Sightings

Janet (not her real name) is one of the young activity assistants whom I have come to deeply admire. She works during the day in a rehab hospital, and she does so with much attention and good cheer. She attends school at night and has done so for as long as I have known her. She lives at home and helps her father care for her mother who has been ill for some time. Last month when I asked her how her studies were going, she told me she was about to graduate and then was planning to go on to study Occupational Therapy.

"The baby boomers are starting to show up, and I think OT is a logical step from what I am doing now," she explained.  I know her thinking makes sense, because I, too, am seeing boomers in skilled nursing and rehab. I have said more than once that the ministry for me is becoming for me not a ministry for elders, but a ministry among peers.  However,  I must have had a concerned look on my face because the director, who was also taking part in the conversation laughed robustly, and said, "I know. The only reason I am letting her do this is because she has promised to return to take care of us."     

 

When I first began in this ministry, I often felt I was on the frontier with the elders I serve.  While yes, I still move among the old and the very old, more and more I realize this frontier is also my own.  In some ways, this knowing makes the ministry even more honest for me. I come, not to do something for others, but rather to simply be with those I love. We are in this together, and the vulnerability I extol every day is very much my own.   

  

Come, eat of my bread 

and drink of the wine I have mixed. 

Lay aside immaturity and live, 

and walk in the way of insight. 

Proverbs 8:5-6

  

Lights

Today as I walked up to the long term care home, I saw John sitting by the front windows.  Unless he is out for dialysis, that is generally where I can find him.  He waved, and I waved back. We then gathered with others for Bible study and conversation.  Wanda, who seldom speaks and when she does it is just above a whisper, surprised me when she began to sing "Jesus Loves Me," in a beautiful soft gospel style.  Most of us could not resist joining in. A glorious sound emerged with Wanda in the lead. Afterwards, John added, "I have finally come to understand that what really matters is how I think about things. We here are survivors and we need to keep reminding ourselves of that. As it says in Matthew 5:16, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works."

  

There are days when I worry that maybe I am just not a very good minister.  Today, I was reminded it has never been about me.  Blessed be.

I Worried

 Mary Oliver

I worried a lot.  Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,

can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows

can do it and I am, well,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

am I going to get rheumatism,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up.  And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

Epiphany Blessings

It is still dark. The rains grow heavy.  Our Christmas lights are on, and the candles are lit. The coffee Tyler made is very good.  Jack is curled up beside me as he usually is most mornings.  I hear the traffic and I am grateful I do not have to stir too quickly this morning.  

  

  

Revelation. It may not come to us in the form of heavenly hosts.

It may come in a whisper, in a noticing, in a glance. 

It may come in a dream or as we cross a parking lot. 

It may come in the midst of rejoicing, 

but most times, it comes

 in the midst of despair. 

The moment when we realize that life 

can never be grasped or fully understood, 

and vulnerability begins  

all over again. 

At that point, we are given a gift. 

A glorious, wonderful gift. 

We are given love. 

  

Blessings on your journey today, and always.  

  

    

Isaiah 43:19

Although it is early in the day, I want to give the flowers the last word in 2015.  They have been wonderful, and wonder- filled way stations for me this year.  Thank you for walking with me.  Blessings on your journey. Know that God is doing something new and wonderful with you and through you, and you are beautiful.

See, I am doing a new thing!
 Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.  

A Tiny Part of the Kingdom

Yesterday I was in a community dedicated to the care of those with Alzheimer's. The folks gathered with me were surprisingly quiet, including the staff. I was grateful to see Lois among those gathered. I have never heard her speak, but when she looks at me and smiles, I know her brightness could guide me through any storm. Nancy was far more subdued than usual.  She said she had not been feeling well.  She did not even want a song sheet. That concerned me; she has a very sweet voice and loves to sing.  Fortunately, we were singing carols, and she could not resist joining in, and a smile returned to her.  I met a new resident, a former professor of literature, who asked for a prayer for his wife who still lives at home.  

 

As I began the transition into communion, I felt the room fill with love.  There were no visible changes to the people, but love seemed to be everywhere. Not everyone here can take communion, but a surprising number do. It is very humbling to serve them; most of then struggle with even simple physical acts. As I served the staff, I was struck by how weary they looked. They all had worked Christmas. I blessed each one who had come to rest a moment in worship.  Like good shepherds, they come to watch over the residents, but I know they also come because in worship, they can pause, and be loved.

 

When I read the following prayer this morning, I felt God's gentle encouraging nudge, gathering me in. I heard Jesus saying that the burden is light, and that light is really all I am asked to carry.  This prayer was written by the late Bishop of Saginaw, Michigan, Ken Untener, and came to me through the Contemplative Life Weekly Update. I am grateful.  

Dear Friends,
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.

The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.   

In the Temple

Just before Christmas, I had a surprise as I was serving communion in a skilled nursing community. As I placed the wafer on the tongue of one of the elders and said, "The bread and the cup, life eternal in Christ," she leaned over and kissed the cup. She then folded her hands, whispered what I must assume was a prayer, looked up, and said thank you. The moment startled me with both its swiftness and its tenderness. It was a vivid reminder that yes, I purchased the cup years ago and yes, when I am working I carry it everywhere, the cup does not belong me. It belongs to those I serve. Tonight I think of Simeon and Anna who waited with patience in the temple until the baby Jesus was presented to them. They did not hold on to him, but simply gave thanks. Perhaps when Mary and Joseph heard their blessings given by Simeon and Anna, they, too, knew they could not hold on, but accept that he would bloom in his time.    

She was very old; she lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying (Luke 2:36-37).   

    

Walking and Waiting

As Jack and I take our morning walks, I often see neighbors hurrying to their cars to go to work or get the children to school, or both.  I sometimes see an older man and woman slowly walk to their car with an even older neighbor who used to drive around town in a decades old yellow BMW, but who is barely able to walk with a walker.  I see neighbors walking their dogs, and kids joking with one another on their way to school. They are mostly on foot, but sometimes they zip around on skateboards and bikes.  One day I even spotted a young man walking and reading, not an electronic device, but rather an old fashioned paperback book. I frequently see a tall man with a pack walking with his slender dog.  I see them all over town so they walk a lot; it could be how they spend their days.  

 

While I try to avoid it, I sometimes must cross a particularly busy intersection.  There is little that happens leisurely at this crossroads.  At one corner is a small gas station that can get quite congested in the mornings. Across the street is a convenience store.  On either side of the street is a bus stop. It is here that people get on the freeway to head north or turn to go south to either BART or 880. I am often surprised at how loud traffic can be even when someone does not feel compelled to honk a horn to hurry things along. Even with traffic lights, the chaos, frustration, and distraction are barely contained.    

 

It was on such morning, as two drivers were honking at each other in the midst of busy traffic, when I noticed a  man simply standing at the bus stop by the gas station.  His stillness was in sharp contrast to the flurry of exasperation that was occurring all around him. 

 

I see him now about twice a month. I cannot tell whether or not he is homeless, but  I am certain his life has not been easy.  The knit cap he probably wears every day has been around for quite sometime. His jacket and other clothes are muted yellows, beige, and browns, faded from long wear. 

 At first, he would not look in our direction, but eventually he began to nod when he saw us, but then would look away.  We have now moved to a smile and a slight wave.  I have never actually seen him get on a bus, but I must assume that he does. However, for me, he is the one who waits.  There is nothing he can do to make the bus come more quickly. He has no horn to sound to clear the way. He does not appear to have any device to make a phone call, check an email, or take a photograph. I have never seen him with the ubiquitous paper cup obtained from either the convenience store or one of the coffee shops down the street.  Unlike most of us, he simply waits.  

 

Jesus walked much. But as he walked, I think he also waited. That is why people could find him. He had been waiting for them all along.  

  

Stand at the cross roads and look;

ask for the ancient paths,

ask where the good way is,

and walk in it,

and you will find rest for your souls.    

 

Jeremiah 6:16