Awaken

"What are you doing sound asleep? Get up, call on your god!" 

Jonah 1:6  

 

This passage came up in my morning devotional.  Jonah, believing that he could avoid God's call to go to Nineveh, boards a ship heading to Tarshish.  A storm has come up, and the men on the ship are all crying to their deities to save them.  The captain wants Jonah to join in this mighty chorus.   At this moment, Jonah realizes the futility of trying to run from God.  Yet, even with this understanding, like most of us, Jonah never does live fully into his role as Prophet Par Excellence.  He does eventually go to Nineveh and tells them of God's distress with them. Surprisingly, they listen and  repent. Yet, Jonah, so wrapped up in his Jonahness, cannot be happy for the change in the people. There is no sense that he fell in love with those he walked among. Therefore the story feels incomplete, but perhaps that is the doorway for us to step through. We are called to live that love.   

 

Holy One, as families, friends, and communities gather for Thanksgiving, help us to fall in love. Help us to be gentle with one another and accept one another. May our different traditions deepen our appreciation for all your people. May we not be burdened by our preparations, but rather go about them with a sense of joyous anticipation. Let us see the beauty in each Thanksgiving gathering, and then enable us to go out and share that beauty and gratitude with your world.  Amen.  

  

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.   

     

Still Light

In the waning light, 

I go to the driveway to sweep

 before the night's expected rain.  

I am never terribly neat about all these leaves, 

but I do try to keep the drains clear;

they are not terribly efficient either.   

 

A neighbor walks by slowly, 

letting his old dog keep up.  

We often say hello, 

but today, he stops, 

and we talk of leaf fall.     

The leaves are not yet done, 

nor are we,

so we take a little bit of time

to look up and speak

of leaves and trees 

and the messy beauty 

of it all.   

   

   

Eucharist

The word Eucharist woke me at 2:00 a.m. Sunday morning.  I had to get up and find out exactly what the word meant. I discovered that it comes from the Greek work eucharistia which means thanksgiving.  Eucharist is not a word that is heard much in Protestant services, but it is used at Hesed, the Benedictine community I am blessed to pray with. Eucharist is celebrated on Wednesday nights, and I try to join them whenever possible. Regardless of where Communion is celebrated, how it is served, or what words are used, thanksgiving must be at the heart of the practice.  Without gratitude, we cannot be fully in relationship with God.   

   

On Saturday, my first SpiritCare service was held in a community that cares for those suffering from chronic mental illness.  I noticed that several of them were drowsy, which is often a side effect of the strong medications that many of them must take. With the exception of the parakeet who was in full voice (I have sung with several birds over the years!), not many in the room were singing.  Yet, when it came time for Holy Communion, most of them accepted it with gratitude.  

 

While I was praying over the wafers and the cup, and indeed giving thanks to God for gathering us in, I noticed a caregiver help a resident sip some liquid out of a small plastic glass. Whether it was juice or medication or both I do not know, but it seemed very much a moment of Holy Communion: the offering and taking in of that which encourages healing. I suggested that we all should think of Communion anytime we are drinking, eating, or taking medication; it is all an offering that comes from God for God's people. Communion is a communal act, even when it occurs in private.  Through it, we are brought into relationship with all that is mortal and temporary, divine and eternal.   

 

As we were packing up our things after worship, one of the residents asked the pianist how long she has been playing the piano. Mary (not her real name) laughed and said since she was a child. She added,  "You think I would be playing better by now!"  Dawn very seriously replied, "No, you play beautifully." She was quiet for a moment or two and then told us she used to play, but cannot now because she has no sheet music. Mary, who by then was in her full music teacher mode, walked over to her and said, "I will bring you some music. What do you like to play?"  Dawn replied, "Classical." At that point, Mary brought out a copy of the hymn, "This Is My Father's World" and said, "This is not classical, but would you like this for now?"  Dawn replied that she liked that hymn very much and gently accepted the offering. Communion may not give us what we think we want, but rather what we need.     

 

In some ways, taking part in Holy Communion is like a handshake. We agree to accept God's love, but we also agree to accept one another. This is how we live into Christ: with one another.  A friend recently told me, "Sue Ann, you are no longer an only child."  None of us are. Let us give thanks. 

     

   

We are meant to eat of this bread, to sit down at this feast. When we as people live for that bread and cast our lot with it, we create nothing less that the kingdom for which Jesus gave his life. It is all around us, all the time, this beautiful world, just about to happen.   

Nora Gallagher, The Sacred Meal    

  

Knowing, One Gesture at a Time

This morning, while standing in the kitchen waiting for the tea to brew, I became aware that I was happy. I just knew that everything was going to work out just fine.  I did not know what "everything" was, or even how to define what fine is. I just knew, and also knew I did not need to know.  I thought, "This must be  freedom."   

Later that morning, I was leading worship in a skilled nursing community.  Many of the patients there I have known for years. I have seen their ups and their downs, and they have seen mine.  So, while we were in the midst of singing a lovely old Thanksgiving hymn, I could not help but become aware of a man whom I did not know as he was being wheeled into the room.  He looked to be about my age, and he looked to be quite unhappy. A resident handed him a song sheet, but he rebuffed the offer.  I was singing at the time, so I simply smiled at him and nodded my head to try to let him know he was welcomed.  

During the next hymn I noticed him mimic me, not in a flattering way, and then make an obscene gesture.  I knew the activity assistant did not see him because she would have been mortified. I kept on singing, but when he looked toward me, I looked at him directly, smiled, and simply lifted the index finger of my left hand.  Those of you who ever met my father knew this was how he acknowledged that he had seen you.  Just one finger, lifted. My father had spoken; this  man knew he had been seen.   

Had I been a much younger chaplain, such a gesture by a patient or resident might have thrown me.  However, I am not a young chaplain.  I am old enough to understand this man's pain at finding himself, not large and in charge, but in a gurney listening to Thanksgiving hymns. Not only that, these hymns were being led not by an angel, but rather someone very real, close to his own rather sagging age, accompanied by a choir mostly in wheel chairs.  For some, this can be a source of solace.  For others, it can be perceived only as a defeat.  I saw this and in my own way, my one finger salute was an acknowledgement of this. However, he was not interested, and he was certainly not interested in communion. A caregiver came and began to wheel him out of the room. I thanked him for being with us. He kind of smiled. About that time, Emma tugged at my sleeve and said, "You did not offer me communion." I had given her a blessing, but it was true; I had not offered her communion. I turned and reminded her that she has for years told me she was Buddhist and that she had always declined the invitation.  She laughed and shrugged; I gave her communion and we hugged.      

Tonight I think of the chaplain who might come after me. He or she may be young, or may be older.  Nonetheless, I feel a sense of wanting that person to know that I did my best to lay down a path of love.  And that yes, everything will be okay. The tea will brew; communion will be served, and all kinds of communication will go on.  We have God to thank for it all: one embracing gesture, one knowing, one hug at a time.    

For These Times (and always)

"The point for us all, perhaps, is to never give up on life and never to doubt that every bit of kindness, every tender touch we lay upon another in life can heal what might otherwise have died, certainly in them, perhaps even in ourselves."  

Sister Joan Chittister, The Rule of St. Benedict     

   

In this manner, we can all be activists.  Last week, in a skilled nursing community, one of the residents told me that she was happy being there.  We both smiled, but I did feel my eyebrows raise. She shyly said, "I know; that was not the case in the beginning." Yet, in the few months that had passed since her somewhat stormy arrival, she found herself falling in love with her fellow residents, and staff members. That is healing on a deep level; the kind of healing that changes the lives of not only those who are healed, but others around them. She, too, will become a healer.  I have a sense of God's healing as a trade wind; it cannot be seen, but it moves perpetually through our lives wherever we are, and always brings us to love.  

As we move through this day, let us practice kindness. We just never know whom it will touch, and change. Christians, let us be Christ, so Buddhists can be Buddhas, and in all walks of faith and life people can live into their best selves. 

      

    

       

Call and Response

Very early in my ministry, I walked over to say hello to a woman sitting quietly in a wheelchair. Even from a few steps away, I could tell she probably had some form of dementia, but I was stunned when I looked into her eyes and saw absolutely no light coming from them. She did not stir, and it was only the gentle rise and fall of her chest that let me know she was still living.  At that moment, I silently began to argue with God. How could this be?  I confess that for a moment or two I actually became somewhat petulant; indignant that one could be continuing to live in such a manner.  "God, do you not see that it is time for her to move on?" 

The answer almost immediately came into my mind. I would probably never know the answers. Furthermore, to pursue those answers was not why I was called into the ministry.  Those questions were for others. My role was to be present, and that meant I was called to witness and to love. I humbly accepted the "response," and gave her a blessing. I never saw her again. Yet, I think of her when I start once again to question how God can let what is happening happen. I think of her when I need to be reminded to love.  

  

There are, of course, a lot of those questions, and worse, going on right now.  Therefore, when I came across this passage from Ephesians in my morning reading, I found both solace and guidance.  I was reminded once again that sometimes, even when we do manage to come up with a few answers, however brilliant we or others may find them, there is much more that we cannot yet know. 

    

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.     

   

Ephesians 3:14-19 NRSV  

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Veterans Day

An elder recently reminded me that Veterans Day used to be called Armistice Day and was originated to commemorate the truce signed between the Allies and Germany, bringing an end to WWI.  She has memories of being in school when on the 11th day, of the 11th month, at the 11th hour, the children would stop what they were doing and stand for a moment of silence. 

 

Wars and conflicts rage on, including those on our streets.  Veterans have given up much just so we can share a moment of peace.  Let us not squander it.