I am the eldest sibling. I have met many of brothers' friends who have often remarked, "I never knew Bobby or Brian had a sister." I guess I should mention that my brothers and I live in the same town within 5 miles of each other. I guess I should mention that our children attend the same school and some are in the same class. I guess I should mention that they knew my husband before I did. I guess I should mention that despite our geographical closeness, we probably only see each other about 6 times a year. My brother Brian and I talk on the phone twice a year, we call each other on our birthdays. Bobby plays war games with Davis and occasionally I talk to Bobby through Davis on Xbox. I am probably not a very good older sister. I do cook Thanksgiving dinner for them and have been known to host Easter. Brian loves my stuffing. I make it every year just for him. Bobby likes to tease me about my cooking, not because I can't cook, but because I can. Each of them is brilliant in their own right. Bobby can write code for anything, design an app for you and make a movie. Brian can sing (I can't), according to my Dad is a good shot, still plays basketball, (he is over 40), lay hardwood floors and travels literally across the world routinely. Oh, he can make small bombs and probably if you needed him to, could demolish your house in a single bang.
So, I don't think they mind having a big sister. Like I said, I am probably not good at it.
I think I was about 14. I was left in charge that day. Brian was playing in the woods behind our house. He was fascinated with he TV show The Wild, Wild West and James Bond. Our dad kept things like gunpowder around. To be honest, when he came screaming into the house and locked himself in the bathroom, I had no idea what had happened. I just knew I had better figure it out and fix it, or mom was going to kill me. When he opened the bathroom door, the first thing I noticed was that he did not have eyelashes or eyebrows anymore. He looked like Wiley Coyote after he stumbled onto the TNT left by the Roadrunner. It was comical. Apparently, he was trying to create a dam in the little creek behind our house to trap crayfish. I use the term crayfish loosely because this creek was actually a storm drain run off. I don't exactly what type of crustacean they were. Brian and Bobby just caught them, built a fire and roasted and ate them or so I am told. I personally never saw this. I have just heard the story.
So Brian and his friend Luke, (obviously not a physician), had taken gunpowder from the house, packed it into some small square container, added a piece a string and lit it. Brian waited and waited for it to explode. It didn't. He walked over, fiddled with it and lit it again. It still didn't explode. So he stooped down to pick it up and it blew up in his face. According to my dad, he had used enough gunpowder to level the house and the only reason he didn't die or loose limbs or suffer third degree burns, was what he used for a fuse wasn't that flammable. But it was combustible enough to implode and burn all the hair off his face. I don't remember if this required an emergency room visit and I don't remember what if any punishment was handed out, but we did live to tell about it.
Once, a flying squirrel got caught in the vent above our stove. I don't remember why Bobby cut the vent on that day, just that the mess- well it was bad. Real bad. Once a six foot black snake was laying in the ceiling light in our basement. I personally thought Bobby handled it brilliantly. He called the fire department and those nice men came and removed that very large snake and charged my dad about 150 dollars. My mom and dad weren't home that day either.
And I guess I should mention my fear of pressure cookers. They are death traps. Once, my mom was cooking a ham in one. My mother will cook anything and I mean anything in a pressure cooker. Our kitchen was small. Maybe 8X8. She asked me to go check and see if the jiggler thingy had started to jiggle. As I was approaching the kitchen, the lid blew off and the jiggler thingy was impaled in the ceiling. Even after the ceiling replaced, the oil stain remained. It was like a poltergeist or something. Do you know what my mother gave me for a wedding gift? A pressure cooker. She still thinks everybody should have one. I won't use the damn thing. It can kill. I prefer to bake my hams.
My brothers and I fought too. Like cats and dogs. The thing about three children, is that two will always gang up on the one and the teams always change. It just isn't easy being a sibling.
Today we celebrate the feast of St. James, the Just. He was the brother of Jesus. Tomes have been written on just where James was on the family tree. It can not have been easy growing up as the younger brother of Jesus. First, who can compete with intellectual brilliance? Second, when your brother heals the sick, raises the dead, and feeds the multitudes with crumbs, it could be easy to develop insecurity. Not to mention, that angels showed up at Jesus' birth and sang Gloria and rich men on camels traveled across a desert for about three years to bring him baby gifts. And there was a star (most likely a comet), that showed up in the night sky at Jesus' birth and overshadowed Orion and Pleiades. And then there is the king who was so scared about his birth, that he goes on a killing rampage. And who wouldn't be just a tad bit jealous of the fame and power? And who wouldn't have an identity crisis if their sibling was a prophet, obviously spoke directly to God and God talked back.
Scripture and history tell us that James was not a coward and quite certainly a visionary in his own right. He was the Bishop of Jerusalem and the non-canonical gospel of Thomas gave him the description of just. Paul tells us he was among the first of the apostles to hang out with the Gentiles. He was stoned to death, probably a political murder plotted by the high priest Annas. History tells us that what probably killed him was a blow to the head while he on his knees praying for his killers. I suppose James could have carried a chip on his shoulder. I suppose he could have resented Jesus and aged into a bitter person who claims to "have never gotten a break." I suppose he could have never dealt with the tension of living and growing up in someone's shadow. I suppose that he could have chosen not to identify with Jesus. He could have chosen many things. But James, chose to be enough. Just enough. He chose to be himself, not Jesus or live up to Jesus. And his story reminds me that each of us have circumstances that prevent us from recognizing who we are in God.
I suspect you are alot like me. Far too often we worry will we be enough? We don't always know if we belong or not. We don't know if our hair is okay-if our clothes are right-if our weight is right-if anyone will like you-if we will say the right thing or not and what if people could really see our insides-would they still like you?
So we could all take a lesson from the life of James on just being who we are and applauding God for making each of us a wonder and miracle in our own unique way. Don't strive and work so hard- just rest in God. Don't compete with others- just care about others. And James- well he didn't seem to want anything apart from holiness- which actually means "wholeness" not perfection. Affirm yourself in the certainity of the grace of God and identify yourself with the love of Christ- not your circumstances, your lineage, your struggles, your past, your imperfections. And as the writer of Hebrews (who may have been James-no one knows for sure) said in the daily office today: and these words are as true today as in the first century:
Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint, but rather be healed.
Pursue peace with everyone, and the holiness without which no one will see the Lord.
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