Full disclosure - I’m not a big fan of Canadian Geese. While I love a lot about Canada (and that list seems to grow by the day) I do not love their geese. I subscribe to the idea of them being cranky and I’m not a fan of the way that they completely cover some of our local walking paths in their poop. (Yes, I know that we can’t train them to use the bathrooms but sometimes it is like walking in a goose poop minefield). Scout is also a big fan of chasing the geese off the path and back into the water. She always does it, turns back, and looks at me with a face that says, “aren’t you proud of me?!” Yes, Scout. Good girl!
So all that being said...there’s this one goose at Winton Lake. Here’s a photo:
Normal Canadian Goose, right? Yes except for the right leg. Here are a few other photos from a different day.
I obviously have no idea what happened to that goose but I saw them there on that dock so many mornings, often alone while the other geese were somewhere else on the lake. My heart ached whenever I saw that goose. Honestly, even Scout seemed to notice something - unlike other geese that were often on that dock that Scout would lunge towards, she never did when this goose was alone on the dock.
About a week ago, the Great Parks folks removed that dock (it was in really bad shape) and I wasn’t sure I would see that goose again. That was, until Thursday morning.
Now, how did I know it was the same goose? I don’t know for sure but there was something different about the way it was swimming. Rather than a smooth moving through the water, there was a jerkiness as it moved across the surface. It looked like what I imagine a goose paddling with one foot would look like. It looked like a limping kind of swimming. I was grateful to see this goose but also still feeling an ache as they swam alone just as they often were alone on the dock.
Shifting to another recent morning… Often when Scout and I walk in our immediate neighborhood, we walk over to the Franciscan Sisters of the Poor center that’s near our hosue. The path we usually take has us come in “the back way” and we enter the grounds through the cemetary where many (all?) of the Sisters who have served there are buried. The cemetery isn’t visible from the street or even really from the parking lot. Its hidden behind trees in the back corner of the property.
As we walked into the cemetery on that particular morning, though, something was different. All of the stones were gleaming white. At some point from the last time I was there, someone must have powerwashed all of the old headstones (the newer ones are more of a “traditional mottled granite” rather than the white). And when I say old, I mean old. Some of them go back to the 1800s such as this one for Sister Ursulina Birk (1852-1918). The marker is so weathered you can barely make out the engraving on the stone.
Here’s another, slightly more recent. Sister Benedtta Lessenich (1862-1946).
The last time I was there, many of those headstones were covered in moss and dirt. No longer.
I love the fact that even though not many today would know Sr. Benedetta or Sr Ursulina that there was care and concern for their legacies to finally clean off their (and the many other) headstones. There is little fanfare for whoever(s) it was who cleaned off these headstones - their work isn’t seen by the many people driving down the road near the center (from which the cemetery isn’t visible). It isn’t celebrated in the news or on social media. Yet, it was important to do this - to honor the legacies of these nuns who had served even well over a century ago.
Neither this goose or this cemetery are “expansive.” This is one goose out of many millions of other Canadian geese. This cemetery holds the remains of a few hundred nuns who served at a Franciscan center in Cincinnati, Ohio. But it matters to notice. It matters to notice this goose who keeps on pushing. It matters to see these gravestones now clean once again and to think about the stories of these women. It matters to see the realities of what others are facing and not look away but to listen to the stories that are shared, to honor those stories, and to lean into them. That, to me, is empathy. It isn’t pitying people for what they are going through but instead honoring and seeing what they are facing.
There have been many circles recently trying to speak to this idea that empathy is weakness, toxic, or even sinful.1 If that’s the reality, then there’s a big problem with what we see of the actions and teachings of Jesus. Jesus clearly lived an empathetic life and called his followers to do the same. There was no sin in empathy for Jesus. Responding to all of this, I saw a story recently that noted how a church in NYC changed their outdoor sign to say, “If empathy is a sin, then sin boldly!”
Truth.
My amazing wife has been playing around with painting recently and she painted this scene earlier this week. It is a beautifully empathetic and expansive image that she was drawing upon the passage from today’s lectionary reading from Hebrews 13 which says in verse 2, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” This is going to be the bulletin cover for her congregation’s worship service today.
The rest of the passage in Hebrews 13 has several other beautiful lines that speak to the call to empathy - “let mutual affection continue” (verse 1), to care for those who are imprisoned and being tortured (verse 3), and “Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.” (verse 16).
Empathy is expansive. It opens us up to the worlds and experiences of others, especially those whose life experiences are different from our own. All of this speaks to me to keep my life open to others to see, hear, and enter into what others face day by day. Empathy reminds me that my story and my perspective are not the only ones, but like The Life of Chuck quoted, “there are multitudes.”
Here are a few other noticings from my week:
And Scout looking regal as always...
Grace, Peace, Love, Hope, and Joy,
Ed
I’m not linking them here - they’re unfortunately easy enough to find with a quick search query.
Thank you for this deep walk into empathy. As well as the clarity between empathy and pity. My morning devotions have been deeply fed by your thoughts this morning.😊
I have a hunch that goose lost its foot from an encounter with a snapping turtle.