wonder

For weeks Kate and Will have been the talk of the town.  I asked both my elderly patients and the young nurses I work with, and sat back to enjoy the opinions and perspectives.  I reminisced with my cousin about being young girls who got up in the middle of the night to watch Lady Diana get married.  I enviously heard about my mother and sister-in-law's "royal brunch" as they watched the entire wedding.  (oh yes, tiara's and scones.) 


This morning, in mid wedding, our group met for it's weekly team meeting.  Of course we talked about the wedding - The Dress, The Kiss, the hats.....


And then we talked about why a wedding halfway around the world could grab so much of our attention.  Is it because, after weeks of war, earthquakes, tornados and fires we are desperate for something happy?  Is it because, in the midst of school lunches, gas prices, and mortgage payments we are hungry for a little romance?  Do we all wish that the prince would see our potential and make us royalty?  Or is it that hospice weary workers long to see things full of hope and beginning?  Maybe it is all of the above....


When I read this passage from Blue Like Jazz, it resonated with me.  Reminded me of what I am really looking for. 


I want to tell you something about me that you may see as weakness.  I need wonder.  I know that death is coming.  I smell it in the wind, read it in the paper, watch it on television, and see on the faces of the old.  I need wonder to explain what is going to happen to me, what is going to happen to us when this thing is done, when our shift is over and our kids kids are still on the earth listening to their crazy rap music.  I need something mysterious to happen after I die.  I need to be somewhere else after I die, somewhere with God, somewhere that wouldn't make any sense if it were explained to me right now.
     At the end of the day, when I am lying in bed and I know that chances of any of our theology being exactly right are a million to one, I need to know that God has things figured out, that if my math is wrong we are still going to be okay.  And wonder is that feeling we get when we let go of our silly answers, our mapped out rules that we want God to follow.  I don't think there is any better worship than wonder.   Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz.

even for me

If God is incarnate in ordinary life then we should see God, first of all, within ordinary life.  Too often, even though we know this theoretically, practically we still look for God in the extraordinary... do you want to see a vision?  Get up and watch the sun rise."  


Ronald Rolheiser, This Holy Longing: The Search for a Christian Spirituality


I was ready for a vision.  So, for Easter morning, I took my boys to their first sunrise service.  We drove in the dark to Warren Wilson college.  We huddled on a bench in a beautiful garden.  We participated in the joyful, thoughtful, interactive program that my friend Leah lead out in.


I read Rolheiser's words on the bulletin's that were passed out.  I watched the sky turn warm and pink.  I heard the morning birds chirping to each other.  I felt the two cozy bodies of my boys pressed close on either side of me.  I smelled roses and wet grass.  I chanted "Christ is risen indeed!  Alleluia!" over and over with every one around me.  My heart swelled with contentment and pleasure.


Then we were called to stand in a circle and break the communion bread together and partake.  And I froze.  For two months I have been been gluten free.  No sandwiches.  No donuts.  No wheat pasta.  No more hives or migraines or arthritis or allergies or sluggishness.  YEAH!  But I never considered that the "no's" included participating in communion.  The circle suddenly felt exclusive of someone like me.  How would I unobtrusively take a pass?


Leah held up the round loaf of bread.  She repeated those beautiful words from scripture.  "This is My body, broken for you...." and she tore the loaf in half.  She handed one half to the people on either side of her, to tear off a piece and pass it on.  And then, as an after thought, she added "oh - the students made this communion loaf gluten free."


And in that moment, it seemed very symbolic to me.  "This is My body, broken....yes, even for you."


³⁸ And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Not life altering choices, or ground shaking doubts or gluten intolerence....  neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. ³⁹ No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Romans 8:38, 39

easter

Last week we were in the least fun stage of buying a new car.  The finance part.  Putting on paper every detail about our work and history.  Signing our lives away.  The finance man scanned through the file.  "Wait.  You are a hospice chaplain?  Oh wow.  You guys are really incredible.  The work you do is so important."  He welled up.  Turns out, both his mother and father spent their last months in a good hospice program.  And he was sold on it.  When we left, he shook Steve's hand hard, and gave me a big hug.  "You kids keep up the good work."


Two days ago I walked in to a CVS pharmacy to buy shampoo.  The cashier glanced at my name tag as he rang up my purchase.  "Hey! Four Seasons hospice!  You people are the best.  You took care of my grandmother when she was dying three years ago. "  


"I'm new with the group." I told him.  "but I'm so glad she was well cared for."


"She was."  He responded.  "Thank you so much for everything."


I really like where I work, and who I work with.  And, as the new kid on the block, I owe so much to the ones who went before me.  Because of them, I am enjoying an identity I did not earn.  I receive accolades I didn't work for.  I'm grateful to be one of them, and inspired to follow in their footsteps.  


And then it hit me.  That's Easter in a nutshell.  


Because of God's sacrifice, I am enjoying an identity I did not earn.  I receive Grace I don't deserve.  I look forward to a future I couldn't acquire.  I owe everything to the One who loved me That Much.  I'm so grateful!  And inspired to follow in Those footsteps.


² We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.  Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. ³ Think of all the hostility he endured from sinful people; then you won’t become weary and give up.  Hebrew 12:2,3

where else?

She is petite and frail.  She is taking her medicine and enduring her treatments.  Anything for a little more time.  Anything to get feeling better.  And then she falls, walking to the bathroom. Breaks her hip and wrist.  She loses all the ground she  has gained.  Time is running out.


89 years old.  She looks up at me from her bed.  Big, brown eyes.  "I keep praying and praying.  For good things.  To get better.  To hang in til my son can come back.  To not have to take so much medicine.  Why isn't God answering any of my prayers?"


She just looks at me. My inner theologian wants to discuss our misunderstandings of prayer.  The teacher in me is jumping to reframe her questions  As a pastor, I want to recall all the Bible stories where God came through in dark times.  But first the chaplain has to hear the pain of those words.  The loneliness. The helplessness.   "It really hurts to not feel heard by the God you love, doesn't it?  To not understand where God is in this.  I am so sorry."  I hold her hand tightly and our eyes well up.


Later, at the end of the visit, I ask if there is anything I can do for her. "Pray for me before you go?" she asks.


I think about the story of the disciples in John 6.   
⁶⁶ At this point many of his followers turned away and deserted him. ⁶⁷ Then Jesus turned to the Twelve and asked, “Are you also going to leave?”
 ⁶⁸ Simon Peter replied, “Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words that give eternal life.”

Sometimes that's all faith is.  A little kicking.  A lot of doubt.  Some unanswered questions.  And then a surrender again to the only Hope we have.  

Where else are we going to go?

pain

"Make friends with pain, and you will never be alone."  Ken Chlouber, Colorado miner and creator of the Leadville Trail 100.


As my friend Barbara and I are in the last stretch of training for our upcoming half marathon, this quote is timely.  Our training runs are getting longer and longer.  9, 10, 11....This Sunday we will do 12.  And with each new mile, come a new batch of aches and pains.  We limp and stretch and take ibuprofen and band aid our blisters and limp some more.  "Embrace the pain",  I hear.  I'm not quite convinced.


An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor is one of those books I want to read a hundred times.  Her chapter, The Practice of Feeling Pain is powerful and inspiring to me as a chaplain, a runner and a human.


Pain makes theologians of us all.  If you have spend even one night in real physical pain, then you know what that can do to your faith in God, not to mention your faith in your own ability to manage your life.

I think about my patients who endure such pain.  Every nursing report includes the doses of tylenol, morphine, roxanol or ativan.  Every visit from each team member includes questions or indicators of pain.   But, despite all this, most patients struggle through, finding meaning and bits of joy in their remaining days.  I think of Clarence who postponed his med times so he could have a clearer mind to talk with his family.  I remember Emily, whose pain superceeded the meds.  She just squeezed my hand tightly.  I see families regrouping after a loved one dies.  They leave hospice to refashion their lives.  There is no medicine for their pain.


So, reluctant as I may be, I am going to learn from pain.  My pain, their pain, your pain.  It's an unavoidable teacher. With invaluable lessons for me. 


There will always be people who run from every kind of pain and suffering, just as there will always be religions that promise to put them to sleep.  For those willing to stay awake, pain remains a reliable altar in the world, a place to discover that a life can be as full of meaning as it is of hurt.  The two have never canceled each other out and I doubt they ever will, at least not until each of us- or all of us together - find a way through. Barbara Brown Taylor.