Thanks to all you good folks, for your prayers this past week. God has indeed been with all of us as Gram walked into the Valley of Shadows, peacefully and painlessly, as we all had hoped for her. Visitation was Wednesday, and the funeral was yesterday, down in the little church where she was baptized and married. Two days of saying goodbye, amid the blessing of family too seldom seen.
And amid all of this, CPE continues apace. I had my first on call Tuesday and it was a busy night. The short summary: kids and cars do not mix. My next one is tomorrow.
I'll try to blog more about that later-- tonight I am just too tired to think.
Several years ago, my family and I lived in Illinois, not too far from what was once the largest mental health facility in the state. It's not, anymore. In the 1970's and early 80's, the laws regarding the institutionalization of the mentally ill were reformed; it was no longer legal to keep someone who was not deemed "a danger to him/herself, or to society." And so, many of the people who had been living there were released; the population of the facility dropped by 90% in only a few years.
Like many of our society's laws, this one had both positive and negative effects. Some of the people released were the folks the reformers had in mind. They did not need the institutional setting to function; they found support, and fared well. Others did not. They were unable to cope with standards and expectations for daily living in our culture-- maintaining a home, holding down a job, even simple social interaction. Many of these became part of the homeless population in the area.
One of these was a woman named Rita, whom I got to know when I volunteered at the local shelter there. Rita was, in many ways, typical of the mentally ill people we saw at the shelter. Her sojourns with us followed a cyclical pattern. When she was in the hospital, taking medication and receiving counseling, she seemed to be able to cope; and so she'd be released. But after a while, she would stop the meds ("too expensive"), and miss her counseling appointments ("unnecessary"), and spiral downward into her own world, unable to deal with society in any appropriate fashion and uninterested in trying. So then she would be picked up, put back in the hospital, and the cycle would start again.
Rita was also, sometimes, one of our parishioners. As you might probably imagine, this could be difficult for other parishioners to deal with, because both her conversation and her behavior could be-- well, odd. Sometimes she was hard to understand; and sometimes, quite frankly, she was a pain in the neck-- especially from the ushers' point of view. She had this habit of picking up several bulletins on her way into worship. Over the course of the service, she would methodically shred them into tiny pieces. Sometimes she'd stack the pieces in tidy piles; but other days, she'd scatter them like confetti across her pew.
Fortunately, she was not as deeply disturbed as the possessed man in this morning's gospel. By our contemporary standards, he would certainly be classed as dangerous to himself, and kept in the hospital. However, the population around A.D. 30 was not so... well... enlightened; so he was sent out to live among the tombs, where at least he wouldn't hurt anyone else. No one wanted anything to do with him-- he was not only unclean, but unsafe.
But Jesus saw him differently. Not only saw him, but spoke to him; recognized "from a distance" that this man was more than the spirit that controlled him. He was a child of God who needed healing. He loved him enough to reach out, into a dangerous place, to accomplish that. From Jesus' point of view, he was worth it.
Point of view makes a difference, doesn't it? Just as God reminds Job that God looks at the world from a very different perspective, so Jesus teaches us that we need to look beyond human standards of value and acceptability. This is vital to keep in mind if we are going to follow as disciples. If we only see one another with what Paul calls "a human point of view," we’re missing the very core of what it means to live a life in Christ.
So, what does that mean-- to look at things from God's point of view? Well, there's a question that folks have been debating for millennia, so I won't even pretend to have a complete answer to that question; but I think that we start by looking at God.
Sounds so simple, doesn't it? Easier said than done, I know. I mean, look at the struggle the apostles had-- and Jesus was right there with them.
Of course, it's hard not to sympathize with them. The storm is raging, the boat is rocking wildly, and there lies Jesus-- snuggled up and snoozing in a corner. Can't you just hear the conversation?
"What's with him?"
"Doesn't he understand the gravity of the situation?"
"He obviously doesn't have a clue about dealing with real life!"
So they wake him up, in a panic; and he calms the storm, and tries to show them that they were looking at it all wrong-- through the eyes of human fear, instead of godly faith.
You can hardly blame the apostles. This is a picture, a point of view, that is really hard to comprehend: that the Creator of the Universe, the One who "laid the foundations of the earth," and the guy sawing logs in the back of the boat are one in the same.
And yet, that's the lesson that Jesus came to share with us. In spite of our sins, and clueless squabbles, and blind misunderstandings, God sees us as incredibly precious sons and daughters. So much so that, as scripture says, "He gave his only begotten Son." To die for us, yes; but also to live with us-- eating meals, and swapping stories, and taking walks, and napping in the corner of the boat. To help us see God from a better point of view; and one another as well.
Seeing one another from God's point of view can also be incredibly difficult. I'm spending my summer as a chaplain intern-- part of the Clinical Pastoral Education required for my seminary degree. Mother Tina's done this several times, and is currently in the middle of a similar CPE program here in South Bend; you've probably heard her speak of it. My CPE program is at the University of Chicago Hospitals, located on Chicago's South Side. I've been working at the UCH for only a few weeks, and have already seen some horrific things- men, women and children suffering horrendously as a result of abuse, and neglect, and evil. I think of the people who have inflicted this harm; and some days it would be easy to say, "Why bother? How can people who behave so atrociously be worth saving?"
But to God, and for God's own reasons, they are. We all are. I don't know how, and I certainly don't believe this means that violent perpetrators should not suffer the consequences of their behavior; but I also believe that no one is irredeemable. Again, Paul says it better than I can: "In Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself." The whole world, not just my preferred piece of it.
Reconciliation. That's what we're about, here. In looking up the word, my dictionary sends me to the verb form, reconcile, which means "to reestablish a close relationship between."
There's the key. We are not asked to create something from nothing. The relationship is already there, established as part of creation, "in the beginning." It is made available again in the life of Jesus, and in His death and resurrection. What we are asked to do is to look for it. To point it out. To be aware, and to make others aware. We are sinners, yes-- but beloved, nonetheless. Hear that, brothers and sisters. God already sees something valuable in all of us. You... me... Rita... the homemaker at the grocery store; and the prisoner on death row. The abused, and the oppressed-- as well as the abuser and the oppressor. God wants to reconcile the whole world to himself. And here’s the amazing part-- He is "entrusting the message of reconciliation to us."
Reconciliation. "We are ambassadors for Christ," Paul says, "since God is making his appeal through us." Because we are disciples, we have the responsibility to share that joy, that relationship, in any way we can.
No one says that it will be easy. There will always be those who refuse to listen; and, even without the extreme examples, we all have people in our lives who are hard to love. So far as I know, Rita's paper shredding still irritates the ushers on Sunday morning. But my brothers and sisters, the effort is ours to make.
After morning report, we were free to spend the rest of the day on our rounds. I started by hanging out in the surgery waiting area, just being available to both patients waiting to be called up to surgery, and families waiting for patients to come out of recovery. My supervisor calls this "loitering with intent." I like it-- had a couple of families to chat with, over the course of my time there. Then I trotted over to the burn unit. No new patients today, thank heaven, and the folks who were there are all healing well. There's currently three kids on the unit-- two toddlers and a preteen, with whom I enjoyed some smart alecky banter.
I got my first unit page this afternoon. One of the nurses on the 4th floor called; and when I arrived, she took me back to the patient, saying "Mrs. X, the chaplain's here." I liked that-- it's beginning to feel like that's who I am.
One thing I notice-- I can be tired, or nervous, or preoccupied when I'm wandering the hallways. But all that goes away when I walk into a patient's room. It's like... suddenly everything focuses. Then I walk out, and I'm sluggish and drained. When you offer yourself to be used by God, God takes the offer seriously, you know?
Then, like most evenings, I spent some time with Gram.
I guess it's been a few days since I posted, hasn't it? Sorry about that-- life gets busy sometimes.
We spent the weekend watching softball. It's Tri-Town Tournament time: 15 teams, double elimination. And at the end, Carolyn's team won! There was one knucklebiter of a game on Saturday, that went 12 innings (regulation play is 7); but that was the biggest challenge. Lots of fun.
Then Monday, back to CPE. We've finished orientation tours, and started rounds yesterday. Generally the nursing staff on the floors were quite welcoming, although often unsure what to make of us-- they haven't had chaplain interns in a couple of years, and the idea of daily pastoral rounds was a new one to some of them.
Generally I had a good day. I managed not to get lost (more of an achievement than it sounds-- this place is HUGE), and the patients I with whom I spoke seemed glad of the visit. I did learn that my 4th floor units were different than I realized-- one is general surgery, but the other is the transplant unit. They do a lot of that here; exciting stuff.
Here's a very odd thing: it turned out that I had a connection with the first two patients with whom I spoke. One is the son of Kyle's school principal, and the other is married to a woman who graduated high school with me. Startlingly small world, isn't it?
I'm headed to bed soon, so this is going to be short tonight.
We got a glimpse of the Child Life Department-- a very cool place-- and talked with a wonderfully enthusiastic Community Outreach rep. We also finished our hospital tours, wandering through various departments, and meeting lots of folks whose names I will no doubt have to ask again before they sink into my brain.
We finished the day by setting up our call rotation (we each will take 6, 24-hour on-call shifts: 4 weekday, 2 weekend) and choosing unit assignments for our daily rounds. We each have 2 general wards, and 1 Critical Care floor. I will be working in the surgical waiting area, on one of the general/surgical floors, and the ICU Burn Unit.
Today we talked some about the requirements of CPE-- verbatims, reflections, daily reports and the like. Notably, we learned about the technique of Story Theology-- a process of reflection on stories we share, as a way of doing theology. Trevor, you'd love this-- it's right up your alley.
We also got a couple more departmental tours, in Emergency Services and ICU/Critical Care. The ER director is a stitch, and a very tough lady-- about what I'd expect would be necessary in a department (actually, two-- they have separate ER's for pediatrics and adults) that serves an average of 130 patients daily. They see the gamut, here on the south side of the city; from folks with ear infections to gunshot victims, and a few bizarre things I wouldn't have thought of, in between. She's really comfortable with the role we fill as chaplains, and says that she calls for us all the time.
But the area that I found myself more drawn to was critical care. There are 5 floors in the ICU "D Tower," as they call it: burn unit, neuro, surgical, cardiac, and general medical. Peds/neonatal ICU are over in the childrens' hospital. The Director of this department (a former Benedictine monk!) is highly educated (board certified in two different areas, entitled to tack more letters behind his name than are in it), and very personable. He's not entirely sure how a chaplain might most effectively be used in his area, because they have not had one assigned regularly before. He's open to it though, and talks of an interdisciplinary focus, especially in the burn unit, necessary in beginning to heal the whole patient, not just the injury/illness. We talked a little about the patients'/families needs for spiritual and pastoral care, and also mentioned that we were available to speak with the medical staff, which I think had not occurred to him before.
Between the tours we had a midday luncheon, attended by various folks whose jobs/departments will interact with ours-- Social Services, Community Outreach, Family Advocacy, etc. We were very warmly welcomed; they seem delighted to be part of reopening CPE (ours is the first class after a significant and apparently necessary hiatus) at the hospital, and to be part of our learning process. Kind, helpful people.
Tomorrow we meet and tour with the directors of Child Life, Family Advocacy and Community Outreach. Then we will choose our unit assignments.
CPE, that is: Clinical Pastoral Education (or, as Tripp says, Pastoral Boot Camp). Most of the area programs started Monday, but the program at the University of Chicago Hospitals kicked off today. I'm glad to finally get started.
Actually, today was mostly introductions, and bookkeeping, and getting started on orientation. There are 6 people in my group-- three men and three women. We come from Roman Catholic, Episcopal, and Unitarian Universalist faith traditions, and a variety of cultural backgrounds; it's going to be a good group, I think. One of the women lives down here in Park Forest, so we may try carpooling whenever our schedules mesh.
We each had a pile of stuff waiting for us when we got there-- handbook (including maps, thank goodness-- the place is HUGE!), calendar/schedule, pager, and multiple keys. Spent quite some time going over all of the above, making sure it all works in ways we understand. We then got a tour of the Pastoral Care offices, which are actually in a converted brownstone just north of the hospital. There are 5 desks for the 6 of us to use-- but also a large table that will serve for work space. It's near an ethernet port, so I can just take my laptop and plug in.
Wardrobe-- generally, "business casual," though there are lab coats we can use. Those may be handy on days I don't wear something with pockets. We talked about clericals and the possibility of wearing a collar, and Terry (our supervisor) suggested trying it later, just to get a feel for how that changes the dynamics. She's left the choice up to us. I may give it a try, later in the summer, but I want to begin to get a handle on the job, first, I think.
This afternoon we had a discussion with the pediatric family advocate, and a short tour of one of the pediatric floors. Awesome. Tomorrow is orientation re: Adult ICUs and Emergency Medicine.
Gram is now ensconced in an in-patient hospice program. Hospice, for the unfamiliar, is essentially comfort care for terminal patients. They will not intubate, resuscitate, or take any extraordinary measures to prolong her life. What they will do is care for her, and keep her comfortable-- including providing pain meds at a level that makes hospitals nervous, if needed. It's a good system, and exactly what she wants-- and what we want for her. Good people, making a hard time easier.
You know, there's lots I could be saying here, and I don't know where to begin.
I spent this afternoon at the hospital with my grandmother. I wish I could convey some sense of seeing this wise, strong, funny lady, lying small and frail and befuddled in her bed. IV's, tests and injections have left her arms a mass of bruises. Deep aches and sharp pains that make her fractious. Three weeks ago this woman-- a former teacher, and all around smart cookie-- was still doing her crossword puzzle every day, in pen. Today she's not entirely sure where she is. Oh, there's lots of reasons-- an infection, dehydration, the progression into her bones of the cancer for which she's refused treatment. It's an answer to prayer, she says-- at 98, she's ready to go home; and I'm as ready as I can be, I think, to let her. But that doesn't make it easier; not like this.
AKMA preached a wondrous sermon this morning, about Pentecost, and miracles. Go read it. Tonight, as I'm digging out the power of attorney and living will so Jan and I can meet with the hospice rep in the morning, I'm clinging to that holy vision by the raw edges.
Too much, today-- I couldn't take it all in; as much as I dearly wanted to, I only grasped bits and pieces...
Up before the alarm, to finish packing up my Seabury year. Get dishes out of the Lounge kitchen and cassock and surplice from the sacristy. Terry and I swapped surplices today, so she could process in angel's wings-- entirely appropriate, to my way of thinking.
Drive with Moki over to help set up breakfast: muffins and coffee cake, fresh fruit and juice, water, tea and coffee. Ye gods, the amount of coffee that seminarians go through. Sweet Professor Julie is an early arrival, eager and excited and nervous all at once. Trevor's early morning "grumpy" teasing gives way to gentle affection. An AKMA moment that leaves me humbled, before he goes off to be proud husband as well as beloved teacher and advisor. Paula's gentle smile, and Frank's caring intentionality.
Taking pictures-- forgot my camera, doggone it. Professors resplendent in academic finery; graduates in black and white, glowing in glorious technicolor joy.
Procession beginning smack dab on time. Walking down the aisle (please don't let me trip; dropping the Holy Spirit would be bad!) through a sea of unfamiliar faces-- until I spot Si's engaging grin on the aisle.
The sermon-- sadness, and joy, and caring for one another in the in between spaces. She finishes with a Cherokee hymn, which turns out to be "Amazing Grace;" a gradual background harmony rises from the congregation, and settles in my heart, and I dissolve.
And, finally, graduating. All these incredible people, walking back and forth, shaking hands and donning hoods. Lord, you now have set your servants free...
Process out, Lifting High the Cross. Bone-creaking hugs, laughter and silliness out on the lawn with the newest Seabury alumni.
Lunch with Mark, his parents, their rector and his wife-- and the latter generously pick up my tab. Mark comes from good family, both home and parish-- and Lord, I'm going to miss that man.
Back to school, and into civilian clothes, before wedging the last of my seminary world into the car. Home again, to my family-- long hugs, and massive unpacking of my overstuffed vehicle.
The year is over, and what a trip it's been-- with lots of love at both ends of my road, now.
At 11:12 last evening, I finished the last assignment of the year-- a list of self-development goals for my Pastoral Care class. I've been feeling a little stressed, because I would have liked to be done before this. I managed it earlier in the previous terms, but this time I've stepped rather more out of student mode-- spent more time, as the experts say, on interpersonal relationships and extracurricular activities. Of course, that means the studies get pushed back, now and again-- which means I've not finished these last few papers until the night before they've been due. No, I don't like that feeling. But, you know what? If I were to start over, I wouldn't do it any differently.
Next year, I won't have a choice; I'm involved up to my eyeballs. Class co-convener, along with John Hickey-- former attorney, major film buff, and generally amazing guy. Liturgical coordinator: producer of the weekly ordo under Ruth and Bob's collective oversight. Cantor Coordinator: organizer of Seabury's singing psalmists. Actually, the last two will dovetail well; the cantor rota is put together for each quarter, and then those items go directly onto the ordo lists. I can plunk that info into the computer once, and then have it there without retyping. Busy, but I'm looking forward to it.
Meanwhile, I have my last two classes today: the aforementioned Pastoral Care, and Medieval Church History. Yesterday we finished New Testament, with coffee and muffins thoughtfully provided by the generous husband of our wondrous Professor Julie. I've never met him, but anyone who feeds me blueberry muffins stands fair to be a good guy.
Finished ethics yesterday, too-- and Trevor, it was great. You are a keeper.
Here's an awesome thing: at 2:51 pm, we are middlers!
Busy day-- church this morning, then cookout this afternoon. More folks are able to come than we'd anticipated, so it should be a great time. The only drawback is that I didn't get all the baking done I wanted to, because my oven shorted out yesterday, big time. A large spark, and the smell of burning electronics are not good signs.
My sermon's as ready as it'll ever be, I guess. I'm a little nervous about this; we've got relatives in from out of town, who've not seen me in the pulpit before. (note to Seabury classmates-- yes, in the pulpit, with a manuscript. I don't take John Dally's preaching class until next year, and I'm enough of a rookie that I'm unwilling to experiment on unsuspecting parishioners). I hope God takes over-- (s)he's good at that.
We've got a houseful this morning. Bruce's sister Tammy and her family (husband, three kids and one on the way) got in last night from Louisville (that's "Louavul," for the uneducated out there). Classmate Kassinda came home with me on Friday, so we've had dueling laptops going, trying to finish papers due this week.
Kassinda got a little more than she bargained for on her trip, I think. Friday night we had serious storms, and funnel clouds sighted only a couple miles away (though none touched down, fortunately). Then last night, we were studying-- Kassinda at the kitchen table, me in the living room-- when we heard some popping noises in the distance. Suddenly this discrete little instant message appears on my screen: "Ok, Jane, I don't mean to bother you, but those are gun shots." Well, yes, they were. We live in the township, outside the city limits; it is not unheard of for someone to express some pent-up energy by shooting at some set up target-- or into the air, just to make noise. Being a city girl, however, the noise meant something entirely different to my buddy. Sorry about that, dear.
Funnel clouds one night, gunshots the next. Never a dull moment.
Today is a day for recognizing endings around here, isn't it? It's the last day of Christian Ed classes for the summer-- which means it's also almost the end of the school year. Carolyn's a freshman in high school, so this has been a significant annual event in our household for many years. And now that I'm back in school myself, I'm really reminded of why that is such a big deal. As much as there is to love about my classes, and my classmates, and the whole experience of seminary life, I am way ready to be done for a while. Anybody else ever feel like that?
But what we heard in the reading from Acts this morning reminds us that endings are not just endings. At first, it sure does look that way; an ending is certainly where we come into this story. Jesus' earthly ministry has just ended. In the language of the creed that we'll say in a little bit, "He has ascended into heaven, and is seated on the right hand of the father." In other words, he's gone; and the apostles (what's left of them, after Judas' death) are suddenly left feeling very much on their own. Can't you just picture this? The whole motley crew, standing there, staring bewildered at the place where Jesus was only a moment ago. Then turning to one another and saying, "OK, Now what?"
Fortunately, after three years of formation, they have a fallback position: gather and pray together, which is what they're doing when we come upon the scene. We arrive just in time to hear Peter stand up and propose a plan for answering the "now what?" question. Now Peter, as you'll recall, is not always "the sharpest knife in the drawer;" but this time he's right on the money. You have to start somewhere, and the way to begin, is to begin.
And so they do. They select Matthias to fill the empty place that Judas left-- in the vernacular of the business world, they round out the leadership team---- and prepare to fulfill the roles for which they have been selected and trained: called witnesses, "to the ends of the earth," to the truth in Jesus Christ. Suddenly the ending is no longer an ending; it is transformed-- into a beginning.
That's the way it works, isn't it? The end of one day is the beginning of another. The end of the school year is the beginning of summer. Jesus had to end His earthly ministry, so that His followers could begin theirs. Often we have to be willing to let go of one thing, one idea, in order to be able to grasp another.
I had this lesson brought home to me again just recently. A few weeks ago, I attended the "In-House Conversation" that our diocese sponsored, to discuss the resolution regarding the blessing of same-sex unions that will be set before our General Convention delegates this summer. I went to this conference for two reasons: first, I was interested in hearing the viewpoints that would be presented. Secondly, Ben and Carolyn were both presenters, and I wanted to support them. Ben, especially-- not only was he struggling to deal faithfully with the subject, but he was having to do it in less than 20 minutes!
At the same time, I was reluctant; I was leery of what I feared would be another of those polarized "I'm right and you're wrong" discussions that so often happen around controversial topics like this.
You know what? That didn't happen. Among the 80+ people who gathered at St. Anne's that Friday night (from about half the parishes in our diocese), there were, indeed, dramatically different views-- the whole range of them. Those differences were expressed, eloquently, by the panelists in their presentations. We had some lively small group discussions, and pointed questions asked in the Q & A portion of the program.
What we didn't have was the "take no prisoners" attitude that I had feared-- no ranting and raving, no accusations of intolerance or sinfulness.
Instead, we prayed together. And we spoke with one another-- gently, and reasonably, and from the heart. We listened to one another, and I believe the Holy Spirit was present in a way that most of us heard more clearly the struggles and tensions that make this such a difficult issue. Do I suppose that anyone there came away having changed their minds? Maybe... Ok, maybe not. But, for just a brief moment, we ended-- we let go of a little bit of human certainty, of some of our self-righteousness-- and waited, as the Bishop says, in holy expectation for the Spirit to speak. And that, my brothers and sisters, is also a beginning.
Ideally, that's the way every Sunday morning works, too. We all of us finish worshipping and walk out of here, prepared (we hope) for a new beginning. "Sanctified by the truth," as John's gospel says: the truth about God’s love for us in Jesus. The truth we hear in scripture and song. The truth we taste in the bread and the wine. The truth we see in the lives of one another.
Have you thought about the last words we hear at the end of the service? "Let us go forth, in the name of Christ. Alleluia; Alleluia!" And we respond... "Thanks be to God; Alleluia, alleluia!" Just like the apostles, we are sent out to begin, once again, living our call as disciples, to witness to the Truth.
Now, sometimes it's hard to remember that. We live in a world that's filled with distractions, and alternatives to a Christian life that can seem mighty attractive. And even when without external pressures, we still have to deal with that part inside each of us that would much rather be self-centered than Christ-centered. Even with little things-- I spend a lot of time driving back and forth from Evanston, and when I'm in a hurry and get stuck in traffic, I will admit that I am not feeling particularly sanctified.
Fortunately, we've got an answer to that. It's what we promise in our baptismal covenant - that whenever we fall into sin, that we will "repent and return to the Lord." We're forgiven, and we start over. We end, and we begin. This is radically amazing good news that Jesus promises, and it works-- every time.
So, as we recognize endings today, we also remember and celebrate beginnings. The school year is over, which means it's also commencement season-- that time when students move up, and move on. In a few days, Katie Croyle and Matt Corbin graduate high school-- and I am so proud of, and grateful for, the godly adults they are beginning to be. Some folks I have learned to love a lot this last year at Seabury will also be graduating, and beginning again-- leaving "the block," and moving out into the ministries into which God is calling them.
