really appreciated for how beautiful they are. My first sign there was spectacle ahead was an LED light sign saying watch for stopped traffic in the middle of nowhere.
There was parking in a field across the street and a long line snaking out of the entrance when I arrived at 8:00. It definitely had a carnival vibe with volunteers pointing where to park and volunteer fire department directing traffic. People were excited to ask where you came from but it was mostly Kansas and Missouri with a smattering of Iowans.
The line started to move a little after 8:00. I listened in on the folks around me. There was a group older Filipino ladies behind me who had been on a lot of pilgrimages and visited other incorruptibles. They were pretty charming as they talked about their adventures on the tour bus to Petra. General impression was “it’s hot there”.
Ahead of me was a Catholic mom and her teen and grown kids. They had a lot of talk about Catholic schools and the brother who didn’t make the trip, apparently because he smokes a lot of weed.
There were a lot of canopies with water and fruit and donation jars for area churches. Mostly staffed by big families of conservative dressed kids. Not a lot of solicitation but some QR codes to support the cause. The newly built chapel which led to all the fuss looked sharp. Before you entered there were teen girls with skirts and scarves for the bare legged and bare shouldered. Yoga pants count as bare legged I learned. It was hot so I had worn shorts but I wasn’t offered a skirt.
Sister Mary Willhemina Lancaster had a compelling story even before she died. She was born in 1924 and grew up in a Black Catholic family and when her Catholic school segregated her dad started their own.
She became a nun in the oblate order and at 76 started the order in Gower. This might be a good time to mention I am going to post a couple of pictures of the body.
After the womenfolk were appropriately clothed we entered the chapel where folks mostly followed the admonishment on the sign to be quiet. There were some super geriatric Knights of Columbus complete with sword and sash as an honor guard and also serving as ushers.
I’d seen pictures in some of the stories so I wasn’t surprised to see a pretty good looking corpse. I don’t know what the typical decomposition is in 4 years but I think you’re mostly bones at that point. I watched season 1 of Dexter and a two year old corpse was bones and stringy meat, assuming the show runners did a little research.
People were coming up in groups and families. It hasn’t struck me that I was the only one who had arrived solo. People were kissing her face and heads and draping her with rosaries and medallions, sometimes a goodly string of them. Everyone would kneel and the usher would take a photo with someone’s camera in a posed kind of way. People stuck to the 45 second rule posted without a lot of promoting. There was a lot of emotion in the room.
At my turn I took some rushed photos and kneeled for a bit. I might have tried to pray, I was more taking it all in then putting it out there. 15 seconds tops, was plenty for me.
After the visit I went to the gravesite and got my teaspoon of grace diet. There was a pretty good sized hole it was hard to reach the bottom. There was another Filipino lady just shoveling it in a bag. She got admonished for breaking the teaspoon rule but she said she was with a group so they let her have a few more solid scoops.
I went over to St Joseph and went for a bike ride and hike on trails, the waterfront and downtown. It was a cool and surreal Memorial Day.
So what does it all mean? Was it a miracle? As I get older I get less and less interested in deciding what I believe about things. Things just are, regardless of what I believe. The folks I was with, without exception treated it as miraculous. Even with the crass and objectified relic hunting it was a sincere expression of belief and kind of beautiful.
There was nothing I saw that was incompatible with a miracle. An admirable life of someone who appeared worthy of esteem and an incorruptible Body. When I talked to my sister who is crazy for the miraculous and my Catholic coworker who is pretty devout it was easy to convey I bore witness to a miracle.
But also I suspect that corpse deteriorate on a bell curve. Probably moisture content and exposure to oxygen, insects and who knows what else are drivers of variability. Some corpses decompose very quickly and some very slowly and most at the typical rate. We note the exceptional and the countless typical examples are not noted. I felt no need to research, hypothesize or explain. Just to bear witness to a phenomenon I had proximity too that interested me
When I told my brother about it he suggested vampirism. I didn’t argue against that either. There was a Christian rock song in the 80’s called Renaissance Man that had these lines: ” How does it help you feed the poor? How does it help you love your wife? Tell me Renaissance Man…” Those questions have stuck with me and what I believe or don’t believe about the apparently miraculous don’t really mean that much.
“i am mostly water, 70 percent, don’t worry about the rent”
Listening to an alt country mix John made for me a long time ago. Great stuff, late 90s. Feeling grateful and content. Last week was a veritable whirlwind and until now I have subscribed to a drama free lifestyle for a long time. But not always and even as I’ve gone about a more ordinary existence I have known a penchant for action lays. Certainly won’t have to worry about boredom anytime soon as it looks.
Fido has been sleeping all day getting up only to follow me to whatever room I’m in and crashing. After better then a week of Olive 24/7 I think he just wants rest. We did walk down to the park and he played a bit with a 6 month old Blue Sheltie. I don’t think I’d ever seen one that cute. She got Fido to chase her but she was slow and they didn’t figure out how to play anything else so we walked the trail home.
I was tired today, slept poorly and slept in for me. I lay down for a nap but didn’t go down and ended up just reading a Spider Man comic. The 70s stuff has a strong since of nostalgia for me. “Peter Parker The Spectacular Spider Man” I remember well from when I was a boy. Tarantula is the villain and I remember drawing him, even the foreshortened right leg and having to imagine the toe spike that’s imbedded in the wall. He was like if Spider Man and Zorro had a kid being Hispanic and the half mask. Some of the stuffs pretty solid but there’s a cheese factor. My next one features the “Death Dance of the Hypno Hustler!”
I forgot this song is on the CD, awesome. Whenever I hear myself its unsettling and hard not to listen to myself and yet its not entirely pleasant (and not just because I’m such a bad singer).
Jeff and Becky and their kiddos came over for dinner. I was hoping Fido would get over his weirded out by kids thing if he had some sustained time with kids but no such luck. I had made minestrone soup yesterday. As a a base I used all my canned tomatoes (pretty much done with canned food all things being equal, I’ll pass on the skyrocketing BPA levels thank you very much).
While I got that going I took 2 local pasture raised cube steaks, floured them in whole wheat flour and browned in the cast iron skillet. Chopped them into little pieces and all the drippings and even the saucer of flour figuring it would thicken. I would later regret that move because I was going to someone who was gluten frees house for a potluck I thought but it was a chile supper and I was late so it didn’t matter anyway. Had a gluten free beer speaking of nostalgia. (Long term readers will remember I lost my papa and gluten free this and that was a frequent blog topic for awhile.)
Oh yeah, I fried the cube steaks in bacon grease, its not much meat for a giant pot of soup and the extra flavor didn’t hurt. I then added the giant kolrabi (well half of it, going to use it for chickpea potato salad with some russets for the work potluck), a couple of Michigan carrots, 3 Michigan red onions, a green pepper, half a bottle of homemade cherry wine (my sainted Mama taught me to add a little sweet to take the bite out of tomatoes), 1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley, some spinach, and purple cabbage. Whoop fresh green beans snapped real short, the black eyed peas I’d made at New Years, and a sizable amount of dried basil from the garden and Turkish oregano. At the end I added most of a can of black olives I had from Thanksgiving and some whole wheat spiral pasta.
It was yummy, pretty healthy too, and had a minestrone taste to it. Ended up adding a tsp of Better then Bullion too. Jeff and Becky are traveling and to hang out a few hours in the afternoon I thought soup and salad would be nice. I did an all local salad with market lettuce, spinach, purple cabbage, shredded carrot, heart nuts (a cross of Black and English walnuts) from the Michigan market, and Michigan apples.
I made a homemade dressing as well. I added apple cider vinegar to the last of the tahini in its own jar and some Michigan honey (boy you know local honey is cool but the honey that’s like the honey that I grew up on is just more honeyer to me), a little turmeric, a lot of freshly ground mustard (the kids enjoyed the mortar and pestle), maybe something else, I was gabbing with the guests.
Jeff brought a loaf of wheat/rye bread he’d made in the woods in a clay oven. He’s a history buff and reenactor who has a big 19th century or so camp out in Missouri every year at this time and we hang out for a bit before or after. Jeff hosted me on my first visit to Columbia and showed me the town I fell in love with. Its funny in the campaign I say “I love Columbia” and people always say “How long have you been here?”, its funny. He made it old school stretching the yeast, using only a packet for 14 pounds of flour like they would have in the olden days and stuff was expensive. They bought yeast from brewers who grew it.
Early in that paragraph I hopped over to Facebook and told a friend one of my favorite stories about my dad when she had mentioned David Bowie, here it is [One time a long time ago Dad called from the road and asked my mom to speak to me. He said, “Have you ever heard of David Bowie?” “Um, yeah Dad I’ve heard of him why.” “Well I went to get fuel last night about 3:00 in the morning and all the fuel pumps were blocked by these tour buses, so I went inside and I said ‘Hey whose buses are blocking the fuel pumps?’ and this anemic little fuck came up and said ‘They’re my buses I’m David Bowie'” Dad went on “So I said are you any relation to Jim Bowie? He had a knife that could cut his hair, you could use a knife like that.” This was 80s Bowie so his hair wasn’t that long but Dad was sensitive about stuff like that. A couple years ago I showed him The Man Who Fell to Earth and told him that’s who he’d told off.]
Well its getting late and I still have dishes to wash.
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