Praying Through Tears

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I sat with a family in a hospital waiting room today while a woman had surgery on her back.  At one point in the afternoon I walked outside to a pond in front of the building.  A gaggle of ducks scurried over to me in hopes of finding food, but all I had was a camera.  Then a security guard came over to talk to me.  In a post 9/11 world, taking pictures of ducks in front of a hospital apparently marks you as a potential terrorist.  He did not take my camera.  But it was surreal.

Later in the day, news from the surgeon was good and bad.  It was hard to hear.  There were lots of tears.  I prayed for them all through my tears, and I held onto a string of prayer beads.  Afterward, I thought about a quote from Frederick Buechner, “Of all powers, love is the most powerful and the most powerless.”  So what does that say about God, since God is love?  Pain and suffering make you wonder what God can and cannot do.

My ministry today was mainly praying through tears.  I trust that God puts all of our tears in his bottle. (Ps 56.8)

Morning Light

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I had a bit of time this morning before choir practice began, so I went outside to enjoy the morning sunlight.  Being at the western edge of the time zone, the sun had just risen for us in Michigan.  This picture shows the lovely morning light on the east wall of the sanctuary.  “Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning, born of the one light Eden say play.” Standing in the morning light, I felt a deep sense of peace and gratitude for the gift of life.

Later, during worship, I offered a prayer that borrows imagery from our recent snowfall:

You blanket the earth with snow, God.  Your snow covers the ground, rests on tree limbs.  The beauty of snow reminds us of your beauty.  The sight of it awakens praise in us.  We thank you for the loveliness of your creation, for the beauty of each season.

Yet what we see is only a sliver of all that you have made.  You have set stars and galaxies in motion.  The whole universe, immensely old, is full of your handiwork, with you yourself older still.  Before all things, before all time, you are God.

The thing about you, God, that most astonishes us is that you know us.  You know each of us, even though we are so tiny and vulnerable compared to the vastness of all that you have made.  You know us, you care about us, you watch over us, you stay with us. This is the mind boggling thing, your knowledge of us.

You know when we sit, when we stand, when we lie down.  You know our thinking even before it appears in our minds.  All the days set out for us are written in your book before they even come to pass.  When we are perplexed, at our wit’s end, you know it. When we are in physical pain, you know it.  When we are scared, you know it.  When we are dancing for joy, you know it.  Our laughter, our tears, our smiles are all known to you.

Come to us afresh today, O God, with your beauty, your love, and your great strength. Fill our limbs and our lives with your healing presence.  Let us rest easily in your knowledge of us, your care for each of us.

There are echoes of Psalm 139 in this prayer, as well as 1 Corinthians 8:3, “If someone loves God, then they are known by God.” The latter was part of the morning scripture that the senior pastor preached on.

Knife and Penis

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This from the daily lectionary yesterday set me to thinking.

Abraham was 99 years old when he circumcised the flesh of his foreskin, and his son Ishmael was 13 years old when the flesh of his foreskin was circumcised. That same day Abraham and his son Ishmael were circumcised. All the men of his household, those born in his household and those purchased with silver from foreigners, were circumcised with him.

Genesis 17.24-27 CEB

I imagine a conversation among Abraham’s men over this little development in their lives.

Eliezer:  “The master is going to circumcise us tomorrow.”

Asher:  “What is circumcision?”

Eliezer:  “He will take a knife and cut off that flap of skin on your penis.”

Asher:  “What!?  That will hurt.”

Eliezer:  “I know.”

Asher:  “Knife and penis do not belong together.”

Eliezer:  “True.”

Asher:  “Why is he going to do this?”

Eliezer:  “He had another of his visions.”

Asher:  “I wish God would stop talking to him.”

The benefit of circumcision as a symbol of the covenant is that it was a permanent mark in the body itself — like a tattoo, although that can be removed with some effort.  The disadvantage is that one half of all Jews could not take part in the ritual that made you a Jew.  So circumcision contributed to a segregation of the sexes in Judaism, which continued on in Christianity (in spite of Galatians 3.28).  Even today, at the Western Wall of Temple Mount in Jerusalem, men pray on the left, and women on the right.  I have prayed at that wall.  Men get the larger share of the wall, no doubt because we had to endure the knife and penis thing.

Vitruvian Man

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The point was to fit the human form inside a circle and a square:

Ancient thinkers had long invested the circle and the square with symbolic powers. The circle represented the cosmic and the divine; the square, the earthly and the secular. Anyone proposing that a man could be made to fit inside both shapes was making a metaphysical proposition: The human body wasn’t just designed according to the principles that governed the world; it was the world, in miniature. This was the theory of the microcosm, and Leonardo hitched himself to it early in his career. “By the ancients,” he wrote around 1492, “man was termed a lesser world, and certainly the use of this name is well bestowed, because …his body is an analogue for the world.”

But what should this microcosmic man look like? Vitruvius hadn’t provided illustrations. Artists in medieval Europe, loosely echoing Vitruvius, had come up with visions of their ideal man: Christ on the cross, representing both the human and the divine. But until the late 1400s, nobody had tried to work out exactly how a man with Vitruvian proportions might be inscribed inside a circle and a square. This was the challenge that prompted Leonardo to draw Vitruvian Man.

Vitruvius was a Roman architect who proposed the idea.  Leonardo wasn’t the first to try.

I drew a picture of myself, naked, in the pose above.  I call it Flabuvian Man.  But it is too scary to look at, so I won’t post it.

An Open Wound of Love

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I visit parishioners in care facilities, like this one on Sand Creek Highway.  I saw a man and a woman there today.  The woman was asleep so I simply sat at her bedside for a time.  I call these Quaker Visits since they involve sitting in contemplative silence, praying for the person.  The only personal item in her room, or rather in her part of the room, was a framed photo of her and her husband; in it she wore a purple dress.  He lives nearby in a retirement community, where I have seen him.  He loves her dearly and visits her every day.  As I sat in the wheelchair at her bed, I thought of a quote from Richard Foster: “The heart of God is an open wound of love.”  I wondered if when our hearts become tender, open, wounded with longing, then we make fresh contact with the very life of God.

Woman In the Woods

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A therapist we know lives with her husband in the woods east of Ann Arbor.  I drive up to her home from time to time when a thought weighs on my heart.  My wife suggested I go see her.  There are times when you need to get out of town to get a different view of things.  I drove up this morning and had a good talk with her.  She is to me an Amma, a wise woman.  I will see the woman in the woods more in the months to come.

My Opinion of Obama

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My wife and I watched President Obama’s State of the Union address this evening.  We chose PBS because we felt it would have the least amount of inane commentary on the speech.  We wanted to be free to engage in our own inane commentary.  Such as, do the president and vice-president confer on who will wear the red tie and who will wear the blue?  You know they have to talk about these things.  It was a good speech, I thought.  The ending with the SEAL team flag was powerful imagery.

I supported Obama in ’08.  His voice was reassuring during the debates with McCain.  With the economy in free fall, that was a scary time.  On his record, I approve his attempt to move the US toward universal health care.  Access to quality medical care is so important.  I was discouraged, though, when he rejected the oil pipeline from Canada to Texas.  That is a lost (or delayed) chance to put thousands of men and women to work building it, helping families have breadwinners again.  My feelings on other things he has done are similarly mixed, but my opinion of him is generally positive.

After reading Dreams From My Father, I understand better what motivates President Obama.  With a few reservations, I am still inclined to support him again in the fall.  He will be the most experienced candidate running, and he will remain a counterweight to conservatives in Congress.  As a political agnostic, I am fine with divided government.

When Jesus’ Compassion Is Strangely Absent

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In Capernaum there was a certain royal official whose son was sick. When he heard that Jesus was coming from Judea to Galilee, he went out to meet him and asked Jesus if he would come and heal his son, for his son was about to die. Jesus said to him, “Unless you see miraculous signs and wonders, you won’t believe.”  The royal official said to him, “Lord, come before my son dies.” Jesus replied, “Go home. Your son lives.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and set out for his home.

John 4:46-50 CEB

This man comes to you, Jesus, on the road to Capernaum.  The sun says it’s past noon.  His son is sick, near death.  Desperate, he asks for your help.  You respond with a complaint.  You’re annoyed, tired of people wanting signs and wonders.  Demands, demands, all the time.  But the man is desperate because a son he loves is dying.  You missed that detail, his desperation.  After your whining vanished in the air, was there a long awkward silence?  Did you regret saying it?  I have regretted saying the wrong thing.  Did your face flush red with embarrassment when you saw his eyes fill with tears?  He is desperate.  He pleads with you once again — he must ask again! — and at last you tell him his son will live.  It’s like when the Syrophonecian woman came to you, desperate for her daughter, and you brought out a book of riddles and played word games with her.  I am asking, Jesus, because at times your compassion is strangely absent.

A Mennonite In Ministry

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A friend who works as a chaplain for Hospice of Lenawee was ordained today at the Salem Mennonite Church, in the snowy fields southwest of Hudson.  We attended her ceremony.  Outside a fine white mist seeped down from an overcast sky.

Inside the church, the altar flowers and candle added warmth and color to the day.  The ordination itself took place at the end of the service, with our friend answering examination questions and kneeling down to receive prayer and the laying on of hands.  After my recent doubts about ordination, today’s ceremony reminded me of the value of this ritual.

8 Verbs For Leaders

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Five of us attended a district training event at the Chelsea United Methodist Church today.  The keynote speaker, above right, was excellent.  She works with youth and young adults at a church in Grand Rapids.  She structured her hour long talk on the 8 key verbs for leaders: learn, examine, act, delegate, encourage, remember, sacrifice, and love.  Under each point she blended scripture and practical wisdom, with a couple of videos to bring home an idea.  I hope they make a recording available.  After this we broke up for separate seminars.  I went to one on how to have better meetings and learned a few good things.  It was an inspiring and useful morning for us.  After you have gone to a few of these, you begin to wonder if they make a difference.  In an incremental way they can, but you have to be intentional in putting one or two things into practice.  For lunch we visited friends who live at the Chelsea Retirement Community.  All in all, a day well spent.

Snow Rests On Things

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I love the way snow rests on things.  This is from an iron trellis in the Memorial Garden yesterday.  After the snow fell, the sunlight came out.  Sunshine after a snowfall is a lovely thing.  Our warm spell has ended.  Right now it’s only 14 degrees (F).

I Am Scared She Will Die

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I am sitting in my office watching a light snow fall outside the window.  I wonder if it’s wise to drive to Hillsdale later today to see PS, who has been moved to an assisted living facility there.  I’ll have to see how the roads are in early afternoon.  I am listening to the Voices of Ascension sing Sicut Cervus by Palestrina.  Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum.  As the deer yearns for streams of water.  I am feeling thirsty.

Earlier this week a parishioner said, “Take care, Chris, much is on your shoulders right now and weighing on your heart.”  I didn’t know it was so obvious.  It’s strange when other people notice things in you, and then you think, “How did they know that?”  How did she know there is much weighing on my heart?  Then the inner voice, “Chris, what do you expect?  It’s all over the blog.  Grief, death, chemotherapy, need for healing.”  If it’s apparent in my writing, it must be obvious to people in other ways.

A dear friend has cancer again.  I am scared she will die.  This is her second run at chemotherapy.  We had a healing service for her Sunday night.  Over the years as we worked together, she has become like a sister to me.  A sister I never had.  Growing up as an only child, you don’t learn to live with siblings.  You learn to live alone.  But now I have a sister, and cancer is eating away at her bones.  Cancer is an evil thing.  Why?  Why her?  She has children, a husband, a wider family.  I can’t imagine how they feel.

I am a husband.  I love my wife so.  I bless God each day for bringing her to me, and me to her.  Yet, lately I am having these waking nightmares of my wife in the hospital dying of a blood clot like her brother did.  In the dream I crumple down on the floor in the waiting room, shattered.  I am scared she will die.  Then I will be alone.  But I have to shake off these thoughts.  The Desert Fathers say you must guard your thoughts.  I cannot control what happens to others but only put the lives of those I care about in God’s care.  Do you care about them, God?  Do you heal now as Jesus did in the Gospels?  Walking helps me deal with fears.  I have walked more this week than in a long time.  Walking fatigues the body and helps calm my thoughts.

The Voices of Ascension are singing Josquin Desprez now.  Tu Pauperum Refugium.  You are the refuge of the poor.  I am poor and needy this day, God.  Come to me with your Spirit and your grace.

(image by Nevit Dilman)

Martin Luther On Death

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“When a person dies, we should view the process of dying in no other way than as a seed being planted in the ground.  If the seed could see and feel what was happening, it would fear that it was ruined forever.  But the farmer, if he could talk to the seed, would paint a much different picture.  He would portray the seed as if it were already a growing plant with a beautiful stalk and tiny ears of grain.

“So we must picture in our own hearts that when we are buried under the ground, we will come up again and grow into a new existence and everlasting life.  We don’t have to think of ourselves as dead and decaying but rather as planted.  We must learn a new way of speaking about death and the grave.  When we die, we are not dead; instead, we are seeds planted for the coming summer.  The cemetery is not a mound for the dead but a field full of little seeds, which are called God’s seeds.  They will one day blossom again and become more beautiful than anyone can imagine.

~ Martin Luther (1483–1546)

The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks

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The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks.  Translated by Benedicta Ward.  The Desert Fathers and Mothers flourished in the Middle East from the 3rd century onward.  Their words and way of life became the foundation of Christian monasticism.  There are two kinds of collections of their sayings: alphabetical (according to each abba or amma) and topical.  This book is a topical collection with hundreds of sayings grouped into 18 categories: Progress in Perfection, Quiet, Compunction, Self-Control, Lust, Possessing Nothing, Fortitude, Nothing Done for Show, Non-Judgment, Discretion, Sober Living, Unceasing Prayer, Hospitality, Obedience, Humility, Patience, Charity, and Visions.  The sayings are pithy, earthy, to the point.  Many sayings take the form of anecdotes and stories.  Often they are quirky and funny.

Two hermits lived together for many years without a quarrel.  One said to the other, ‘Let’s have a quarrel with each other, as other men do.’  The other answered, ‘I don’t know how a quarrel happens.’  The first said, ‘Look here, I put a brick between us, and I say, “That’s mine.”  Then you say, “No, it’s mine.”  That’s how you begin a quarrel.’  So they put a brick between them, and one of them said, ‘That’s mine.’  The other said, ‘No; it’s mine.’  He answered, ‘Yes, it’s yours.  Take it away.’  They were unable to argue with each other.

As a Protestant, I believe salvation comes by grace through faith alone.  Reading these early Christian monks, it seemed to me their way of life could amount to salvation by works.  But keeping that concern in mind, I still see the Desert Fathers and Mothers as exemplars of life lived according to gospel values of mercy, silence, humility, poverty, purity, simplicity and love.  Like the American Quaker John Woolman, these ancient ascetics model the way of Christ to me.  They show me where I fall short and help me resolve to try again at being a Christian.

Praying the Psalms Monthly

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Saying and praying the Psalms morning and evening has long been an important part of Jewish and Christian spirituality.  (A Jewish man above prays the Psalms at the Western Wall in Jerusalem.)  When you don’t know what else to say to God, praying the Psalms helps you find words.  The table below gives you an order to use in saying the Psalms over the course of a month.  This list comes from Disciple Bible Study, but this particular arrangement goes back to the Anglican Book of Common Prayer as it developed in the 16th and 17th centuries.

  1. Morning Psalms 1–5; Evening Psalms 6–8
  2. 9–11; 12–14
  3. 15–17; 18
  4. 19–21; 22–23
  5. 24–26; 27–29
  6. 30–31; 32–34
  7. 35–36; 37
  8. 38–40; 41–43
  9. 44–46; 47–49
  10. 50–52; 53–55
  11. 56–58; 59–61
  12. 62–64; 65–67
  13. 68; 69–70
  14. 71–72; 73–74
  15. 75–77; 78
  16. 79–81; 82–85
  17. 86–88; 89
  18. 90–92; 93–94
  19. 95–97; 98–101
  20. 102–103; 104
  21. 105; 106
  22. 107; 108–109
  23. 110–113; 114–115
  24. 116–118; 119:1-32
  25. 119:33-72; 119:73-104
  26. 119:105-144; 119:145-176
  27. 120–125; 126–131
  28. 132–135; 136–138
  29. 139–140; 141–143
  30. 144–146; 147–150

There is a lovely scene in one of Chaim Potok’s novels where Asher Lev is nervous and distraught but saying a Psalm to himself calms his heart.

(Image by Brian Jeffery Beggerly)

You Anoint My Head With Oil

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There was a healing service tonight for a woman whose cancer has returned, or perhaps never left.  She received the anointing with oil, as well as many prayers for her strength and healing.  Olive oil is an ancient symbol of God’s healing presence: ‘You anoint my head with oil.’ (Ps 23.5)  We held the service in the chancel as people stood in a circle around the altar. There were long periods of silent prayer, and afterward people lingered as if they did not want to part.  During the service we sang an evening hymn.

All praise to thee, my God, this night,
for all the blessings of the light!
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
beneath thine own almighty wings.

Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
the ill that I this day have done,
that with the world, myself, and thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread
the grave as little as my bed.
Teach me to die, that so I may
rise glorious at the judgment day.

O may my soul on thee repose,
and with sweet sleep mine eyelids close,
sleep that may me more vigorous make
to serve my God when I awake.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
praise him, all creatures here below;
praise him above, ye heavenly host;
praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

It’s one of my favorite hymns, but the third verse was hard to sing in light of cancer.  You can listen to the melody here.

(Image:  The Olive Trees by Van Gogh)

Two Questions About Ordination

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Last Wednesday I attended a meeting of the Committee On Preparation for Ministry (CPM), which oversees persons in the process of becoming ordained as Presbyterian ministers.  A five hour meeting plus travel time on either side made for a full day.

Presbyterians have polity — rules on how the denomination governs itself.  A meeting of the CPM involves lots of polity talk.  You must follow rules, and to find a particular rule you reference handbooks and statements of procedure.  Problem is, I do not have a polity friendly brain.  Polity gives me a headache.  There are good people at these meetings — kind and courteous — but the subject matter is difficult to absorb.  I need a long slow dose of silence afterward to collect myself again.

I don’t talk much at these meetings, but I think a lot.  Two questions about ordination kept bubbling to the surface of my mind.

  1. Why are there ordination exams?  Our denomination requires five ordination exams:  Bible Content, Theology, Worship and Sacraments, Polity (of course), and Biblical Exegesis.  This is in addition to a three-year Master of Divinity program.  Why the extra layer of exams on top of all the exams students take in their course of study?  Why is a theological degree from an accredited seminary not sufficient?
  2. Why is there ordination at all?  Long ago ministry became a profession.  But I see little support in the New Testament for a class (ordo) of religious professionals.  Actually, the ordained clergy in Jesus’ day were outside of his movement and critical of it.  Jesus chose leaders with no theological education or religious credentials.  Proximity to him was the sole qualification. 

These questions aren’t new.  They probably are naive.  But they were in my mind this week during all the polity talk.

Use Your Tall Mouth

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At 8:15 on Sunday mornings I rehearse with our choir, in preparation for the 9:30 service.  Behind our fine director this image of an open mouth hangs on the bulletin board.  I suppose it is intended to remind us to open our mouths widely as we sing.  This is only my second year in the choir, but I have enjoyed my time very much.  Different voices in a choir blend together in harmony to create beauty that touches the heart.  It always helps, though, if you use your tall mouth.

Chemotherapy As a Divine Devouring Fire

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A woman comes to terms with her illness and its treatment:

I have been diagnosed with stage three colon cancer.  I don’t think of myself as being sick: I think of myself as having a diagnosis.  I don’t want to be defined by the cancer, or by chemotherapy.  But whether you like it or not, having it does change your relationships.

I was very careful about how I told my children, but I have been much more relaxed with friends.  Some have been fantastic.  Others are literally shattered by the news, or can’t handle it at all.  I can understand that, but it’s been quite hard when I really wanted a particular friend to be there for me.  She simply can’t do it.

Quite a few people respond by saying things like “You’ll be fine — I know you will.”  On the one hand, it helps me to see a future in which I will be fine.  On the other, of course, they don’t know I will be fine — especially with such a diagnosis.

What has been most helpful is having friends and family who are willing to spend time with me, and being okay with what’s happening to me.

I don’t see what has happened as a punishment or a judgment.  I am frightened of pain, but I am not frightened of dying.  I would like to have a spiritually conscious death — to know I am dying, to be able to say all my goodbyes, and to embrace the dying moment.

I haven’t felt sad either.  I have so much love around me from family and friends.  So maybe I haven’t had time, or I just don’t feel it.  My cancer has instilled a deep sense of gratitude in me.  I am so grateful to have seen my children grow up.  I am also deeply grateful for what I have each day.  It makes me live in the moment.

At the same time, I have had to learn to compromise.  Initially I did not want to have chemotherapy — I have seen what it can do to others suffering from cancer.  But my children and my husband thought otherwise.  I didn’t want them to feel angry with me for not trying to save my life.

Therefore I have had to change my perception of chemotherapy from a toxic poison to a healer.  So when I go for treatments I talk to my cancer, and invite in my healer and surrender to what I call a divine devouring fire.  It makes it much easier.

Alys, age 54
From The D-Word: Talking About Dying

Process Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed

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Process Theology: A Guide for the Perplexed.  By Bruce Epperly.  This book is a progressive systematic theology, written by a professor at Lancaster Theological Seminary in Pennsylvania.  It was challenging because the ideas are abstract, but I am less perplexed by process theology now having read it, so the author must have achieved his aim.  Epperly surveys the typical categories in systematic theology: God, Christ, the Trinity, Humanity, Ethics, the Church, and the Afterlife, among others.  He treats each in a progressive, process-oriented way, drawing inspiration chiefly from Alfred North Whitehead, whom he quotes liberally, as well as a range of contemporary process theologians.

Two aspects of this book intrigued me.  First, he portrays God in a dynamic ‘call and response’ relationship with all creation.  Call and response, at least as I have heard the term, is a kind of preaching found in black and Pentecostal churches where the congregation responds verbally and physically to the call they hear in the preaching.  Thinking of God as the divine preacher whose call we are to respond to was a good insight.  Second, I appreciated the book’s treatment of Jesus’ healings, which Epperly considers genuine.  (Although he avoids words like ‘miracle’ since that implies a supernatural intervention foreign to process thought.)  Jesus, for Epperly, had a way of interacting with people in need, drawing faith out of them, and in that joint encounter a field of energy emerged that tapped into the healing powers inherent in reality.

Jesus’ healing power was not coercive, but reflected God’s dynamic power embodied in the synergetic interplay of God’s universal aim at wholeness, the faith of those he touched, and the faith of gathered friends and communities.

In this same vein, Epperly believes in the value of intercessory prayer as a way to make communal contact with these mysterious healing energies.

After finishing this book I was left with a question.  In process theology, can you still speak of God as the Creator, and the universe as the creation?  In its embrace of panentheism, process thought emphasizes the presence of God in all things and the presence of all things in God.  So rather than Creator, it appeared to me that the God in process thought is more First Citizen of the Universe — a universe which has always been in one form or other and which is included in God’s own being.  In process theology, God is not distinct from the universe in the way the Creator and creation are distinct in classical Christian thought.  In line with this, process thought cannot well account for the ‘necessary absence’ of God that a distinction between Creator and creation entails for human experience.  It seems possible to me to maintain a classical distinction of Creator and creation while at the same time seeing a dynamic relationship between God and the universe envisioned in process thought, a relationship in which the Creator draws the creation on toward deeper experiences of beauty, wholeness and love.

All in all, to a novice like me this book was a good introduction to process theology, and I assume its ideas will continue to percolate.