Lent 10

Tonight, I sat with a woman who was sitting with her mother. Her mother will die tonight. I do not know how long it will take, when she will draw her last breath, but I know she will not live very much longer. As I sat with these two women, I watched the daughter, and the only thing she did the whole time we were together was rub her mothers hand, massaging her fingers, touching her fingernails, one by one. She would hold and squeeze her hand, pat her wrist, hold up her hand next to hers like a child measures her hand against her mother's. She never let go.

I have always been drawn to hands. Most of our emotions are expressed through our hands. Fear, anxiety, anger, grief, joy, warmth, love...all these, through our hands. The chaplain's ministry is often a ministry of touch. I put my hand on a shoulder to say, "I'm here." I put my hands over another's to say, "It's okay, you go ahead and cry." I sit with people as they wring their hands, as they shake their fists at the sky. I use my thumb to smear oil across a forehead or the tips of my fingers to place water over the lifeless child I hold in my arms. The intimacy of touch, the expression of our hands is something I want to remember today.

Lent 9

BFF2 (b/c there are 2) is working on a sermon for Sunday on the first part of the Lord's Prayer, kicking off a sermon series on the way in which Jesus taught us to pray. It has been custom for quite some time that when Jess has an upcoming sermon that she calls me to be the first sounding board for her sermon. So, today, she called and we talked quite a bit about the sermon topic "Our Father."

As we were talking and she weaved together for me the outline of her sermon, the Lord's Prayer became more and more alive for me. I've always loved it, as I love much of the church's most often used liturgy, because there is something very comforting to me to know that people all over the world are saying the same words along with me. But something shook me a little differently today because I understood the words in a new way.

I must make a confession. Prayer is my greatest struggle. It may seem strange that someone committed to full time ministry would admit that she struggles with prayer. But, yes, I struggle. In fact, I didn't even pray for a long time a couple of years ago because I was angry at God and I didn't believe in prayer. This, by the way, was when I was in seminary. F.D.E. Schleiermacher (mouthful, right?) was a theologian who talked a great deal about prayer being our demonstration of our recognition of our absolute dependence upon God. And reading his writings got me out of my no praying phase. Even though I got past that, I continue to struggle with the meaning of prayer, how it works, what it says about God that I make petitions, etc.

But the words of the Lord's Prayer, just like the words of the Apostles' Creed, hold some sort of special power over me. That Jesus taught us to pray the Lord's Prayer gives it some pretty awesome significance. When you first utter the words, it's almost like they don't fit because you don't even really know what they mean, but Jesus taught us. And you may not even believe in the deliverance from evil or the daily provisions or the coming kingdom, but Jesus said this is how we should pray. And as you grow, you grow into those words. It's like when Jesus first taught us to pray and when we're first introduced to those very old words and we first utter them, the promises behind them are held in trust until we're able to grow into them.

Whether it's the Lord's Prayer or my own mumbled petitions and celebrations, I utter those words not understanding them, not always even believing them, but am glad to know that God holds them safely in God's heart until I can believe in the God whose wisdom far surpasses my feeble understanding.

Lent 8

For something a little different, I'm going to post the prayer I wrote this morning for my CPE work. We've started a unit on Gender, Power, Sexuality, and Spirituality (GPSS) which will ask of us to be more open and vulnerable than we really have been this far. The assignment for this morning was to write a prayer that celebrates my sexuality. I include it here, asking whoever reads this to not get bent out of shape over anything you may read. I find it very easy to talk about gender and sexuality in the abstract, but it's a bit more difficult to do in the personal sense. I truly have spent far more of my life in a place of shame and hidden-ness than I should have. There is an old saying that goes something like "If we could see each other and ourselves as God sees us, then we would see angels surrounding each other with trumpets and singing, 'Make way, make way for the bearer of God's image.'" Why then, have we spent so much time diminishing these bodies that not only were we given, but that we are?

Here's my prayer I submitted for the group's review this morning:


God, I give thanks for that which I have so often been embarrassed.


God who is not only one but three, God who is not just in relationship but is relationship:
I remember the deep red in my cheeks the first time I ever heard Maya Angelou’s ‘Still I Rise.’ “Does my sexiness upset you? / Does it come as a surprise / That I dance like I’ve got diamonds / at the meeting of my thighs?” My sexiness, my sexuality, and the sexiness of those around me has upset me, Lord, because I sometimes forget that we are made with desires for touch and intimacy. I am thankful for those desires which make me know I’m alive.


Creating God, in whose image I was made:
I have spent so much time wishing I had a different body. My body image has been a source of discomfort and unease for most of my life. Thank you God, for making me who I am. Thank you for the curve of my hips and my breasts, for all of me. As I continue to grow more and more comfortable in my own skin, I give thanks.


God who is so much like a mother to me:
I have spent and still spend far more energy than I should being embarrassed about and hiding this body you have made for me. While at a friend’s house on my 12th birthday I got my first period, but I was so embarrassed that I snuck off and made a whispered phone call to my mom to come pick me up. I have been embarrassed by the widening of my hips and the growing of my breasts. God, from whom no secrets are hid, I offer thanks for this body. This body which was made to care and carry and nurture and reproduce and feel the cycle of the earth just as you do.


As I move from shame to celebration, O God, I give thanks for how I was and am created.

Lent 7

For today, I plan to vent a little because I'm tired and frustrated. I have said at least half a dozen times this week this phrase: "I hate my job." And to be honest with you, I've meant it in those moments. The moments pass until the next one comes around, but I am frustrated with the moral distress I've been encountering.

Since I'm no longer the critical care chaplain, I've had to deal with end-of-life/palliative care cases far less than I used to, but I'm still very close to the unit as well as the palliative care nurse. I still hear about the cases and I spend a whole lot of time sitting with the woman who is sooooo poorly nicknamed "the death nurse," talking through morally distressing situations. It frustrates me to no end that patients are subjected to suffering far longer than necessary (suffering which does not end with the person lying in the bed) because we can't say the things that need to be said. I talked to a group of physicians today who insisted that they have the end-of-life conversations that need to be had. They insist that they talk to patients and families about code status, futility of treatment, etc. I do believe that they think those conversations are being had, but I wonder what would happen if we tape recorded those conversations and listened to them again. I'm not naive to the complexities of tort law, communication barriers, families who are adamant despite best education. I get it. I really do. But today, I feel frustrated.

I know I'm rambling. And it doesn't really make sense outside of the context that's only in my head and not being written here. But really, the reason I say all of this, I looked at the nurse right in the eye and said, "I'm going to do some real good for people when I don't work here anymore." And I really do believe it. This chaplaincy year has been and is an experience that is going to enrich my ministry for the rest of my life. I just wonder if I won't advocate better for folks on the other side of the door. As a hospital employee, I can only go so far. As an advisor and advocate of my parishioners, I hope I can do more than I'm doing right now.

Not so much a thoughtful post tonight, but I don't feel very thoughtful right now.

Lent 6

Presence is the most valuable gift you can give, I think.

I know I just brought Brueggemann two days ago and I shouldn't overuse resources, but this one is my favorite and it really has do with my day. This one is from Prayers for a Privileged People.

We Bid Your Presence (On reading Psalm 22)


We know about your presence
that fills the world,
that occupies our life,
that makes our life in the world true and good.

We notice your powerful transformative presence
in word and
in sacrament,
in food and in water,
in gestures of mercy
and practices of justice,
in gentle neighbors
and daring gratitude.

We count so on your presence
and then plunge--without intending--into your absence.
We find ourselves alone, abandoned, without resources
remembering your goodness,
hoping your future,
but mired in anxiety and threat and risk beyond our coping.

In your absence we bid your presence,
come again,
come soon,
come here:

Come to ever garden become a jungle
Come to every community become joyless
sad and numb.

We acknowledge your dreadful absence and insist on your presence.
Come again, come soon. Come here.

In a conversation just a few nights ago, I referenced this prayer (one that I so often use for morning devotion in our report meetings in the office) to talk about my feelings of absence at times. My boss once asked me after I read the poem/prayer if I really believed in God's absence. My answer was that I recognize a difference between God's absence and my perception of God's absence.

Again today, this conversation came back around with someone else. Without sharing any details of that conversation, I was reminded of a time in my life when I felt dreadful absence. The funny thing was, even then, I recognized the difference between God's absence and my feeling of God's absence. The dreadful part of that dark time in my life is that I couldn't feel God but I couldn't bring myself to claim that I didn't believe in God. Rather, I knew God to be real. I just felt like God didn't care about me. I can tell you, that was a dark and sad place to be.

But eventually, I started to see God differently. I had a new view of God. I couldn't hold on to what I call "Old White Man in the Sky" God anymore because it was an image that never really worked for me. If you know me long enough you'll learn that the biggest theological topic in my frame of thinking is incarnational theology. To learn about God as fully human and fully divine, to learn about God as embodied in the flesh to be the God I can see and touch and feel and relate to in my broken humanness, that was an awesome turn in my faith. I felt like Jacob after he wrestled with God at the river Jabbok (Genesis 32), walking with a limp and maybe even a new name (or identity, at least).

But still, I plunge into God's dreadful absence at times. I have moments of feeling far away from God, moments of fear and doubt. But when I look to Christ and know the Holy Spirit, I am now sure that my perception of absence has nothing to do with a God who doesn't care about me.

Lent 5

Laughter is the best medicine.

And now for something completely different. You know what I hate? I hate cancer. I hate it. I don't understand the intricacies of it. I don't understand how sometimes treatment is effective and sometimes it isn't. When I look back over my day and all the things I did today, that's what I can come up with. I talked to a lot of people today, mostly women. A woman who told me about how her diet has changed. The way she talked about missing popcorn was like hearing about someone who has lost a loved one. I talked to a woman who shaved her head when she started losing hair with her chemo. She did that, not because she was having a hard time with it, but because her children were inconsolable when they noticed it had started.

This woman has the best attitude about having lost her husband to cancer and now in her own ordeal. She told me that she is absolutely sure that the reason she is still alive is that she never lost her laughter. I sat with her for over an hour today while she told me funny stories and poked fun at her kids and at herself. She told me that she understands why other people get scared or angry or a whole host of other things. She said she's fine though, because humor has carried her this far. You know, sometimes when patients tell me they are fine, I want to call BS because underneath, I can see that they are hot messes. But you know, I didn't get that in this case. I truly believe she is doing okay. She has the sort of attitude where she wants to fight but she doesn't seem to have any fear. Evidently for her, laughter really is the best medicince.

So, on day 5, I want to remind myself not to get cuaght up in the somber and sullen of Lent that is divorced from reality. I want to remind myself to stop and see humor in my days. I woke up in a bad mood this morning and feeling mooky and taking life way too seriously. I appreciate the gift of humor.

Lent Day 4

Romans 8:22-27

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ough, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.


Romans 8 is my favorite passage in all of the Bible. I keep coming back to it over and over, finding comfort and challenge in the words and the message. It came to mind when I came across this prayer written by the brilliant writer, scholar, theologian Walter Brueggemann (from Awed to Heaven, Rooten in Earth: Prayers by Walter Brueggemann). I reproduce it here and will really leave it at that and just add my Amen by way of reflection tonight.


There is a time to be born and a time to die.
And this is a time to be born.
So we turn to you, God of our life,
God of all our years,
God of our beginning.
Our times are in your hand.

Hear us as we pray:
For those of us too much into obedience,
birth us to the freedom of the gospel.
For those of us too much into self-indulgence,
birth us to the discipleship in your ministry.
For those of us too much into cyncism,
birth us to the innocence of the Christ child.
For those of us too much into cowardice,
birth us to the courage to stand before
principalities and powers.
For those of us too much into guilt,
birth us into forgiveness worked in your generosity.
For those of us too much into despair,
birth us into the promises you make to your people.
For those of us too much into control,
birth s into the vulnerability of the cross.
For those of us too much into victimization,
birth us into the power of Easter.
For those of us too much into fatigue,
birth us into the energy of Pentecost.

We dare pray that you will do for us and among us and through us what is needful for newness.
Give us the power to be receptive,
to take the newness you give,
to move from womb warmth to real life.
We make this prayer not only for ourselves, but
for our community at the brink of birth,
for the church at the edge of life,
for our nation waiting for newness,
for your whole creation, with which we yearn in eager longing.

There is a time to be born, and it is now.
We sense the pangs and groans of your newness.
Come here now in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Lent Day 3

In a "This I Believe" essay on NPR, autistic professor, author, designer, and activist Temple Grandin writes:

"Because I have autism, I live by concrete rules instead of abstract beliefs...When I was a child, my parents taught me the difference between good and bad behavior by showing me specific examples. My mother told me that you don’t hit other kids because you would not like it if they hit you. That makes sense. But if my mother told me to be "nice" to someone, it was too vague for me to comprehend. But if she said that being nice meant delivering daffodils to a next-door neighbor, that I could understand...Some people might think if I could snap my fingers I'd choose to be "normal." But I wouldn't want to give up my ability to see in beautiful, precise pictures. I believe in them."

I love words so much. The value of words is that they are static, leave little room for change and interpretation. That's why you can put them in a dictionary and draw from them. But the value of words is ultimately the reason they will always fall short. We can learn so much from such an insightful woman many of us would consider not normal and disabled.

Take the word love, for instance. Love cannot be reduced to words in a definition. What does love look like? Love looks like a hug. Love looks like a mother holding her baby. Love looks like tears on the face of a man while I ask him if he's prepared himself for the sure and honest fact that his wife will die, and soon. Every day I am humbled by the beautiful, precise pictures.

Lent 2

Luke 4:1-13
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread." Jesus answered him, "It is written, "One does not live by bread alone.' " Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, "To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours." Jesus answered him, "It is written, "Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.' " Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, "He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,' and "On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.' " Jesus answered him, "It is said, "Do not put the Lord your God to the test.' " When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.


As I continued to think about that image from yesterday's Stone Mountain reflection, my Thursday chapel sermon began to form. I had been thinking over the temptation of Jesus passage for a few days, reading it, reading about it. I was struggling to find the message, though. But as I talked about that Easter journey idea, I started to think about Jesus and his ministry. The whole of Jesus' ministry took place while walking to Jerusalem. Granted, he made stops along the way, gathered people to him, taught, and healed, but that was all by way of walking to Jerusalem and ultimately the cross.

What does this have to do with the temptation passage, you may ask? Well, this story takes place before Jesus' ministry begins, before we know what his life and ministry will be all about. There were many expectations about who the Messiah would be, warrior, doer of miracles, political figure... And when Satan tempts Jesus, those are exactly the choices offered. His life could be about turning stones to bread, doing miracles. His life could be about political power, ruling over all the world. He could test God and distance himself from humanity. But Jesus said no to all these things. Jesus said, no, I won't do those things. Instead, I'll walk with the people.

Jesus' no to temptation was a holy and wonderful yes to us, to you and me. His walking ministry is recorded in scripture and stands as our great reference to how we can be more like Christ in our lives. Instead of being over and above humanity, Jesus chose walk alongside humanity, to be the God we can see and touch, the God we can know and by whom we can be known. It makes me thankful for the walk.

Remember that you are dust...

Lent 1:

I got up this morning very, very early. I left my house well before sunrise to get to the hospital to preside over a 6:30 am Ash Wednesday service. I rose early to begin my Lenten 40 days journey. It was very cold this morning, and dark, and it made me think of Easter morning a couple of years ago. Some of my seminary classmates and I decided it would be a good idea to attend the Stone Mountain Sunrise Service that year. We could not simply get up a few minutes before sunrise. No, we had to give ourselves time to climb a mountain and get situated before the sun came up. Not a big mountain, but still, quite a hike. I'm not sure what I was expecting that morning. I'd never been to this particular event, so I had no frame of reference. When we got to Stone Mountain Park, the parking lot was packed. We found a spot and when we got out of the car, we stepped into quite a crowd of people.

As we started the climb with hundreds and hundreds of people, it struck me that we were on a pilgrimage. And it nearly brought me to tears to have a visual understanding of not making that pilgrimage alone. There we were, among the body of Christ, climbing a mountain, almost literally towards Easter. The climb was easy at first. The base of the mountain is wide enough that you aren't fighting for walking room, and it's a gentle incline at the bottom. As you move on up further, it gets a little more crowded and foot paths are not quite as smooth. You have to climb over rocks and logs. You may stumble a little, but it's not terrible. But the closer you get to the top, the harder it gets. There is more in your way. The climb is steeper. Your legs are tired and you realize that you forgot to stretch before you started. I can tell you that even though Stone Mountain is not a beastly climb by any means, getting a sleepy body to the top before the sun has come up is not a simple task. There was a point that I thought to myself, why did I want to do this? But then I looked around, and I saw all the other people walking the journey with me and then I realized where I was going, and it got a lot easier. Lent, and the Christian life in general, is a little like that. We've never been promised an easy road. It's not all Alleluia (the forbidden word this time of year), all the time. It's not meant for pain and suffering either though. There will be some because pain is a side effect of growth, but its about growth.

Pain and stretching and growth, those are pretty human ideas. And we begin Lent with Ash Wednesday. This is a day in which we truly confront the humanness of our faith. All pretense is stripped away. As I stand in the chapel and in patients' rooms today and staff, patients, and family allow me to touch their foreheads with the ashes which represent the dust from which we came and that to which we will return, I pause to think about what this season means to me. The dust and oil smeared across my forehead and the foreheads of so many others today reminds me that it is that same dust that the incarnate God shook off his sandals and the same oil he held in human hands. As I walk this 40 day journey, I do not walk it alone. I walk with those who are here, those who have come before, and those who are still to come.

Shrove Tuesday

Well, today is Shrove Tuesday, or Mardi Gras, or whatever you want to call it. It is the day before Ash Wednesday, and thus the day before Lent begins. I have had my Shrove Tuesday meal, been indulgent and now feel geared up for Lent. My Shrove Tuesday meal was O'Charley's Prime Rib Pasta with a tall Sam Adams Boston Lager, in case you happened to be wondering. This came about when I told my supervisor that I was longing after some good pancakes. He said, "I'm staying in town tonight. We could go to IHOP" and after a moment, "Actually, I could really go for a big steak and a beer if we're going to be really indulgent about this whole Shrove Tuesday thing." So, that's what happened. We had metaphorical pancakes instead of real ones. If you happen to be reading this outside a liturgical tradition, you may be wondering about the pancakes. You may be aware of the tradition of "giving up" something for Lent, and there has been a long tradition of practicing some sort of fasting for the season. Once upon a time, making pancakes, doughnuts, and other pastries were a good way to use up the richer foods like eggs, milk, and sugar, so they didn't go to waste when the 40 day fast came the following day. Thus, the tradition of the Shrove Tuesday pancake supper. But I digress.

I have indulged and now my mind is looking towards Lent. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Ash Wednesday is my most favorite day in all of the Christian calendar. It is the first day of Lent. It seems so odd at times when I think of how much I love Lent. Lent is so often associated with somber suffering, a collective commitment to gloom. But no, that's not what it's all about. Here is your history lesson. Lent is connected to the word "lengthen" (it occurs around the time of year that the days start getting longer, at least in the northern hemisphere) and the season is connected with the ideas of healing, growth, and strengthening.

At Lent, we are meant to be in preparation for Easter through prayer, fasting, and those other spiritual disciplines which bring us closer to God. The season is connected to the 40 days temptation of Christ, but it is more than suffering. It is growth. It is strengthening. So, in that spirit, I make this commitment. I will do better at reflection. I will be practicing a Lenten fast, but I will also be taking on the discipline of earnest reflection. I started this blog as a means of spiritual discipline and have failed miserably at keeping up with it. I have found that I will be better as a pastor and a person if I take time to think, to be intentional about what I do. For the next 40 days (not including Sunday "little Easters" for those new to Lenten discipline) I will commit to writing something here every day. I do this in hopes that I will walk a journey, not just towards the cross, but towards Easter, and perhaps someone will walk this journey with me and we may all be better for it.