Barbara Tucker: A Friend

 

A Reflection and Poem for Barbara Tucker: A Friend            Thomas Wilson

On the Occasion of a Celebration of Her Life                          October 30, 2021

A half century ago, I knew a lot of stuff. I knew facts, I knew theories and I thought I knew people inside and out. A half century ago, I was wrong, and over the decades I have come to the greater realization that I know very little. Over the decades, whenever I would play a part in the play, while I knew a lot about the character I was playing, I did not fully know them; I could only faithfully encounter them. Over the decades when I was counseling people, I thought I knew the people I was working with, but I came to realize that I would never fully know them; I could only faithfully encounter them. Over the decades when I was a theologian I knew a lot about God but I did not fully know the Divine - I could only faithfully encounter the Divine and I cannot know as fully as I am known by the Divine.

I have problems with Creeds because they are full of nouns. I will memorize them, but I always remember that God is not a noun but a verb, - and not just God but all creation. Einstein, over a century ago, wrote his General Theory of Relativity, and decades later, on his way to a half century later, he added an appendix: “The subtlety of the concept of space was enhanced by the discovery that there exist no completely rigid bodies. All bodies are elastically deformable and alter in volume with change in temperature.” Or as I translate it decades later; “there are no rigid bodies of people or ideas or experiences but all elastically deformable with changes in encounter.”

Aquinas said God was “pure act”, and Barbara, in the Image of God, was always busy and in action. She loved working on, or creating something for students, friends, and family. I met Barbara Tucker over 18 years ago. We have spent thousands of hours together. We have eaten hundreds of meals together. Killed scores of bottles of wine and laughed and laughed. One season of Epiphany, the season of light; John, Barbara, Pat and I went on a small group pilgrimage to the South of France together with a dozen others to encounter the light experienced by the artists of that region. It was an unforgettable journey of awe, and a lot of time was spent in silence encountering the divine spirit in art of Van Gogh, Monet, Renoir, Gauguin, Matisse, Picasso, Chagall, Cocteau, Cézanne and so many others; encountering the divine spirit in each other. There were several Priests in that group, so we had Daily Communion; our souls and bodies fed by the Body of Christ, which we wisely did not try to explain.

Yet, Barbara was never satisfied with too much quiet contemplation, for she was an extrovert and needed to connect to people. How I have listened to her pour out her soul and her heart. She shared her experiences with, and thoughts and feelings about, her husband, her children, her grandchildren, her extended family when she was a child, aunts, her sister, her nieces, her friends, her enemies, her acquaintances and her faith. She loved deeply often to the point of tears. She carried many wounds and forgave many more.

There is an old Yiddish proverb; “God creates people because God loves stories.” Barbara told many stories. The image I have in my imagination is of her leaning forward, putting her hand on the person with whom she was with, talking and sharing. She did love to talk. But she was a verb; and we don't know verbs, we can only encounter them. Another image I had as I tried to put together the poem, is of angels telling Barbara stories and the other angels nodding as they listen. When we finish here, please be like the angels in my vision and share Barbara stories. If you can; write them down and send them to her family, so her grandsons can pass on those stories to their grandchildren. Don't try to explain her, but just tell the story. Lewis Carroll. who wrote about Alice's adventures, passes on the advice: “No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time.”

Barbara Tucker: A Friend

How do you love someone with deep flaws?

By being aware she's doing same with you,

and everyone else, with the exception of a few

scattered memories of those, with just cause,

because they deeply hurt her cherished ones.

She would stand on her hind legs of passion,

and, she had such passion, for a compassion

on those pelted by life's vicious various stones.

Beware, she'd apt to bring a metaphorical gun

to a verbal knife fight. But then she'd holster it,

moving into an unaccustomed silence for a bit,

and then be still, living together under same Son,

to tell stories of friends she'd loved and missed.

Which we're doing 'fore she slips thru time's mist.