One of the occupational hazards of being a counselor-priest is that you are privy to any number of unpleasant secrets. Over the years I have heard countless stories of marital break down. It is a painful thing to watch and it is hard to hear. The twin roles of counselor and preacher collide at such times. How to save the marriage? How to spare these people the injuries and pains? How to heal and set them free to live in abundance? And there is nothing sadder than the failed marriages of church people, folks who are publicly commited to Jesus Christ.
A common theme in all of the divorces is a sense of betrayal. One or another of the partners takes it upon himself/herself to dissolve the bond, to annul the covenant, to walk away from the life partnership. People feel that there was treachery and that they have been duped.
With that in mind, I read the old familiar story of Isaac, Jacob and Esau with a tender heart. Old blind Isaac has been duped by his wife and son and given the blessing to the younger. One senses this is God's preference, but the narrative is not so straightforward. Instead, we read about the wiles of the characters and see an old man taken advantage of by those closest to him. Esau, a simple man skilled in physical feats but less adept at 'palace intrigue', is a pitiable figure. He returns from the hunt, having done what his father commanded only to discover that the blessing has been given to another. A weeping Esau cries out, "Have you only one blessing, father? Bless me also, father!"
In prayerful meditation I paused to let the scene sink in. The mighty, hairy man, weeping, stood before his empty handed father. There was no blessing. None. Jacob had snatched it up and made it his own. And as I pondered this situation I realized that the founding father of Israel (in fact, a man called Israel!) came to his place by treachery and deceit. The messiness of life....
Less we think all is well for Jacob, he lives in an exile for many years, he is duped by his father-in-law and suffers mistreatment. His later years are filled with tragedy as his sons deal treacherously with him (in the Joseph story). His life, while much blessed, is also painfilled. There is a price to be paid for treachery. And, ironically, Esau re-appears, however briefly, as a rich warlord who is full of forgiveness. So with no blessing he turned out to have quite the life. Details being scant we can not say much more than that.
Perhaps the hope to be drawn is that no matter how bad things are now, God can impact our futures. It is well to recall that even bad things can be shaped into good outcomes (though not without heart break, suffering and tears). Our infidelities are the creators of much horror, but God redeems even those false acts and uses them to create new situations. With that in mind, a priest-counselor can continue to walk with the wounded folks and whisper a word of solace and hope: "In the end, God finds a way. Do not despair."
Showing posts with label Loss and death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loss and death. Show all posts
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Answered (un)prayers
Reflecting on prayer leads me to share a true story from last week. While it is a fact that countless people have spent countless hours "knocking at heaven's door" with some heartfelt need or other, it is equally true that there are times when interventions seem to occur when no prayer has been uttered.
We were in Bible study last Thursday and the sweet lady who sits next to me was gone. She has had a bad diagnosis and is suffering greatly. All the more difficult in light of how well she had been feeling prior. She went out last weekend, suddenly began to feel ill, and is now in great need.
After Bible study we celebrate eucharist. About four minutes before the end of class a woman walked in. She is new to the church and did not remember about the class until she walked in. She had been headed to the kitchen to pick up a bowl she left at a recent dinner. "May I join you?" she cheerfully asked as she walked into the hall and sat at table. We literally had four minutes to go! So afterwards we celebrated eucharist for which she stayed. At one point the parish administrator slipped me a note, which I held off until the blessing at the end.
The little lady who is ill needed information about nursing facilities. When I asked everyone present if anyone had a suggestion, our visitor said, "Oh, that is what I do for a living!" Everyone, of course, recognized a divine hand at work. A kindness of God in our midst.
This is what I mean by those who have eyes to see. It is a choice. One can acknowledge God or not. One can say it was a freak coincidence that someone wandered in and stayed with the exact skill set we needed. Or one can say that little pushes and pulls occured to make it happen. One can question why prayers go unanswered while unsolicited acts of grace occur. In the end, there are dozens of options to ponder and question. But the fundamental response, to believe or not, includes an act of will. It is a decision to see and believe, to thank and worship. I am not saying that it is easy for everyone. I am saying it is possible. In the end, it is the willingness to enter relationship with God which determines our life.
We were in Bible study last Thursday and the sweet lady who sits next to me was gone. She has had a bad diagnosis and is suffering greatly. All the more difficult in light of how well she had been feeling prior. She went out last weekend, suddenly began to feel ill, and is now in great need.
After Bible study we celebrate eucharist. About four minutes before the end of class a woman walked in. She is new to the church and did not remember about the class until she walked in. She had been headed to the kitchen to pick up a bowl she left at a recent dinner. "May I join you?" she cheerfully asked as she walked into the hall and sat at table. We literally had four minutes to go! So afterwards we celebrated eucharist for which she stayed. At one point the parish administrator slipped me a note, which I held off until the blessing at the end.
The little lady who is ill needed information about nursing facilities. When I asked everyone present if anyone had a suggestion, our visitor said, "Oh, that is what I do for a living!" Everyone, of course, recognized a divine hand at work. A kindness of God in our midst.
This is what I mean by those who have eyes to see. It is a choice. One can acknowledge God or not. One can say it was a freak coincidence that someone wandered in and stayed with the exact skill set we needed. Or one can say that little pushes and pulls occured to make it happen. One can question why prayers go unanswered while unsolicited acts of grace occur. In the end, there are dozens of options to ponder and question. But the fundamental response, to believe or not, includes an act of will. It is a decision to see and believe, to thank and worship. I am not saying that it is easy for everyone. I am saying it is possible. In the end, it is the willingness to enter relationship with God which determines our life.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Baseball, Baptisms, Bye-Byes
Last evening I watched the end of the season. A year ago my son was injured, a broken bone in his arm, and he was living the misery of not being able to play. Nor could he enjoy his summer vacation. It was an unpleasant time, compounded by the fact that the injury had been preventable.
A year later things had changed. My son's new team came into this weekend on a sixteen game winning streak. They had captured a consolation and three straight tournament championships. An up and down team was suddenly on a roll. We came into this State Championship weekend hoping to continue our winning ways. Our plan played out as we made it to the semifinals. Our ace was on the mound as we played the number one team in the state. This was the game which we had to win. Unfortunately, things did not work out. I arrived late, the score board said, 2-0 and we were nothing. My son was at bat, worked an eight pitch walk, proceeded to steal second and third and he came in on a ground ball. 2-1. We were still in this. Their next at bat they scored. Now it was 3-1 and our ace was struggling.
In the third inning my son walked to the mound. The plan had been to use him in the championship game if we made it that far. We were off the plan, our backs to the wall. Two strike outs and a bouncer back to him (sandwiched around a wicked line drive base hit) and we were back in the dugout. He had 'the look' in his eye. I knew he was going to carry us. We would not go down without a fight.
In the seventh inning, losing 4-2, we sent up our last three men. Each tried his best and each failed. The other team celebrated wildly. We walked off.
Suddenly, I found myself wandering around, shaking hands with moms and dads with whom I have spent so many hours the last nine months. Many of them were strangers when we first gathered as a team. We had shared in the joys and misery. We suffered as one or another child went hitless, made a crucial error, or pitched poorly. We yelled, for each other, when a child came in 'throwing cheese' to retire the other team, or laced a key hit to drive in the needed runs. Thirty five times we won. Sixteen times we lost. Always we did it together.
The hitting coach has the boys make a cross where they stand, to make sure their feet are in the right place. He made a theological connection with life. We stand on the cross of Jesus in everything. Their cheer, "1-2-3, for Him" was meant to shape their minds and imaginations around the concept of Jesus' Lordship. That everything we think, say or do is from Him and for Him. As I shared with another dad, I hope those words were not an empty phrase, lost in the repetition. I have reason to believe they were not. The team was made up of good kids. Each boy was someone you could be proud of. They were well mannered and lots of fun. So were the parents. I really liked them all and got close to a few.
We were made up of a hodge podge of denominations, but everyone was serious about their faith. One boy was Jewish, he often asked me to lead the prayer. There was no screaming at umpires or embarassing behavior. I liked that.
Spending a weekend at a baseball tournament can lead you to lose track of time. You are sort of in an enclosed world, cut off from the wider world. All you know is what is going on in front of you (and how cold or hot you are). My weekends, of course, are different, because I have church services. Another place where the focus is different from 'daily life.'
Yesterday morning we baptized a baby. As I said the prayers over him I choked up. I am sure being so tired had a part to play. I get emotional when exhausted. Some of it was the realization, for a moment, of God's relationship with us. The sheer beauty of a baby. The wonders of a family and love. The sacrifices people make for their kids. The wonders of a gathered assembly, praying and praising, welcoming someone new to the family. I caught myself, regrouped emotionally and continued. But I could have been a water fountain if I hadn't.
Afterward, I realized, again (for the hundredth time) that God does me a kindness by leaving me at arms length. Whenever I get close I weep: Joy, awe, love, gratitude, wonder, all these and more, sweep me away into tears. God gives me distance so that I can function. So that I can love, honor and serve Him.
Saying good-byes yesterday was like that. There was a sadness in my heart. Some of these people I may never see again. Their will be tryouts for other teams. People move on. What we had this year will not be repeated. I am thankful to God for the beauty and joy. I am thankful to the kids and parents who made each weekend pleasant and fun, even when we lost. I am thankful to God for good-byes (including baptism: where we "die" with Christ so we can rise with Him). Each good-bye, each ending, is the transition point to a new beginning.
Last year I sat, a knot in my stomache, as my boy sat on the bench, his arm useless, watching his team, unable to give them the pitching and hitting they needed. This year in the last game, I got to watch my son, the heart of a lion, throwing pitch after pitch, even though worn out and drained. He made me proud. Last year I would not have even fantasized such a thing. I try to imagine what next year will be. Who knows? But all of it is a foretaste of the Kingdom. Every good-bye we make in Christ can be the door to a new life. I learned a lot yesterday. In church at a baptism and at the ball park. Loss and gain. Endings and New Beginnings. Community and love. Friendship. Hope. All of it a grace and gift. It is the sort of thing that makes you smile, that leads you to shed a tear, that makes you think about how great God is. 1...2...3... "For HIM!" That is what I will try to do today. Everything, for Him.
A year later things had changed. My son's new team came into this weekend on a sixteen game winning streak. They had captured a consolation and three straight tournament championships. An up and down team was suddenly on a roll. We came into this State Championship weekend hoping to continue our winning ways. Our plan played out as we made it to the semifinals. Our ace was on the mound as we played the number one team in the state. This was the game which we had to win. Unfortunately, things did not work out. I arrived late, the score board said, 2-0 and we were nothing. My son was at bat, worked an eight pitch walk, proceeded to steal second and third and he came in on a ground ball. 2-1. We were still in this. Their next at bat they scored. Now it was 3-1 and our ace was struggling.
In the third inning my son walked to the mound. The plan had been to use him in the championship game if we made it that far. We were off the plan, our backs to the wall. Two strike outs and a bouncer back to him (sandwiched around a wicked line drive base hit) and we were back in the dugout. He had 'the look' in his eye. I knew he was going to carry us. We would not go down without a fight.
In the seventh inning, losing 4-2, we sent up our last three men. Each tried his best and each failed. The other team celebrated wildly. We walked off.
Suddenly, I found myself wandering around, shaking hands with moms and dads with whom I have spent so many hours the last nine months. Many of them were strangers when we first gathered as a team. We had shared in the joys and misery. We suffered as one or another child went hitless, made a crucial error, or pitched poorly. We yelled, for each other, when a child came in 'throwing cheese' to retire the other team, or laced a key hit to drive in the needed runs. Thirty five times we won. Sixteen times we lost. Always we did it together.
The hitting coach has the boys make a cross where they stand, to make sure their feet are in the right place. He made a theological connection with life. We stand on the cross of Jesus in everything. Their cheer, "1-2-3, for Him" was meant to shape their minds and imaginations around the concept of Jesus' Lordship. That everything we think, say or do is from Him and for Him. As I shared with another dad, I hope those words were not an empty phrase, lost in the repetition. I have reason to believe they were not. The team was made up of good kids. Each boy was someone you could be proud of. They were well mannered and lots of fun. So were the parents. I really liked them all and got close to a few.
We were made up of a hodge podge of denominations, but everyone was serious about their faith. One boy was Jewish, he often asked me to lead the prayer. There was no screaming at umpires or embarassing behavior. I liked that.
Spending a weekend at a baseball tournament can lead you to lose track of time. You are sort of in an enclosed world, cut off from the wider world. All you know is what is going on in front of you (and how cold or hot you are). My weekends, of course, are different, because I have church services. Another place where the focus is different from 'daily life.'
Yesterday morning we baptized a baby. As I said the prayers over him I choked up. I am sure being so tired had a part to play. I get emotional when exhausted. Some of it was the realization, for a moment, of God's relationship with us. The sheer beauty of a baby. The wonders of a family and love. The sacrifices people make for their kids. The wonders of a gathered assembly, praying and praising, welcoming someone new to the family. I caught myself, regrouped emotionally and continued. But I could have been a water fountain if I hadn't.
Afterward, I realized, again (for the hundredth time) that God does me a kindness by leaving me at arms length. Whenever I get close I weep: Joy, awe, love, gratitude, wonder, all these and more, sweep me away into tears. God gives me distance so that I can function. So that I can love, honor and serve Him.
Saying good-byes yesterday was like that. There was a sadness in my heart. Some of these people I may never see again. Their will be tryouts for other teams. People move on. What we had this year will not be repeated. I am thankful to God for the beauty and joy. I am thankful to the kids and parents who made each weekend pleasant and fun, even when we lost. I am thankful to God for good-byes (including baptism: where we "die" with Christ so we can rise with Him). Each good-bye, each ending, is the transition point to a new beginning.
Last year I sat, a knot in my stomache, as my boy sat on the bench, his arm useless, watching his team, unable to give them the pitching and hitting they needed. This year in the last game, I got to watch my son, the heart of a lion, throwing pitch after pitch, even though worn out and drained. He made me proud. Last year I would not have even fantasized such a thing. I try to imagine what next year will be. Who knows? But all of it is a foretaste of the Kingdom. Every good-bye we make in Christ can be the door to a new life. I learned a lot yesterday. In church at a baptism and at the ball park. Loss and gain. Endings and New Beginnings. Community and love. Friendship. Hope. All of it a grace and gift. It is the sort of thing that makes you smile, that leads you to shed a tear, that makes you think about how great God is. 1...2...3... "For HIM!" That is what I will try to do today. Everything, for Him.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
chill of night
I was in Jackson Tn last night, watching a baseball game. The recent cold front which wreaked havoc across the country and unleashed heavy rains here locally had left chilled temperatures in its wake. It was odd feeling slightly chilled, aware of the impending 90+ degree forcast for the next few days. I knew it was going to be hot even as I knew, at that moment, it wasn't hot yet. It was almost chilly.
My phone rang and I assumed it was my wife checking on the score. I did not recognize the number, and a woman's voice asked, "Is this Jeff? Jeff from St. Andrew's?" I identified myself and she said, "I need you to pray." It was a parishioner who is also a friend from high school. I asked if it was her father (he has not been well). No, she said, it was Steve. He did not wake up.
Steve, her former husband, was also her high school boyfriend. Steve was one of my friends, too. We spent much time together in our Senior year. It was two weeks ago that I got a message that Jim had died. Another classmate. Jim and Steve. Monday is the first anniversary of the death of Sheila. She was a parishioner and taught at the elementary school. She taught both my kids and both my kids loved her. So did everyone else. we were the same age. She was a beautiful person, totally. I had the honor of celebrating her funeral service. It was sad because of the loss. There is hope, too. My whole family still misses her terribly.
My dad died twelve years ago this weekend. Memorial Day was when he had always gathered all the grandkids for a weekend of pure decadence. (That's right, donuts for breakfast and endless fun, games and junk food!!!) My two came too late to enjoy that fun, although my daughter did get to have a mini-version once. My son spent one Memorial Day weekend with dad. Dad's last. Son was just shy of two. I still can see him, tapping my dad saying, "grampa, grampa"....
Memorial Day is a time to remember those who gave their lives for our freedoms. My dad was in the navy. I grew up around people who had served. A couple were war veterans. SO many livfes have been handed over in wars. Terrible carnage and loss. So many suffered so much, for us.
Last night, a pleasant night, had a chill. It was a reminder of death. Some people prefer not to think about death. It is hard to ignore when you get a phone call that someone else you graduated with has died.
This weekend we need to be aware that life is a gift. We need to spend ourselves for others. There are many ways to do that. We also need to be greatful for each day. There is no way to know if today is the last day.
Jesus, the resurrected one, the dead-but-now-He-is-alive one, reminds us that the chill is not the whole story. Last night it was chilly, today hot and sunny. Some day death, but in the future LIGHT and SON! Never remember loss without embracing hope of life. As if to sacramentalize that, little baby boy lies within my wife, ready to burst out at any time and declare, "LIFE!"
My phone rang and I assumed it was my wife checking on the score. I did not recognize the number, and a woman's voice asked, "Is this Jeff? Jeff from St. Andrew's?" I identified myself and she said, "I need you to pray." It was a parishioner who is also a friend from high school. I asked if it was her father (he has not been well). No, she said, it was Steve. He did not wake up.
Steve, her former husband, was also her high school boyfriend. Steve was one of my friends, too. We spent much time together in our Senior year. It was two weeks ago that I got a message that Jim had died. Another classmate. Jim and Steve. Monday is the first anniversary of the death of Sheila. She was a parishioner and taught at the elementary school. She taught both my kids and both my kids loved her. So did everyone else. we were the same age. She was a beautiful person, totally. I had the honor of celebrating her funeral service. It was sad because of the loss. There is hope, too. My whole family still misses her terribly.
My dad died twelve years ago this weekend. Memorial Day was when he had always gathered all the grandkids for a weekend of pure decadence. (That's right, donuts for breakfast and endless fun, games and junk food!!!) My two came too late to enjoy that fun, although my daughter did get to have a mini-version once. My son spent one Memorial Day weekend with dad. Dad's last. Son was just shy of two. I still can see him, tapping my dad saying, "grampa, grampa"....
Memorial Day is a time to remember those who gave their lives for our freedoms. My dad was in the navy. I grew up around people who had served. A couple were war veterans. SO many livfes have been handed over in wars. Terrible carnage and loss. So many suffered so much, for us.
Last night, a pleasant night, had a chill. It was a reminder of death. Some people prefer not to think about death. It is hard to ignore when you get a phone call that someone else you graduated with has died.
This weekend we need to be aware that life is a gift. We need to spend ourselves for others. There are many ways to do that. We also need to be greatful for each day. There is no way to know if today is the last day.
Jesus, the resurrected one, the dead-but-now-He-is-alive one, reminds us that the chill is not the whole story. Last night it was chilly, today hot and sunny. Some day death, but in the future LIGHT and SON! Never remember loss without embracing hope of life. As if to sacramentalize that, little baby boy lies within my wife, ready to burst out at any time and declare, "LIFE!"
Monday, May 2, 2011
Osama bin Laden dead
Around ten o'clock last night I was ending my day. I had been to the funeral home across town and then grocery shopped. I came home and made lunches for the kids and finished up laundry. I had been upstairs to get the kids to bed. Just before I went to sleep, I turned on the news to see if "anythng had happened." I saw Heraldo, grinning ear to ear, as he joyously declared that bin Laden was dead. Wow!
A few minutes later my son came downstairs to tell me he had gotten texts about the death. He looked at me and asked, "Is that good?" My son has been a conscience tweaker since he was a toddler. He has always wanted to know "is he a good guy? is he a bad guy?" when we watch movies or analyze news stories. Is it good that Osama is dead? I told him 'yes' but I did not find myself dancing and celebrating. I am not sure why.
I grew up in a military family. My dad is a retired sailor. His dad and brothers also were sailors. As such, we have always had a special affection for the Seals. Dad met some of them in the 1960's during Viet Nam and he came home with great stories. I read the book on the founder of the Seal team six. I blogged about a wedding I did over Christmas with a young man who is a Seal (and how excited I was). I have never been averse to military stories or movies. I played army as a child all the time. I also have a sense of right and wrong. I believe there is evil and I believe we need to take a stand. I have found myself in positions where I did just that. So why no jubilation over the death of the man responsible for thousands of deaths and untold suffering for millions due to the economic and social repurcussions of his acts? He lit a fuse which led to ten years of war. He produced incredible evil in our world.
I guess the issue is Jesus. I do not think Jesus would be jumping up and down cheering. Maybe He would, but I do not think so. I hear Jesus say, "love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you." I hear Jesus on the cross, tortured and dying, cry out, "Father forgive them..." Jesus haunts me at times like this.
Does this mean that I think the US should tell Osama bin Laden all is forgiven? No, I am not that silly or naive. I have no doubt that pursuing him for ten years prevented other heinous terrorist acts. I think the man who sqeezed off two rounds into the brain that plotted so much evil did the world a favor. I think it is a just act and a righteous kill.
I also think it is sad. If bin Laden had used his resources to alleviate suffering what could he have accomplished? If he had trained young men to creat jobs and improve the plight of poor Muslims in the middle east what wonders would his millions have created? His death is a terrible waste because his life is a terrible waste. Such waste is a tragedy.
As I heard of his death I found myself drawn back into a painful place, flashbacks to those September days when the world seemed turned upside down and our nation suffered an open wound. I thought of thousands dead, tens of thousands who mourned their loss, and tens of millions who shared their pain. The Seal team got the perpetrator, but the dead are still dead and the maimed still maimed. Maybe today will bring healing to some, if so, God bless them. I do not feel healed.
I wonder what the days ahead will hold. Will some terrorist's act of revenge take more lives? Will more buildings blow up, more men, women and children be slaughtered? Will new cities be in shock?
Or will the terrorists be more reluctant to act? Will this truly be a success which defangs the killers and makes them impotent? Will the world become a bit safer and more humane?
Yesterday I wrote that we need a savior. I believe that today as much as then. Osama bin Laden did much evil. He believed things which I think are untrue. He advocated things which are wrong. I guess some people assume he is in Hell. He died thinking he was headed to heaven (or so we are led to believe). He thought he was pleasing to his god and doing holy acts.
Where is he? He is in God's hands. My belief is he is being educated. The Lord Jesus is teaching him the pain he caused. Jesus is allowing him to feel every life taken and its repurcussions (physical, spiritual, emotional). It is called judgment. It is called truth. Jesus is allowing him to feel all the pain he caused, to experience all the lives he destroyed and disrupted. Jesus is pouring each event into bin Laden and saying "reap what you sow." The prospect is horrifying to me. Even if he is an evil man, I shudder to think of the responsibility he bears. I shudder, in part, because it brings to mind my own responsibility for suffering in the world. Can I delight in justice for others and cry out for mercy for myself?
Is it good that they killed him? Yes, the world is a better place without him. Yet, there may be others poised to rise up and take his place. Maybe there will be more evil come of this. Who can know before hand? Even so, it was the right thing to do, I believe. But what haunts me is what am I answerable for? What has me blindness and selfishness led me to do? How have I misunderstood God and done wrong things in His name? Certainly not on the scale of bin Laden, but is evil on any scale okay?
Easter is a time to reflect on Jesus' death on the cross for our sins and His resurrection. The successful mission of these navy seals has given me a reason to ponder more deeply on mortality, evil and justice. I pray for mercy from God for all of us. No one is really innocent, even if some are much more guilty. I dare not minimize the evil Osama has done, but I dare not ignore my own sin, either. I do know this, I can and will pray today, "Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus. Come Lord and rescue a world hungry for healing and new life!"
A few minutes later my son came downstairs to tell me he had gotten texts about the death. He looked at me and asked, "Is that good?" My son has been a conscience tweaker since he was a toddler. He has always wanted to know "is he a good guy? is he a bad guy?" when we watch movies or analyze news stories. Is it good that Osama is dead? I told him 'yes' but I did not find myself dancing and celebrating. I am not sure why.
I grew up in a military family. My dad is a retired sailor. His dad and brothers also were sailors. As such, we have always had a special affection for the Seals. Dad met some of them in the 1960's during Viet Nam and he came home with great stories. I read the book on the founder of the Seal team six. I blogged about a wedding I did over Christmas with a young man who is a Seal (and how excited I was). I have never been averse to military stories or movies. I played army as a child all the time. I also have a sense of right and wrong. I believe there is evil and I believe we need to take a stand. I have found myself in positions where I did just that. So why no jubilation over the death of the man responsible for thousands of deaths and untold suffering for millions due to the economic and social repurcussions of his acts? He lit a fuse which led to ten years of war. He produced incredible evil in our world.
I guess the issue is Jesus. I do not think Jesus would be jumping up and down cheering. Maybe He would, but I do not think so. I hear Jesus say, "love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you." I hear Jesus on the cross, tortured and dying, cry out, "Father forgive them..." Jesus haunts me at times like this.
Does this mean that I think the US should tell Osama bin Laden all is forgiven? No, I am not that silly or naive. I have no doubt that pursuing him for ten years prevented other heinous terrorist acts. I think the man who sqeezed off two rounds into the brain that plotted so much evil did the world a favor. I think it is a just act and a righteous kill.
I also think it is sad. If bin Laden had used his resources to alleviate suffering what could he have accomplished? If he had trained young men to creat jobs and improve the plight of poor Muslims in the middle east what wonders would his millions have created? His death is a terrible waste because his life is a terrible waste. Such waste is a tragedy.
As I heard of his death I found myself drawn back into a painful place, flashbacks to those September days when the world seemed turned upside down and our nation suffered an open wound. I thought of thousands dead, tens of thousands who mourned their loss, and tens of millions who shared their pain. The Seal team got the perpetrator, but the dead are still dead and the maimed still maimed. Maybe today will bring healing to some, if so, God bless them. I do not feel healed.
I wonder what the days ahead will hold. Will some terrorist's act of revenge take more lives? Will more buildings blow up, more men, women and children be slaughtered? Will new cities be in shock?
Or will the terrorists be more reluctant to act? Will this truly be a success which defangs the killers and makes them impotent? Will the world become a bit safer and more humane?
Yesterday I wrote that we need a savior. I believe that today as much as then. Osama bin Laden did much evil. He believed things which I think are untrue. He advocated things which are wrong. I guess some people assume he is in Hell. He died thinking he was headed to heaven (or so we are led to believe). He thought he was pleasing to his god and doing holy acts.
Where is he? He is in God's hands. My belief is he is being educated. The Lord Jesus is teaching him the pain he caused. Jesus is allowing him to feel every life taken and its repurcussions (physical, spiritual, emotional). It is called judgment. It is called truth. Jesus is allowing him to feel all the pain he caused, to experience all the lives he destroyed and disrupted. Jesus is pouring each event into bin Laden and saying "reap what you sow." The prospect is horrifying to me. Even if he is an evil man, I shudder to think of the responsibility he bears. I shudder, in part, because it brings to mind my own responsibility for suffering in the world. Can I delight in justice for others and cry out for mercy for myself?
Is it good that they killed him? Yes, the world is a better place without him. Yet, there may be others poised to rise up and take his place. Maybe there will be more evil come of this. Who can know before hand? Even so, it was the right thing to do, I believe. But what haunts me is what am I answerable for? What has me blindness and selfishness led me to do? How have I misunderstood God and done wrong things in His name? Certainly not on the scale of bin Laden, but is evil on any scale okay?
Easter is a time to reflect on Jesus' death on the cross for our sins and His resurrection. The successful mission of these navy seals has given me a reason to ponder more deeply on mortality, evil and justice. I pray for mercy from God for all of us. No one is really innocent, even if some are much more guilty. I dare not minimize the evil Osama has done, but I dare not ignore my own sin, either. I do know this, I can and will pray today, "Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus. Come Lord and rescue a world hungry for healing and new life!"
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Passion and the Passion Story
In college, my Junior year, a senior's thesis paper was on the JFK assassination. While most of us never dreamed of sharing our work with the rest of the school, he did. A decent size crowd of us gathered to hear his presentation, which included the Zapruder film. Today, by the magic of the internet, I was able to access that film in seconds at no cost. In 1979, however, that film was not so easy to come by. It was nothing short of amazing that we could see it and as the student shared his thoughts on the assassination he replayed the film about a dozen times.
When President Kennedy died, I was a young boy in a Catholic school. He had a special status in our world. His death was also a shock so awful that they sent us home from school early. I was innocent then. Death had not personally visited my life, at that point. It was another year before the Spectre of Darkness visited us for the first time. [Trivia note, my mom was transported in the same ambulance as president Kennedy's body had been one year later. The driver told her about that as he drove her to Bethesda Naval Hospital.]
Because of the speculation comparing various theories of what took place in Dallas it was very interesting to see the assassination film and discuss. However, at some point, I remember something changed. I suddenly realized that I was watching a man die. A human being. Someone's daddy. I remember the sense of awe and the weight of the meaning of these moving pictures. It was not a movie produced by Hollywood. It was a real life murder captured on the grainy film of a 1960's home movie camera.
A year ago last Monday, one of my dearest friends at our parish died suddenly. I still feel deep emotion when I think about the loss. As a priest, my job is to do funerals. It is hard. Over the last decade I have presided over the final rites of numerous people with whom I have a close relationship. In the case of Paul, it is sometimes people who are very, very close. My own losses are on public display as I struggle to lead worship and preach. It can get difficult to hold back the emotions.
Last evening at eucharist, I read the Passion of Jesus from Matthew's Gospel. It is long, taking about fifteen minutes or so. Last night, I was very aware, that this was not just a story someone made up. It is the heartwrenching account of a healer and preacher from Galilee. It is what happened to a man who went around doing good to those in need and proclaiming hope to those who had none. He had an edge, at times He was "in the faces" of the political and church leaders. He made amazing claims about His status with God. Even so, there is nothing He said or did that warranted what happened to Him.
That is why I choked up, again and again, reading the story. Jesus is someone whom I love. He has been an incredible source of hope, healing and salvation for me and those I love most: my many friends, like Paul, my parents and grandparents, even people I do not know so well. All of them have been entrusted by me to Jesus. So when I read that they spit in Jesus' face, I feel it. When I read about them putting thorns on His head, beating Him and mocking Him, I feel it. Like the family of a murder victim hearing the transcript of the event read in court, so we, the friends and followers of Jesus, hear the graphic account of His last day. It is hard to sit through.
Most churches which read the account today will not burst into tears. Maybe the story is too familiar. Maybe we just aren't that into Jesus. Maybe we are too tied up with our own pain and struggle. I don't know. What I do know is this story is a story of torture and death and abandonment. It is a horror story.
It is also a love story. A story about God in human existence embracing all the worst this world has to offer. Brutality and beastly cruelty, doled out by uncaring institutions and individuals, literally abusing a good and helpless man until His last breath. Except, the story reminds us, not helpless. "Don't you think I could summon an army of angels if I wanted?," He asked. Because, that Man is God. If we take a breath, listen and focus, today each of us has an opportunity to hear, to know, to feel, to experience. It is not easy. It can cause us emotional distress and genuine feelings of loss and sadness. It can also prepare us for greater joy next week, because the resurrection is as real as the crucifixion, and that nasty crucifixion is so very real.
Listen to Matthew today. Hear it. With your mind and heart. Hear it and feel it. Weep. And understand the cost of your salvation, our salvation. Understand and fall on your knees to worship. Understand, rise up, and serve Him. Holy Week has begun, be Holy!
When President Kennedy died, I was a young boy in a Catholic school. He had a special status in our world. His death was also a shock so awful that they sent us home from school early. I was innocent then. Death had not personally visited my life, at that point. It was another year before the Spectre of Darkness visited us for the first time. [Trivia note, my mom was transported in the same ambulance as president Kennedy's body had been one year later. The driver told her about that as he drove her to Bethesda Naval Hospital.]
Because of the speculation comparing various theories of what took place in Dallas it was very interesting to see the assassination film and discuss. However, at some point, I remember something changed. I suddenly realized that I was watching a man die. A human being. Someone's daddy. I remember the sense of awe and the weight of the meaning of these moving pictures. It was not a movie produced by Hollywood. It was a real life murder captured on the grainy film of a 1960's home movie camera.
A year ago last Monday, one of my dearest friends at our parish died suddenly. I still feel deep emotion when I think about the loss. As a priest, my job is to do funerals. It is hard. Over the last decade I have presided over the final rites of numerous people with whom I have a close relationship. In the case of Paul, it is sometimes people who are very, very close. My own losses are on public display as I struggle to lead worship and preach. It can get difficult to hold back the emotions.
Last evening at eucharist, I read the Passion of Jesus from Matthew's Gospel. It is long, taking about fifteen minutes or so. Last night, I was very aware, that this was not just a story someone made up. It is the heartwrenching account of a healer and preacher from Galilee. It is what happened to a man who went around doing good to those in need and proclaiming hope to those who had none. He had an edge, at times He was "in the faces" of the political and church leaders. He made amazing claims about His status with God. Even so, there is nothing He said or did that warranted what happened to Him.
That is why I choked up, again and again, reading the story. Jesus is someone whom I love. He has been an incredible source of hope, healing and salvation for me and those I love most: my many friends, like Paul, my parents and grandparents, even people I do not know so well. All of them have been entrusted by me to Jesus. So when I read that they spit in Jesus' face, I feel it. When I read about them putting thorns on His head, beating Him and mocking Him, I feel it. Like the family of a murder victim hearing the transcript of the event read in court, so we, the friends and followers of Jesus, hear the graphic account of His last day. It is hard to sit through.
Most churches which read the account today will not burst into tears. Maybe the story is too familiar. Maybe we just aren't that into Jesus. Maybe we are too tied up with our own pain and struggle. I don't know. What I do know is this story is a story of torture and death and abandonment. It is a horror story.
It is also a love story. A story about God in human existence embracing all the worst this world has to offer. Brutality and beastly cruelty, doled out by uncaring institutions and individuals, literally abusing a good and helpless man until His last breath. Except, the story reminds us, not helpless. "Don't you think I could summon an army of angels if I wanted?," He asked. Because, that Man is God. If we take a breath, listen and focus, today each of us has an opportunity to hear, to know, to feel, to experience. It is not easy. It can cause us emotional distress and genuine feelings of loss and sadness. It can also prepare us for greater joy next week, because the resurrection is as real as the crucifixion, and that nasty crucifixion is so very real.
Listen to Matthew today. Hear it. With your mind and heart. Hear it and feel it. Weep. And understand the cost of your salvation, our salvation. Understand and fall on your knees to worship. Understand, rise up, and serve Him. Holy Week has begun, be Holy!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
LOSER!!!!
It happened again. I checked the scores and saw the White Sox were ahead in the last inning 4 to 1. When next I checked it was tied in extra innings. They lost. For the fifth time in this young season they blew a lead at the end of the game.
I hate to lose.
Yet losing seems to be the norm.
Sunday my boy's ball team was in the championship round. They saved him to pitch the first game on Sunday morning as he is a good pitcher. He did his job well giving up two hits and two walks in his four innings. The two runs given up were because of errors. He left with a five to two lead. All was well, victory was in sight. My wife told me later, I spent most of the game wishing you were there, and then the rest of the time so thankful you weren't. His team lost 6 to 5.
There is something about a come from ahead loss, snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, blowing it, throwing it away.... well you get the point.
Now all this begs the question, does it matter? In a sense, I guess it doesn't. In a sense I could say none of it matters, but then, it is fair to counter, what does matter? If my favorite team does not matter, should I have a favorite team? If my son's game doesn't matter, should he play? Is the purpose of life living in a monastery and working in soup kitchen (prayer and service do matter after all)? Lord knows I have sometimes thought that is what I should do. It appeals, but so does the glove and bat. Living life not caring about hardly anything doesn't seem right either. I have read some of the church Fathers. John Chrysostom had a sermon on not going to the games of his day (4th Century) so I know there have been some Christian voices articulating that more strict view of things. Still, I have spent too much time as a youth minister to discount the power of play and games in the life of the young (and young at heart). There is something, dare I say it, God-given about it all. Of course, all things need to be in right order.
Having said that, sitting at the ball park on a breezy sunny day, watching young boys run, hit and catch does have a special feel to it. When my son is running round the bases after connecting on a fastball, there is a sense of joy. It is balanced out, of course, by the strike out and pop up, the failure to deliver, the bad taste of another blown lead and late inning loss. "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat" was a memorable line each Saturday on the Wide World of Sports (pre-cable, hard to imagine that world today!). Yes, winnning and losing are part of life and they produce strong emotions.
As I deal with the post-Christian world I also encounter defeat. When I pray for the sick and counsel the troubled, as often as not, I endure defeat. When I try to get my parishioners to show up for church and commit to the Lord, often times I taste defeat.
Being a loser, whether vicariously or not, is painful. It does not feel good. Sometimes we lose at things that do not matter so much, while other times it seems to be very important. In any case, losing, is a big part of life. As I prepare for Palm Sunday and the reading of the Passion of Jesus Christ, I recall that Jesus was a loser. He failed in so many ways. The earliest and most frequent response to His message was rejection. He was betrayed by one of His intimate friends, denied by another and abandoned by all but a few women. Some people whom He had healed apparently turned on Him. His message was twisted by witnesses into capitol offense. He was tortured and crucified. What better image of a Loser is there than the cross?
Yet, there is more to the story.
There is more to every story.
"Unless you lose your life, you can not gain it."
Losers and winners, Jesus says, will be reshuffled in the end.
It is all a mystery too large to grasp, yet too important to ignore.
Lord Jesus, make me Your Loser, amen!
I hate to lose.
Yet losing seems to be the norm.
Sunday my boy's ball team was in the championship round. They saved him to pitch the first game on Sunday morning as he is a good pitcher. He did his job well giving up two hits and two walks in his four innings. The two runs given up were because of errors. He left with a five to two lead. All was well, victory was in sight. My wife told me later, I spent most of the game wishing you were there, and then the rest of the time so thankful you weren't. His team lost 6 to 5.
There is something about a come from ahead loss, snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, blowing it, throwing it away.... well you get the point.
Now all this begs the question, does it matter? In a sense, I guess it doesn't. In a sense I could say none of it matters, but then, it is fair to counter, what does matter? If my favorite team does not matter, should I have a favorite team? If my son's game doesn't matter, should he play? Is the purpose of life living in a monastery and working in soup kitchen (prayer and service do matter after all)? Lord knows I have sometimes thought that is what I should do. It appeals, but so does the glove and bat. Living life not caring about hardly anything doesn't seem right either. I have read some of the church Fathers. John Chrysostom had a sermon on not going to the games of his day (4th Century) so I know there have been some Christian voices articulating that more strict view of things. Still, I have spent too much time as a youth minister to discount the power of play and games in the life of the young (and young at heart). There is something, dare I say it, God-given about it all. Of course, all things need to be in right order.
Having said that, sitting at the ball park on a breezy sunny day, watching young boys run, hit and catch does have a special feel to it. When my son is running round the bases after connecting on a fastball, there is a sense of joy. It is balanced out, of course, by the strike out and pop up, the failure to deliver, the bad taste of another blown lead and late inning loss. "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat" was a memorable line each Saturday on the Wide World of Sports (pre-cable, hard to imagine that world today!). Yes, winnning and losing are part of life and they produce strong emotions.
As I deal with the post-Christian world I also encounter defeat. When I pray for the sick and counsel the troubled, as often as not, I endure defeat. When I try to get my parishioners to show up for church and commit to the Lord, often times I taste defeat.
Being a loser, whether vicariously or not, is painful. It does not feel good. Sometimes we lose at things that do not matter so much, while other times it seems to be very important. In any case, losing, is a big part of life. As I prepare for Palm Sunday and the reading of the Passion of Jesus Christ, I recall that Jesus was a loser. He failed in so many ways. The earliest and most frequent response to His message was rejection. He was betrayed by one of His intimate friends, denied by another and abandoned by all but a few women. Some people whom He had healed apparently turned on Him. His message was twisted by witnesses into capitol offense. He was tortured and crucified. What better image of a Loser is there than the cross?
Yet, there is more to the story.
There is more to every story.
"Unless you lose your life, you can not gain it."
Losers and winners, Jesus says, will be reshuffled in the end.
It is all a mystery too large to grasp, yet too important to ignore.
Lord Jesus, make me Your Loser, amen!
Monday, April 4, 2011
On patience in a strange world.
This weekend I seemed to either be at church (3 services) or at the baseball diamond (4 games). The weather was warmer and we did not suffer through the the misery of the previous weekend (cold, wet and lots of losses). There was something that happened which did set my mind to pondering.
My son, by virtue of his momma's genes, is a pretty good player. The last two years he was the cleanup hitter and regularly blasted the ball. This year he is on a new team and he has struggled some. He finally began ripping the ball again, but each time it seems to be right at some one. He finally had a couple of good games and the joy was apparent. He is feeling more like himself. In one of the games Saturday he hit a hard line drive which the center fielder made a fine running catch on. His next at bat he hit a flair into center field which dropped in safely, scoring what would prove to be the winning run. After the game, he came strolling up to me with his trademark grin. "I smash the ball and it is out, I get a crummy hit and it falls in!"
Yes, my son, baseball is that way, and so is life!
In hitting there are three key elements. The first is how you swing the bat. There is endless practice and each boy has received many hours of coaching. There are numerous components including balance, swing mechanics and watching the ball. Timing the swing is also vital as well as actually swinging at the ball. This leads to the second element. The pitcher is throwing the ball with the intention of keeping you from hitting it. He throws it hard sometimes and soft at others. He may toss a curve. He tries to throw the ball to places where it is hard to make good contact. A good pitch can neutralize the best swing. This leads to the third element, the umpire. His job is determine if the pitches you don't swing at are balls or strikes. Sometimes the calls he makes helps the batter, other times the pitcher. The umpire is the subjective element which neither player can control.
In life, we can work hard. We can study and practice and hone our skills. We can make every effort to be the best we can be. It is possible that we can reach a level of expertise where we really do things right. Even so, there are times where others are doing their level best to keep us from achieving our goals. There is objective reality making its presence known. Perhaps a natural disaster wipes us out, or maybe a minor mishap. Sometimes the power goes out, or a plane is late, or there's a change in the market place... We cannot prepare for everything and even if we do try real hard, sometimes circumstances prevail. Lastly, there are other people making decisions. Perhaps their perspective is different from ours, but they are in a position of authority. Sometimes the "umpire" blows the call. Whatever the case, all of us live in a world where other people can and do make decisions which negatively impact us.
If you live long enough, you will have had many experiences where you did everything right but it didn't work out. You have also seen times where you got lucky and walked away from a situation knowing full well that you got better than you deserved. Baseball teaches us that you have to play lots of games for things to balance out. We do not always get what we deserve in baseball or life. Sometimes we are lucky, whether the luck is good or bad. I think that in life, like baseball, it is important to remember the importance of the team. If we work together with a good group of folks then we have more hope that we will succeed. It is also important to maintain a good attitude. You cannot get too excited about success and assume it will always come easy. You cannot get too depressed in the face of failure and spend time blaming everyone and everything else. You simply need to recognize that in the end, things do balance out.
I am not particularly good at this. I get frustrated and upset, excited and jubilant. I am an emotional person, so I try to keep my emotions in line. In baseball you win some and you lose some. In life it is the same. But the one thing I never forget is this is my son. I need to be there to watch, to celebrate his victories, to give comfort in his defeats, and to sometimes drive quietly after a long night and just thank God for the gift of a son. We need to be patient as we face our challenges and frustrations. We also need to be greatful. We need to learn to enjoy the game, be it baseball or life!
My son, by virtue of his momma's genes, is a pretty good player. The last two years he was the cleanup hitter and regularly blasted the ball. This year he is on a new team and he has struggled some. He finally began ripping the ball again, but each time it seems to be right at some one. He finally had a couple of good games and the joy was apparent. He is feeling more like himself. In one of the games Saturday he hit a hard line drive which the center fielder made a fine running catch on. His next at bat he hit a flair into center field which dropped in safely, scoring what would prove to be the winning run. After the game, he came strolling up to me with his trademark grin. "I smash the ball and it is out, I get a crummy hit and it falls in!"
Yes, my son, baseball is that way, and so is life!
In hitting there are three key elements. The first is how you swing the bat. There is endless practice and each boy has received many hours of coaching. There are numerous components including balance, swing mechanics and watching the ball. Timing the swing is also vital as well as actually swinging at the ball. This leads to the second element. The pitcher is throwing the ball with the intention of keeping you from hitting it. He throws it hard sometimes and soft at others. He may toss a curve. He tries to throw the ball to places where it is hard to make good contact. A good pitch can neutralize the best swing. This leads to the third element, the umpire. His job is determine if the pitches you don't swing at are balls or strikes. Sometimes the calls he makes helps the batter, other times the pitcher. The umpire is the subjective element which neither player can control.
In life, we can work hard. We can study and practice and hone our skills. We can make every effort to be the best we can be. It is possible that we can reach a level of expertise where we really do things right. Even so, there are times where others are doing their level best to keep us from achieving our goals. There is objective reality making its presence known. Perhaps a natural disaster wipes us out, or maybe a minor mishap. Sometimes the power goes out, or a plane is late, or there's a change in the market place... We cannot prepare for everything and even if we do try real hard, sometimes circumstances prevail. Lastly, there are other people making decisions. Perhaps their perspective is different from ours, but they are in a position of authority. Sometimes the "umpire" blows the call. Whatever the case, all of us live in a world where other people can and do make decisions which negatively impact us.
If you live long enough, you will have had many experiences where you did everything right but it didn't work out. You have also seen times where you got lucky and walked away from a situation knowing full well that you got better than you deserved. Baseball teaches us that you have to play lots of games for things to balance out. We do not always get what we deserve in baseball or life. Sometimes we are lucky, whether the luck is good or bad. I think that in life, like baseball, it is important to remember the importance of the team. If we work together with a good group of folks then we have more hope that we will succeed. It is also important to maintain a good attitude. You cannot get too excited about success and assume it will always come easy. You cannot get too depressed in the face of failure and spend time blaming everyone and everything else. You simply need to recognize that in the end, things do balance out.
I am not particularly good at this. I get frustrated and upset, excited and jubilant. I am an emotional person, so I try to keep my emotions in line. In baseball you win some and you lose some. In life it is the same. But the one thing I never forget is this is my son. I need to be there to watch, to celebrate his victories, to give comfort in his defeats, and to sometimes drive quietly after a long night and just thank God for the gift of a son. We need to be patient as we face our challenges and frustrations. We also need to be greatful. We need to learn to enjoy the game, be it baseball or life!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
RIP Fr. John Sterling
For the last week I have visited Trinity Hospice where a dear friend, Fr. John Sterling lay dying. His death last night, at 7:30 pm, was a welcome relief in many ways. Fr. John was 84 and had buried his wife about six years ago. At her funeral, a part of him died as well. He was never the same. For a time he continued working at St. Andrews, and I believe that this work was a source of meaning for him. Then he had a stroke on the altar. He recovered enough to return to work, but there was a difference. He had always preached from a text, but now it was noticably more difficult for him. One Sunday he had low sugar and again he went down on the altar. He returned a short time later, but it was clear that his time had passed.
It is a sad thing to witness the decline of any person, but especially someone as sweet and loving as John. The last two years, he has been home. He handed over his license. He was sad. I called periodically and went by to see him from time to time. He readily expressed his desire to be done with the earth. He made it clear that he would do nothing to hasten his own end, but made it just as clear that his end could not come soon enough.
Sunday, March 20, marked the seventeenth anniversary of my mother's death. My daughter was born almost exactly a year later. My kids never met her. Perhaps some day they will. I do not know how family connections work in the afterlife. Some people are sure that we will be back together with our kin folks. Such family reunions may be heaven for some. Other people say that if they are with their family for eternity it would be hell. I think that is worthy of pondering, too. I am not sure about family reunions in heaven, but I am clear that the central focus will be the Triune God. We are there to love and serve HIM. Everyone else will be secondary.
Fr. John, was called Fr. Love here. He was much gentler and sweeter than I am. I used to tell him, "at least they like you!" He always had a twinkle in his eye and was known for his jokes. His last sermon here, two years ago, was like hearing the Gospel from Bob Hope. But 'Love' and 'Hope' were part of his faith. He was someone who loved and served the Lord. He had a great sense of joy. He was beloved as well as loving. Now he is gone. As I sat with his corpse, praying, I found myself wondering if he was there with me, seeing it all. In those near-death books people claim that they saw family members around their dead bodies. The Bible does not tell us much about the process of dying. It gives us hope that death is not the final word. But I still find myself wondering. Where is he now? What is it like? Is there a purging needed or is there a process of transformation that takes place quickly and painlessly. What do the spirits of the departed do all day? Is there an "all day" on the other side, or is it timeless and "eternally now"? Lots of question, not many answers. But I do know that John entrusted his life to Jesus and tried to live as a follower of Jesus. That is the only answer I do have. I will share with you the two things he said to me most often: "The Lord does not tell us that we have to be successful, just faithful" and "We need to say our prayers and do our best and leave the rest to the Lord." That is a nice epitath.
It is a sad thing to witness the decline of any person, but especially someone as sweet and loving as John. The last two years, he has been home. He handed over his license. He was sad. I called periodically and went by to see him from time to time. He readily expressed his desire to be done with the earth. He made it clear that he would do nothing to hasten his own end, but made it just as clear that his end could not come soon enough.
Sunday, March 20, marked the seventeenth anniversary of my mother's death. My daughter was born almost exactly a year later. My kids never met her. Perhaps some day they will. I do not know how family connections work in the afterlife. Some people are sure that we will be back together with our kin folks. Such family reunions may be heaven for some. Other people say that if they are with their family for eternity it would be hell. I think that is worthy of pondering, too. I am not sure about family reunions in heaven, but I am clear that the central focus will be the Triune God. We are there to love and serve HIM. Everyone else will be secondary.
Fr. John, was called Fr. Love here. He was much gentler and sweeter than I am. I used to tell him, "at least they like you!" He always had a twinkle in his eye and was known for his jokes. His last sermon here, two years ago, was like hearing the Gospel from Bob Hope. But 'Love' and 'Hope' were part of his faith. He was someone who loved and served the Lord. He had a great sense of joy. He was beloved as well as loving. Now he is gone. As I sat with his corpse, praying, I found myself wondering if he was there with me, seeing it all. In those near-death books people claim that they saw family members around their dead bodies. The Bible does not tell us much about the process of dying. It gives us hope that death is not the final word. But I still find myself wondering. Where is he now? What is it like? Is there a purging needed or is there a process of transformation that takes place quickly and painlessly. What do the spirits of the departed do all day? Is there an "all day" on the other side, or is it timeless and "eternally now"? Lots of question, not many answers. But I do know that John entrusted his life to Jesus and tried to live as a follower of Jesus. That is the only answer I do have. I will share with you the two things he said to me most often: "The Lord does not tell us that we have to be successful, just faithful" and "We need to say our prayers and do our best and leave the rest to the Lord." That is a nice epitath.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Tsunami and Ash Wednesday: Context for discussion
I intend to continue reflecting on "where to draw the line" in the days ahead. It is tricky business and my mind is literally racing in a wide variety of directions. The issues with which we wrestle in the church are literally about life and death. Wars have been fought and many died in the past over religious differences. Today churches are torn apart, families divided and friendships ended over the debates. I am reminded of Jesus' words (paraphrased) "I have come to bring division, not peace" I pray any division generated here comes from Jesus and not me. I pray for salvation, reconciliation and healing in His cross.
All these discussions about our debates need to be in a context. Last week I talked with a priest-friend in Nashville. He reminded me of something I said years ago (as we stood together for the faith). "Some day awful things will happen which will make us forget about our church debates, and miss them as 'the good old days' in comparison." I do believe that still.
Yesterday, like many of you, I saw the video of the Tsunami and earthquake in Japan. The overhead video of the water, choked with floating cars and debris (much of it pieces of shattered houses) was too much to take in. Miles of cities and towns were just washed away. Gone. Today the survivors are living in the horror of the aftermath. The physical and psychological scars will never be healed for many of them. I pictured myself living there. Somehow debates on eucharist or marriage would feel insignificant in the face of such devastating loss and suffering. That is why feelings are not enough.
On Ash Wednesday we spoke of death. We told each person, one at a time, you will die. I shared that I choked up several times as I did this sacred act with word and sign. Memories of the personal losses my parishioners had suffered were stirred up and whispered "death" in my soul. The next day, this global loss screamed in our ears, "DEATH!" It is Ash Wednesday writ large: Death.
One of the debate points of the other side (from mine) is that in the face of all the suffering in the world, shouldn't we focus our church's energies and attention on serving those who are broken by "Death" in its many forms? Can we imagine the Japanese victims of the Tsunami or grieving widows and orphans really want to debate the fine points of theology? The answer, of course, is no. People who watched their entire village swept clean of everything familiar, people sleeping in tents, hungry and cold and heart broken would probably not want to discuss the issues which tear our church apart. But I don't see the advocates of the "new theology" dropping their push to innovate. Seems to me that the "aren't there more important things" argument is a smoke screen. It is an effort to make us stand down so that they can replace the faith of the saints with half truths and falsehoods. I for one am not falling for it. Hiding behind human suffering and tragedy to do such things is wrong.
I do not live in Japan. I live in Collierville. In a little while my family will leave here for a baseball tournament. Across the world most of us will live our lives. Japan is far away. We have experienced sadnes and said our prayers. We have made our contributions and we are living our lives. Two things about that. First, I was struck by the number of home videos of the earthquake shown on the news. If it wasn't so sad it would be comical that in the midst of buildings shaking apart and collapsing roofs, so many Japanses people decided make videos rather than seek cover. Amazing. So people are still people, even in the midst of all the horrors. And second, I am just like them. In the face of trauma, I still am me. I mourn losses, weep and move on. Today my parents will miss my son's games, again. They never watched him play. Mom never even saw him, she died years before he was born. Dad died when Luke was a toddler. I can still recall Luke tapping my dad's dead body saying, "bampa, bampa." That was years ago. The pain, though real, is abated.
The world I live in right now has plenty of room to discuss and debate theological issues. These issues, I said to begin with, are life and death issues. Not just wars. Not just relationships. Life and death issues of eternity. Life and death issues in the Kingdom of God. Should we discuss and debate them? Yes. That is one line I have drawn on my journey of faith.
All these discussions about our debates need to be in a context. Last week I talked with a priest-friend in Nashville. He reminded me of something I said years ago (as we stood together for the faith). "Some day awful things will happen which will make us forget about our church debates, and miss them as 'the good old days' in comparison." I do believe that still.
Yesterday, like many of you, I saw the video of the Tsunami and earthquake in Japan. The overhead video of the water, choked with floating cars and debris (much of it pieces of shattered houses) was too much to take in. Miles of cities and towns were just washed away. Gone. Today the survivors are living in the horror of the aftermath. The physical and psychological scars will never be healed for many of them. I pictured myself living there. Somehow debates on eucharist or marriage would feel insignificant in the face of such devastating loss and suffering. That is why feelings are not enough.
On Ash Wednesday we spoke of death. We told each person, one at a time, you will die. I shared that I choked up several times as I did this sacred act with word and sign. Memories of the personal losses my parishioners had suffered were stirred up and whispered "death" in my soul. The next day, this global loss screamed in our ears, "DEATH!" It is Ash Wednesday writ large: Death.
One of the debate points of the other side (from mine) is that in the face of all the suffering in the world, shouldn't we focus our church's energies and attention on serving those who are broken by "Death" in its many forms? Can we imagine the Japanese victims of the Tsunami or grieving widows and orphans really want to debate the fine points of theology? The answer, of course, is no. People who watched their entire village swept clean of everything familiar, people sleeping in tents, hungry and cold and heart broken would probably not want to discuss the issues which tear our church apart. But I don't see the advocates of the "new theology" dropping their push to innovate. Seems to me that the "aren't there more important things" argument is a smoke screen. It is an effort to make us stand down so that they can replace the faith of the saints with half truths and falsehoods. I for one am not falling for it. Hiding behind human suffering and tragedy to do such things is wrong.
I do not live in Japan. I live in Collierville. In a little while my family will leave here for a baseball tournament. Across the world most of us will live our lives. Japan is far away. We have experienced sadnes and said our prayers. We have made our contributions and we are living our lives. Two things about that. First, I was struck by the number of home videos of the earthquake shown on the news. If it wasn't so sad it would be comical that in the midst of buildings shaking apart and collapsing roofs, so many Japanses people decided make videos rather than seek cover. Amazing. So people are still people, even in the midst of all the horrors. And second, I am just like them. In the face of trauma, I still am me. I mourn losses, weep and move on. Today my parents will miss my son's games, again. They never watched him play. Mom never even saw him, she died years before he was born. Dad died when Luke was a toddler. I can still recall Luke tapping my dad's dead body saying, "bampa, bampa." That was years ago. The pain, though real, is abated.
The world I live in right now has plenty of room to discuss and debate theological issues. These issues, I said to begin with, are life and death issues. Not just wars. Not just relationships. Life and death issues of eternity. Life and death issues in the Kingdom of God. Should we discuss and debate them? Yes. That is one line I have drawn on my journey of faith.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Big Boys Don't Cry
A coule of days ago I heard reports that the Miami Heat basketball team lost another game. I am not a big NBA fan, but I was well aware of the James-Wade-Bosh decision to form a super team last summer. I thought that Cleveland deserved better treatment, but also understand why players would make the decision which they did. Lately, the super team has fallen on hard times and the coach reported after another tough loss that "there were guys crying in the locker room." This was fodder on numerous sports talk shows the next day and I ran across the story several times. Some of the talk conveyed the assumption that crying was not manly.
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. The major theme of the day is repentance. It is also the beginning of Lent, a season of preparation for Holy Week, culminating in the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. There is a close connection between this day and the cross of Jesus for me. I tend to jump from A to Z in my thought processes, so last night on the altar I was transported to April anticipating the emotional service from Good Friday. As I did, I felt a surge of deep emotion. My eyes teared up. Again. You see, I am one of those men who do cry...
Ash Wednesday is a long day. I got to church at 5:40 am, so the 7:00pm eucharist is at the end of a long day. During the day we got word that the priest with whom I had worked for my first eight years at St. Andrews had fallen and suffered head trauma. Fr. John is 84 and has grieved the loss of his wife for many years. A couple of minor strokes and the ravages of age have forced him to give up the church work and driving. He makes it clear that he is ready to join his wife. He is asking God to take him home. So even though he wants to die, I found myself choking up when I talked with his family. I was pretty emotional and know I would cry if I talked about it. It is embarassing to cry in public. I know. I have done it so very many times.
In reading Genesis, I was struck by how often Joseph cries. I think it is like four or five times. In bible study class we read that Elisha the prophet wept when he spoke with a general of Aram because he knew what horrors that man would visit on Israel. I also know that Jesus wept over Jerusalem and wept before the tomb of Lazarus.
What is cryng? Why do we have water come out of our eyes and make strange noises when we are sad? How is it that some people find themselves choking up constantly (me) while others seem able to walk through life composed?
When I preach about the love or mercy of God I choke up. When I speak about Jesus and His call to saving relationship with us I choke up. But sitting here writing this I am not emotionally moved. It is odd to me. I wonder what is going on. I have heard that "the gift of tears" is a movement of the Holy Spirit in our lives. I hope that is true. I know tears are also a natural phenomena, witness the basketball reference above. I know big boys do cry, I have seen many athletes, soldiers and other manly men weep. I also know that it is something with which most men are uncomfortable. That said, I am pretty sure that I will continue to choke up when I preach. I will cry when Fr. John, my friend, dies. I will cry at his funeral even though he wants to pass to the next stage. And I will marvel at this mystery of emotion and wrestle with it and try to figure out what our Father God is doing with all this crying. I just hope that the church continues to be a place where people can cry without shame when they have to. We cry for a reason and sometimes I think we need to. I think God designed us that way.
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. The major theme of the day is repentance. It is also the beginning of Lent, a season of preparation for Holy Week, culminating in the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. There is a close connection between this day and the cross of Jesus for me. I tend to jump from A to Z in my thought processes, so last night on the altar I was transported to April anticipating the emotional service from Good Friday. As I did, I felt a surge of deep emotion. My eyes teared up. Again. You see, I am one of those men who do cry...
Ash Wednesday is a long day. I got to church at 5:40 am, so the 7:00pm eucharist is at the end of a long day. During the day we got word that the priest with whom I had worked for my first eight years at St. Andrews had fallen and suffered head trauma. Fr. John is 84 and has grieved the loss of his wife for many years. A couple of minor strokes and the ravages of age have forced him to give up the church work and driving. He makes it clear that he is ready to join his wife. He is asking God to take him home. So even though he wants to die, I found myself choking up when I talked with his family. I was pretty emotional and know I would cry if I talked about it. It is embarassing to cry in public. I know. I have done it so very many times.
In reading Genesis, I was struck by how often Joseph cries. I think it is like four or five times. In bible study class we read that Elisha the prophet wept when he spoke with a general of Aram because he knew what horrors that man would visit on Israel. I also know that Jesus wept over Jerusalem and wept before the tomb of Lazarus.
What is cryng? Why do we have water come out of our eyes and make strange noises when we are sad? How is it that some people find themselves choking up constantly (me) while others seem able to walk through life composed?
When I preach about the love or mercy of God I choke up. When I speak about Jesus and His call to saving relationship with us I choke up. But sitting here writing this I am not emotionally moved. It is odd to me. I wonder what is going on. I have heard that "the gift of tears" is a movement of the Holy Spirit in our lives. I hope that is true. I know tears are also a natural phenomena, witness the basketball reference above. I know big boys do cry, I have seen many athletes, soldiers and other manly men weep. I also know that it is something with which most men are uncomfortable. That said, I am pretty sure that I will continue to choke up when I preach. I will cry when Fr. John, my friend, dies. I will cry at his funeral even though he wants to pass to the next stage. And I will marvel at this mystery of emotion and wrestle with it and try to figure out what our Father God is doing with all this crying. I just hope that the church continues to be a place where people can cry without shame when they have to. We cry for a reason and sometimes I think we need to. I think God designed us that way.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Root Canal
I went to the dentist yesterday and got the news! I have a dead tooth and a dying tooth. He asked me if I had ever had trauma to the teeth. "Well, let me think...." In second grade I got hit in the mouth by an 8th grader and it chipped the front right. The one next to it was pushed back a bit when my face and the back of someone's head collided. I cannot remember who. I do not recall when. It is all part of my distant past, a time I refer to as "my youth."
So I found myself pondering many things:
Life is a series of losses and gains. We change jobs and we move. Or we keep our jobs and stay put but other people go. New people show up and some become friends. Friends leave and become memories. All the events have impact on us. Sometimes it takes a very long time for the consequences to be manifest. A blow to the mouth half a century ago will impact my time, my wallet and it will probably not be totally pain free. It makes me realize how significant small things can be. Fortunately, I have the money to pay for it and when it is done my mouth will have teeth in it. Still, it is amazing to think the connections in our lives. It makes me want to avoid inflicting any trauma on others. I also wonder about emotional traumas from my youth. Are they manifesting themselves now, too? In light of that, I need to be real careful about how I treat people!
So I found myself pondering many things:
- First of all, "Seriously, a forty five year old trauma killed my tooth? Is there not like a statute of limitation on trauma induced tooth death?"
- Secondly, "Root canal, isn't that one of the images comedians use in their stand up acts to indicate the worst thing? It seems like root canal is synymous with pain.
- Thirdly, how much is this going to cost me? (answer, a whole lot)
- Lastly, pondering my weekly schedule, I just wondered about when I could find time to do all this.
Life is a series of losses and gains. We change jobs and we move. Or we keep our jobs and stay put but other people go. New people show up and some become friends. Friends leave and become memories. All the events have impact on us. Sometimes it takes a very long time for the consequences to be manifest. A blow to the mouth half a century ago will impact my time, my wallet and it will probably not be totally pain free. It makes me realize how significant small things can be. Fortunately, I have the money to pay for it and when it is done my mouth will have teeth in it. Still, it is amazing to think the connections in our lives. It makes me want to avoid inflicting any trauma on others. I also wonder about emotional traumas from my youth. Are they manifesting themselves now, too? In light of that, I need to be real careful about how I treat people!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Morbid
I got an e-mail from a dear friend yesterday. He is facing surgery, pretty serious surgery. He has been very upbeat and positive about it, a model of courage and faith. He shared with me that the recent post on Spring Training had resonated with him. He said I had written it just for him.
One thing he shared is that he tries to remember that every day could be his last. He says that he wants to make sure that whenever he is with someone that he loves, that that person knows how much they mean to him. He went on to say, "I guess this is pretty morbid."
One thing I know about him is he reads the Rule of St. Benedict every year. I was trained in a Benedictine seminary at St. Meninrad, Indiana. One thing that stuck with me was the Benedictine mantra, "Keep death always before you." So I told my friend, "You are not morbid, you are being a good disciple of Benedict."
I am dying. You are dying. Everyone is dying. Sometimes we just get advanced notice of the due date. This could be my last blog because something could happen today. I do not think it is morbid to be aware of that. We just lived through another winter. The trees and bushes are skeletal around here. The grass is yellow. Most of us are not terribly freaked out about this because we have been through plenty of winters. There are also hints of spring. The days ahead will be better. Lot's more sunshine. Warmer weather. Spring foliage. The "death" called winter is not the end. There is hope for tomorrow.
If death is the final word then, yes, by all means, let's pretend it won't happen. Let it pounce upon us unawares like a ravenous lion. Let us numb ourselves to its pending appearance by focusing on fantasies and distractions. But if the story of Jesus is true, then is it not possible to look into the steely eyes of death and the gaping jaws of mortality with hope and even joy?
My friend and I got together yesterday and prayed. He set his life straight with the Lord. We prayed for healing and I annointed him. We hugged. We went on with our day. Did we look at death? Yes. It is foolish to pretend that this operation is not serious. But we looked only briefly and fixed our gaze, instead, on a much greater force: Resurrection Life. He said it best. "I expect it is going to go fine, but I do not want to pretend like this nothing. I am okay however it turns out. I have faith."
Yes, that rings true. Live each day like it may be your last. Tell everyone you love, "I love you." Live a life that matters. And enjoy each day. God loves us and has great plans for our forever! Dying is part of the journey of faith. That is not morbid.
God bless you, R, see you in recovery!
One thing he shared is that he tries to remember that every day could be his last. He says that he wants to make sure that whenever he is with someone that he loves, that that person knows how much they mean to him. He went on to say, "I guess this is pretty morbid."
One thing I know about him is he reads the Rule of St. Benedict every year. I was trained in a Benedictine seminary at St. Meninrad, Indiana. One thing that stuck with me was the Benedictine mantra, "Keep death always before you." So I told my friend, "You are not morbid, you are being a good disciple of Benedict."
I am dying. You are dying. Everyone is dying. Sometimes we just get advanced notice of the due date. This could be my last blog because something could happen today. I do not think it is morbid to be aware of that. We just lived through another winter. The trees and bushes are skeletal around here. The grass is yellow. Most of us are not terribly freaked out about this because we have been through plenty of winters. There are also hints of spring. The days ahead will be better. Lot's more sunshine. Warmer weather. Spring foliage. The "death" called winter is not the end. There is hope for tomorrow.
If death is the final word then, yes, by all means, let's pretend it won't happen. Let it pounce upon us unawares like a ravenous lion. Let us numb ourselves to its pending appearance by focusing on fantasies and distractions. But if the story of Jesus is true, then is it not possible to look into the steely eyes of death and the gaping jaws of mortality with hope and even joy?
My friend and I got together yesterday and prayed. He set his life straight with the Lord. We prayed for healing and I annointed him. We hugged. We went on with our day. Did we look at death? Yes. It is foolish to pretend that this operation is not serious. But we looked only briefly and fixed our gaze, instead, on a much greater force: Resurrection Life. He said it best. "I expect it is going to go fine, but I do not want to pretend like this nothing. I am okay however it turns out. I have faith."
Yes, that rings true. Live each day like it may be your last. Tell everyone you love, "I love you." Live a life that matters. And enjoy each day. God loves us and has great plans for our forever! Dying is part of the journey of faith. That is not morbid.
God bless you, R, see you in recovery!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Why? (2)
"Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come before you; hide not your face from me in the day of trouble." Psalm 102:1
The rest of the psalm consists of a pretty serious litany of "bad stuff." A few of the phrases: "a heart smitten and withered," "lie awake and groan," "reviled all day long," "my days pass away like a shadow." It is raw, it is unabashedly human and it resonates with real life. It is not what one would expect from a Holy Book. There is not much spin at all. Life can be torturously difficult, yet, like the psalmist we can look past our pain and say "But you, O Lord, endure for ever and your name from age to age." That, my friends, is what is called perspective. Seeing things in their proper context. And it is not a simplistic theology which ignores the reality of evil.
One of the most stunning characteristics of the Old Testament is the brutal honesty of the writing. The Jews write their "history" and with few exceptions paint a picture of a people unfaithful and undeserving. It is so different from the sort of happy-clappy propaganda we are used to. The Jews have canonized these texts, claiming that God speaks through these words. Christians have followed this lead and our canon includes similar honesty in the New Testament.
The central story of Christianity is the cross of Christ. When I was a Roman Catholic priest I used to ask parishioners, "How can you go to a church where there is a giant statue of a man on a cross and not figure out that suffering is part of the deal?" One of my complaints in the Episcopal (one of many!) is that we do not have the crucifix. The (weak) response is we live in a resurrection church. Theologically that is true. But existentially the cross is still as real now as it was in 33AD. I do way too much counseling and far too many funerals to ever believe that the days of the cross are long gone. I see it every day and hear the groans of the crucified...
The cross is the story of love in spite of rejection. The cross is the story of self gift and perfect offering/sacrifice. The cross is the story of God "turning away His face." It is abandonment into darkness and gloom. It is pain and horror and tragedy. Without the cross our suffering seems meaningless. Yet, if God has embraced such senseless brutality and taken it into Himself, then perhaps there is hope that our own suffering can have a deeper meaning and value. Even senseless and brutal suffering can make sense. God speaks His word on the cross. But it is not His last word. There is also Easter Sunday. There is also redemption, renewal, new life, the Promise fulfilled.
I am always struck by that detail in the resurrection accounts where Jesus says, "look at my hands and my feet and my side." It is amazing that in His glorified state He takes those wounds with Him. Nothing of His passion is left behind. Amazing.
Some years ago I stood before a freshly dug grave to bury a loved one. I shared then what I believe. "Some people ask 'why me?' My only thought is 'why not?'" The bible teaches, over and again, that God is far away sometimes. It makes it clear that those who love God can still suffer greatly. It makes clear that doubt, fear, struggle, failure are all a fundamental part of the great story of our shared journey in faith. I repeat what I shared yesterday, our task is to love and worship and obey God. Whether things go well or not, our task remains the same. Thanks for sharing in the journey with me.
[I am going with our youth group for a few days. Please pray for us. I will blog again next Week.]
The rest of the psalm consists of a pretty serious litany of "bad stuff." A few of the phrases: "a heart smitten and withered," "lie awake and groan," "reviled all day long," "my days pass away like a shadow." It is raw, it is unabashedly human and it resonates with real life. It is not what one would expect from a Holy Book. There is not much spin at all. Life can be torturously difficult, yet, like the psalmist we can look past our pain and say "But you, O Lord, endure for ever and your name from age to age." That, my friends, is what is called perspective. Seeing things in their proper context. And it is not a simplistic theology which ignores the reality of evil.
One of the most stunning characteristics of the Old Testament is the brutal honesty of the writing. The Jews write their "history" and with few exceptions paint a picture of a people unfaithful and undeserving. It is so different from the sort of happy-clappy propaganda we are used to. The Jews have canonized these texts, claiming that God speaks through these words. Christians have followed this lead and our canon includes similar honesty in the New Testament.
The central story of Christianity is the cross of Christ. When I was a Roman Catholic priest I used to ask parishioners, "How can you go to a church where there is a giant statue of a man on a cross and not figure out that suffering is part of the deal?" One of my complaints in the Episcopal (one of many!) is that we do not have the crucifix. The (weak) response is we live in a resurrection church. Theologically that is true. But existentially the cross is still as real now as it was in 33AD. I do way too much counseling and far too many funerals to ever believe that the days of the cross are long gone. I see it every day and hear the groans of the crucified...
The cross is the story of love in spite of rejection. The cross is the story of self gift and perfect offering/sacrifice. The cross is the story of God "turning away His face." It is abandonment into darkness and gloom. It is pain and horror and tragedy. Without the cross our suffering seems meaningless. Yet, if God has embraced such senseless brutality and taken it into Himself, then perhaps there is hope that our own suffering can have a deeper meaning and value. Even senseless and brutal suffering can make sense. God speaks His word on the cross. But it is not His last word. There is also Easter Sunday. There is also redemption, renewal, new life, the Promise fulfilled.
I am always struck by that detail in the resurrection accounts where Jesus says, "look at my hands and my feet and my side." It is amazing that in His glorified state He takes those wounds with Him. Nothing of His passion is left behind. Amazing.
Some years ago I stood before a freshly dug grave to bury a loved one. I shared then what I believe. "Some people ask 'why me?' My only thought is 'why not?'" The bible teaches, over and again, that God is far away sometimes. It makes it clear that those who love God can still suffer greatly. It makes clear that doubt, fear, struggle, failure are all a fundamental part of the great story of our shared journey in faith. I repeat what I shared yesterday, our task is to love and worship and obey God. Whether things go well or not, our task remains the same. Thanks for sharing in the journey with me.
[I am going with our youth group for a few days. Please pray for us. I will blog again next Week.]
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Funerals and Survivors
Yesterday I had another funeral. In ten days I have been at Collierville Funeral Home three times. The first time it was to preach at a generic Christmas service for those who had lost loved ones in the past year. On Friday and Tuesday it was for fathers, one in his 50's and the other in his 80's. Although I had met both men they did not attend my parish church.
What is the message for people left behind? I believe strongly in mourning and weeping. Too often people seem to equate tears with weakness. I have to think that the reactions which come naturally at a time of great loss serve some healthy function. I do not understand why burying someone you love should be considered "no big deal." It seems to me frequently other people want the mourner to "hold it together" because that way it does not impinge on them.
There is no surprise that people who have suffered a great loss need to mourn. I share this more as a reminder. Many people around you are experiencing their first Christmas without someone whom they love. Compassion is a valuable response to such a situation. If you know someone who has had a loss the last few years it is generally more helpful to ask them how they are doing. Some of us are freaked out by a tear that is shed, but try to accept that the emotion you see is something buried inside of them. Losses make us feel lonely. That loneliness does not need to be compounded by the indifference, or even worse, the harsh criticism of others around us. It may not be so much fun for those who have suffered losses. Love them and be kind.
What is the message for people left behind? I believe strongly in mourning and weeping. Too often people seem to equate tears with weakness. I have to think that the reactions which come naturally at a time of great loss serve some healthy function. I do not understand why burying someone you love should be considered "no big deal." It seems to me frequently other people want the mourner to "hold it together" because that way it does not impinge on them.
There is no surprise that people who have suffered a great loss need to mourn. I share this more as a reminder. Many people around you are experiencing their first Christmas without someone whom they love. Compassion is a valuable response to such a situation. If you know someone who has had a loss the last few years it is generally more helpful to ask them how they are doing. Some of us are freaked out by a tear that is shed, but try to accept that the emotion you see is something buried inside of them. Losses make us feel lonely. That loneliness does not need to be compounded by the indifference, or even worse, the harsh criticism of others around us. It may not be so much fun for those who have suffered losses. Love them and be kind.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Funerals
Today I have a funeral. She was dear to me. My best friend from high school is burying his mom tomorrow. I cannot be there. I was asked last night to visit a man dying of cancer this Thursday. I am a priest so I have a role to play in such challenging circumstances. At some level our faith is "you are going to a better place." The implication sometimes is "if you have real faith death is no big deal." Yet I find I often cry at funerals (which makes it tricky when you are preaching) and I am often sad.
Jesus wept before the tomb of Lazarus. There are different theories as to why. My guess is it just made Him sad. There is something sad about loss and pain. Yesterday I shared some of the sadness of being with friends whom I have not seen in many years. There is loss there. These are men with whom I shared a deep bond. We had a connection at a core level. Somehow a decade passed and we have done little more than e-mail or phone on occassion. It made me aware of what I had lost.
I believe this desire for life and friendship and companionship are placed in us by God. The big hole in each of us will be totally filled some day. Every tear will be wiped away. We will gather to worship together. Better days are coming. In the mean time we need to be brave and faithful
Jesus wept before the tomb of Lazarus. There are different theories as to why. My guess is it just made Him sad. There is something sad about loss and pain. Yesterday I shared some of the sadness of being with friends whom I have not seen in many years. There is loss there. These are men with whom I shared a deep bond. We had a connection at a core level. Somehow a decade passed and we have done little more than e-mail or phone on occassion. It made me aware of what I had lost.
I believe this desire for life and friendship and companionship are placed in us by God. The big hole in each of us will be totally filled some day. Every tear will be wiped away. We will gather to worship together. Better days are coming. In the mean time we need to be brave and faithful
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