seriously

Under the category of "don't take church too seriously," I offer these observances:

Recently, I attended "The Welcome Table" worship, the Sunday Morning service at 8am at Epiphany Episcopal Church, in downtown DC.  This congregation consists of fifty to seventy five street people, the ten or so lay volunteers who serve a hot breakfast for them, and a half a dozen folks like me who simply enjoy this diverse crowd.  (This is very different from the later morning service, that I have not attended, which consists of folks who work and live in DC, making their career in politics or hospitality or other DC-like vocations.)

At The Welcome Table service, the "prelude" is sung by the sometimes out of tune walk-up choir of three or four people who belt out a popular hymn. Or, one of the street folks offers a heart-felt solo.  After we all read an opening prayer together, the Liturgy of the Word continues with readers for the lessons and someone guides the congregation in sharing the psalm.  Sometimes their speech impediment prevents clear understanding.  Sometimes the words are difficult for them to pronounce.  Sometimes they are shy at the lectern.  Always, their countenance is love.

During the homily, I heard stereophonic snoring.  The man sitting in the pew directly behind me was fast asleep, gurgling as he breathed deeply.  A man a few rows up was out cold, head tilted uncomfortably to the left.  The "cool cat" with the sunglasses on in the front row was perusing a magazine, turning the pages of his reading material quite loudly.  The smell of someone who had not showered in, say, an entire season, waifed across the sanctuary. Occasionally someone from the back, agreeing with the preacher, shouts an "Amen!" that wakes up a few people.  Always, the congregation gathered respects each persons' needs and dignity.

In the midst of the Eucharistic prayer, when the celebrant touches the bread and says, "on the night that Jesus died, he took bread, and when he gave thanks to you, he broke it..." - *just* then, a wandering street person traipsed in front of the raised altar platform with his rolling bag and all his belongings, to cross the space to get to the other side.  He was mumbling to himself, quietly, but he was quietly ignored by the celebrant.  The prayer continued with out missing a beat, "and gave it to them and said, Take Eat, this is my body given for you." Always... his body given in so many forms.

On Tuesday, when I attended "Street Church," there was a similar mid-Eucharistic prayer interruption.  The enthusiastic lay helper tapped the celebrant on the shoulder, offering her some hand sanitizer.  Seriously, it was mid-prayer just after blessing the bread but before the wine was blessed. 

As I reflect on my year of Episcopal formation, learning the "proper" forms of prayers, the "proper" hand movements, the "proper" way to be with the congregation, I realized *this* was a time to learn how NOT to take church so seriously.  What is serious, is that mid-Eucharistic prayer interruptions by well-meaning people in all their humanness might give a pause, but that pause brings glory to God.

Seriously - love, love and love.  That's all.  That matters.  Seriously.

You're getting veewwwwy sslllleeeeepppy

The 15-hour on-call shift begins at 5pm. If it is Thursday or Friday, I've just finished my daily 8:30-5:00 shift and transported myself to the hospital for the over-night shift.

Last Thursday evening, I was pumped up to get to the hospital. I arrived a bit early, got into the on-call room, clocked in and went to the office just in time to catch up on all that was going on from the now-leaving-for-the-day chaplain to hand off to me. I discussed with the "late shift/backup" chaplain how we would split up the visits and went immediately to the emergency department where there was quite a bit of activity happening.

My second wind fueled my third wind and before I knew it, it was about 11pm. I still had quite a few general consultation requests to make. I scanned the list - anyone urgent? No 'end of life' requests, no 'spiritual crisis,' no 'need a bible' - nothing like that. So I went down the list.

Room 474 - asleep - didn't wake up
Room 392 - recent stroke - unable to rouse
Room 993 - asleep - didn't wake up
Room 792 - out for a test - patient missing
Room 864 - asleep - RN said she *just* managed to get her to sleep
and on like this. For like six patients.

The next day, I realized something. Of course they were all asleep... it was time for ME to be asleep! I remembered how my colleague Nathan used to say, "If you spot it, you got it!" Sure enough - I do believe that I projected my need for sleep onto everyone I "visited" so that I could get to sleep. I saw what I wanted to see, in some way. Oh, I could have woken up several of the patients and explored why they asked to see a Chaplain. But, at the time, my reality was that everyone in the hospital was asleep and so that's where I went.

It makes me wonder, where else in my life are folks "asleep" but really it's just how I am seeing them? How am I already asleep to others and just need to wake up? What about you?

When they came to the home of the synagogue leader, Jesus saw a commotion, with people crying and wailing loudly. ³⁹ He went in and said to them, “Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.” ⁴⁰ But they laughed at him. After he put them all out, he took the child’s father and mother and the disciples who were with him, and went in where the child was. ⁴¹ He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha koum!” (which means “Little girl, I say to you, get up!”). ⁴² Immediately the girl stood up and began to walk around (she was twelve years old). Mark 5:38-42

Sometimes You Feel Like A Nut

In my current position, I get to be the last step in the postal mailings. Once the letters are formatted, merged with the 300+ names to whom they will go, printed out and ready-for-stuffing, then it's my role to fold the letters and stuff.

"Folder is my name. Making you humble is my game," this folder cries.

Click here to see a YouTube video of said folding machine. [Notice how at the 1minute5second mark, where it shows how nicely the paper is folded, that several pieces of folded paper are folded into themselves. This does not make for easy stuffing, especially when the letters need to be in the same order as the personalized envelopes into which they go.]

One day, my role was to fold about 150 double-sided, stapled letters announcing that we would be honoring requests for money. It was due to go out the next day and so time was important. The envelopes were ready, I just needed to fold and stuff. For every ONE set that was folded, TWO jammed in the machine or folded into the next letter. Grrrr.

Another day, the letters were personalized by the manager and address to the leadership givers with personal notations. "Handle with care!" that manager told me. Gingerly, I approached the folder and pleaded my best prayer, "may it be according to your will." This time, only about 10% were diagonally folded or crunched and required tender loving re-folding. Grrrr.

Just when I think that perhaps I have a solution to some strategic problem announced by the marketing director, I have the opportunity to interact with this monster.

I'm trying to make peace with this monster. I decided to rename it Legion. Now where are the pigs when I need them?

Jesus asked him, “What is your name?” “Legion,” he replied, because many demons had gone into him. And they begged Jesus repeatedly not to order them to go into the Abyss. A large herd of pigs was feeding there on the hillside. The demons begged Jesus to let them go into the pigs, and he gave them permission.

Lord, help me learn patience. There is enough time.

Dignity Police

Would you consider joining a new vocation? It's one where we, the Dignity Police, would live fully into our baptismal covenant to respect the dignity of every human being (BCP, 305).

Here are some of our dignity paraphernalia:
1. Orange spray to dissipate free-flowing flatulence produced by unsuspecting patients.
2. Hair brushes, combs, hair spray and "bed head" products to coif matted and cow-licked hair
3. Lip gloss, with just a tinge of reddish-brownish natural lip color

Our duties would be to attend to post-surgical patients or those preparing to move on to God's eternal love. We'd coif hair, close legs, cover up private parts, shut eyes, and remove hand mitts.

I know, I know, we are all made in the image of God. It just seems that to respect the dignity of every human being we need some assistance. Call in the Dignity Police!

Out of respect for Christ, be courteously reverent to one another. - Ephesians 5:21

How do you respect others, in this moment?

Blog Alert!

I confess, I'm completely stealing Nathan's blog idea.

Here's the deal - there are four of us residents and three of us have blogs. Okay, we are geeks. Misery loves company? Allow me to introduce you to the other two bloggers now and their experience of this year.

Nate's 'Davar' - Nathan's blog - has a catchy subtitle. It's simply, "I laugh. I write. I care." This about sums him up! He's the one who keeps me grounded and honest and prevents me from saying "that's interesting."

His blog contains both personal and professional anecdotes. You can smell his dog here , you can learn about his practical joker here, sense his tender compassion here and there, or his ability to be present here.

I'm sure you won't be disappointed! He keeps showing up in the moment.
________________

On Call - The Spartanburg Year is the title of Erin's blog.

After serving as a pastor for a decade and a half in the
7th Day Adventist tradition, Erin brings humor, perspective and a natural talent for pastoral care to our team.

She shares her smooth, silky words with readers on this blog. We all agree, she has kept this blog restricted to only "approved: readers for too long. We want Erin to Come Out Of The Closet!

All of you out there who read this.... (all three of you!) it's time to make Erin's blog open to all readers so you too can enjoy her whitty writing and gift for story-telling.

Click on the link above to see her blog. If access is still denied, you can email her by clicking here. To help you out, I've included a sample message to a stranger for you to copy and paste... just add your name!

Dear Erin,

Reading Vicki's blog lacks context without your insight! Please open your blog to the public so I may enjoy some quality blogging, and so that I don't have to get your address from Vicki and begin texting you while you are driving. Your compliance will make this easier on both of us.

Sincerely,


On her site, be sure to read, "Bear Hunting," "Cheese Pastor," "Chaplain Down," and "Wading In" (one of her favorites).

So, there you have it folks. Two quality blogs full of wonderful, heart-warming and wrenching, sad, hilarious and whitty stories about life and chaplaincy.

That's how you show up to the moment!

Tuggle Abuse

The very large family was gathered in the hallways and sat on each other's laps in the ridiculously small waiting room outside the critical care area. Their loved one was dying and they had to make some tough decisions soon. The nurses had gently asked the family to step outside the unit so that they could clean up their loved one. They would let us know when we could return to spend time with her.

As a new friend or family member arrived, the daughters or husband would break into more tears. "I've cried so much that my face hurts," one said. It was a serious and sad time.

In the midst of this tense situation, we all began to take a breath. A dying-time-out for the fatigued family. And then Tuggle came off the elevator.

"Please step aside," it said.

The crying stopped. The wailing paused. The chatter silenced.

One of the grandkids stuck his foot in front of Tuggle, which made it stop and pause. The lights flickered and the family chuckled. "Backing up," it responded in its attempt to get around. Then the grand kid put his foot behind Tuggle. "Going around, please step aside," it responded. Thankfully, a friend of the family was the security guard and he gently touched the shoulder of the 16 year old. No words were exchanged, but everyone knew that bullying was not appropriate even with Tuggle.

Several family members looked at it, then at me, then at it, and then at me...what is that thing? Comic relief, I replied. Then I explained Tuggles job in the hospital and I asked what the family members thought of that. It provided us a conversation topic other than the dying family member.

I was glad for the relief. We all were. It made me think about the pastoral image of the circus clown. As author Heije Faber writes in the Images of Pastoral Care book, the function of the clown in the circus is to put things in perspective. "[the circus] makes us feel tense and frightened, but the clown puts it back in perspective. In a childish way he makes these stunt-men look a little foolish; he makes us feel that they are, after all, only human and ordinary, and thus re-establishes a sort of spiritual balance."

Tuggle provided a great service in those five minutes of lightness.

Now if only Tuggle would take all my on-call nights....

I tried to think of a scripture reference. I came up with nothing. Any ideas?

How is God interrupting with lightness and distraction in this moment?

Bad Hair Day

Being in the hospital, as a patient or as a grieving family, can wreak havoc on one's hair style. I am learning to enjoy the blessings of freely coifed hair. This is one area that gives me joy and wonder in God's reign here on earth.

The other morning, I was called to be with a family as their father/husband/cousin/neighbor was dying. He was nearing his last breaths when his wife licked her fingers and tried matting down his bed-head hair. He had been in critical care for weeks - there was no changing how his clowny-styled-hair was going to fall. His wife laughed through tears as she tried, in his final moments, to give him some measure of dignity. His kids started chuckling, too, and before we knew it, the whole room erupted in a "we aren't laughing at you, we are laughing with you" kind of way. We were all relieved for the tension that was let loose in her feeble attempt to control his hair.

Another time last week, I was making initial visits and glanced into the room to see if a patient was awake or sleeping before I entered. The aging woman's mid-length hair was - I am not kidding - sticking straight up. It was cartoon-like. I thought to myself, "I'd have to use a lot of product to get my limp hair to do that!" With a smile, I entered the room. I briefly woke her, but since she went in and out of consciousness I simply wished her peace and said a silent prayer for healing. Instead of jotting my usual scribbly reminders about my visit, I drew a sketch of her head on my notes. A few days later, I met her husband at her bedside and he explained her prognosis. She looked at me and her hair was - still - sticking straight up. I smiled, keeping this sketch image as I wondered with awe at this hairdo.

Last Monday on our second helicopter EMS trip, the crew (and I, the rider-along) landed safely at the heli-pad near our hospital. I had figured out how to swiftly unbuckle my wrap-around seatbelt without decapitating myself. I gingerly exited out the side, still wearing my ball-o-foam helmet smashed and clipped tightly to my head. I felt like an old pro as I "ducked" under the whip-whip-whip of the helicopter blades to accompany the patient and the paramedic/nurses into our emergency center. The transport-nurse was yelling something to serious-lady and chatty-buddy was running up behind with several syringes at the ready. The patient's health was declining, but on the helipad was not the time or place to try any medical care. Quickly, they rushed inside with me trailing behind just experiencing all the wind and sounds and critical energy. I followed in turn as they all unclipped their helmets and left them near the communications station on a stretcher outside.

En mass, we accompanied the seriously ill patient to a room filled with the trauma medical team. I was just starting to breath again as the paramedic/nurses were calling out the patient's situation, confirming with the doctor what was going on and what kind of care had been provided on our 10 minute flight in. The whole scene was very engaging and tragic.

Just then, I caught a glance of myself in the reflection of a window. Wow! my hair was completely - I am not kidding - wind blown and flat. All that product that I had used that morning didn't have a chance with that helmet, not to mention the wind of the helicopter before and after our pick up. Oh, well, I thought to myself. I'm having a great time. Hope my hair is, too!

Perhaps that will be the last time I make fun of someone else's bad hair day. "If you spot it, you got it!"

“And why worry about a speck in your friend’s eye when you have a log in your own? How can you think of saying to your friend, ‘Let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,’ when you can’t see past the log in your own eye? Hypocrite! First get rid of the log in your own eye; then you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend’s eye. Matthew 7:3-5

What concern gave you concern earlier that in this moment gives you joy at it's ridiculousness?

Words

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, * O LORD, my strength and my redeemer. - Ps 19:14

I am so familiar with this prayer; it's one that I use often as a mantra while making the long walk up the tower stairs to visit patients. I hope that I come up with some words that might help, or at least won't hurt. I hope that God fills my heart with compassion so that no matter what I say it somehow comes out "right." Dang, that ego thing again.

Then I meet someone like Sammy. He was sitting up in the critical care area as I walked by, looking for someone with whom I could visit. Most patients on this day were intubated, comatose, sleeping so soundly that they snored aloud, or were dilusional. When I peaked in his room and saw him peaking back, I walked on in and introduced myself.

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He continued in this vein and yes, you read right: it was gibberish. Or was it mumbling? Or did I simply forget that he was on the neurological (brains etc.) critical care unit. I listened for some time, adding my "uh-huh," "oh...," and "okay." This generated more conversation on his part. Eventually, he paused, looked at me and smiled one of those left-sided smiles. I smiled back. We parted by sharing the namaste peace gesture.

A little while later on the neurological "step down" floor, I met Rita. Her long, stringy, white hair and deeply set wrinkles gave me the impression that she had lived a long life. I walked in the room and after introducing myself, she grabbed my hand. She began telling me her story.

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I know, it takes a minute to realize that this was the same language that Sammy had used just a few hours earlier. Her story was mezmerizing and filled with facial expressions. She grabbed her sheet to use as a tissue as she cried, wailed and expressed her concern. Every once in a while, I recognized a word. "...unafraid?" I would repeat back. Then she would begin anew. So much of what she was expressing to me was anxiety, apprehension and fear. As I prayed with her, she closed her eyes and when I said amen, she opened them back up and began expressing herself in the same way.

I noticed that one of her electrodes was sticking to her gown, not her skin, and she seemed to want me to tell the nurse. As I left to go let the nurse know that the electrodes were unattached, she called out to me, "you come back!"

I'm sure that the words of Sammy and Rita were perfectly acceptable in God's sight. I felt God's presence in my heart as I listen to them. I believe that God knows what was on their mind and through me, they were able to express it.

How are your words and heart meditations giving you strength, right now?

Joyful

Be joyful in God, all you lands; *sing the glory of his Name;sing the glory of his praise. Ps.66:1

Let's call her Kathleen. I can't remember her real name, but I'll never forget her.

As I introduced myself, she interrupted me by excitedly telling me about her trip. See, she was an astronaut and maybe since she had been away was why she had not met me yet? She just got back from Mars, she explained. Since her husband (Joe Namath) was in the space program, she got to go with him. Oh it was an amazing trip.

What was the sky like? Was it blue?

The sky was not blue, no, it was red. Actually you could see the rings, you know? And the animals were all around, running free. Those creatures weren't like the ones we have here. They were kind of dinosaur-like. Not really house pets.

I guess not. What else was there?

Oh, the houses were very modest, you know. Kind of country style, nothing impressive. But there was not much air there so many people died when we arrived. I got to go because my son is Neil Armstrong. Have you heard of him?

Yes, he's a great guy.

Yes, I'm so proud of him. I think he'll be by to visit me and .... With very little probing, she continued to share all about her trip, her visits, her experiences. She continued in this way, Kathleen did. So excited and animated.

She was joyful, indeed, at all that God had created. Her free spirit and creative voice brought alive the simple TV room where the other patients were alternatively zombie-like and asleep. As I wished her well, she gave me a blessing.

I left with a boost in my step and a praise for all that God had created. What fun this is!

How are you showing up to this moment in joy?

Redefining Life and Death...and Mike

In "Journal Club," we chaplains have an interdisciplinary time of sharing an article that speaks to the intersection of faith and medicine, or ethical dilemmas, or bio-ethics, or ... well, we don't really have much direction so any kind of controversial topic that touches on spirituality and medicine is fair game.

One of our medical resident colleagues recently shared an article about how "Death" is being defined - and redefined - as the medical profession begins to understand that "...there is no "moment" of death." In medicine, the "moral" lines move. "Dead" means irreversibly stopped, and stoppages are increasingly reversible.

Is it when the heart stops? How can that be when the plan is to restart the heart in a new body?

Is it when the brain stops? Then we can take organs from people on a ventilator. "Failure to take body parts looks like lethal negligence."

I can tell you that this was one of the most vibrant discussions we as a team have had in our 5 or so months of chaplaincy. The medical team was spot on with all their scientific wit. The behavioral psych team got into our own fears of death. The chaplains were spiritual and religious.

Then, Dr. Kildare told us about Mike and all bets were off. Oh, you've never heard of Mike, the headless chicken? Well, talk about redefining life and death. You see, Mike was supposed to be dinner, one summer evening in 1945. The only problem was that he lived for another 18 months after his head was cut off. He grew to be 8 pounds of robust chicken and for this feat was eventually valued at over $10,000.

Who needs a head, when you can be a chicken?

Which brings us back, of course, to chaplaincy. Where is God in all of this? Well, there's a good question. I hope you keep asking.

This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. Deuteronomy 30:18-20

How are you redefining life and death in this moment?

Fell Off The Wagon

The blog wagon, that is. Not sure why - could it be that I've been just plain tired?

I'm learning about balancing demands of sleeping in three different beds each week, diasporic access to the internet to get into blogspot, being a patient myself (twice!) over the last two weeks and perhaps hitting the "over 50" number of deaths to which I have attended.

In spite of that, my faith is deepening, my love for my colleagues is expansive and my sense of call is clarifying. And, I'd love to blog about it all.

Thanks for journeying with me as I seek for this Advent season to blog when Ms. Muse shows up and technological moons align.

I'm going to just keep showing up in the moment!

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

There is a strange time vortex that happens with "On Calls." They start on one day, finish the next morning, and conclude around noon that day, after our classes, group work and lunch. Time flies!

It's not uncommon for me to start charting a call that occurred at 5am the following day of starting "On-Call" and forgetting that it's actually another day gone by - it happened today, not yesterday, which was of course tomorrow when this shift started.

Confused? Try staying up for 30 hours and then having a case study due. That will clear it up.

Fortunately, God is there in the midst of each On Call. God was there, is there and will be there.

...And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age. Matthew 28:20b

Which moment are you in at this time?

Cell Phones

Cell phones. What a unique and creative way to make a statement; to personalize one's life. Especially with ringtones, the latest fad in personalization.

I'm in the trauma bay conference room, with a mother whose son had a mishap on the football field. Her phone rings.

"Ma? Mom? Mommy? MMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMYYY?!! Ma? Mom? Mommy?..."

"Oh, my son recorded that so when he calls, I know that it's him. His sister must have his phone!" It felt silly laughing, given the tenuousness of the situation, but this mother welcomed the break from the heavy air and explained her latest ringtone.

Cell phones. Everyone has them.

I'm attending to a motor vehicle accident family in the large family waiting room. Great-Grandma (92), Grandpa (70), Mom (45), sister (20) and a cousin (23) all have cell phones. Each one is talking on their phone, calling the neighbors, the pastor, the extended family, the cat sitter, the piano teacher... all delivering the news about how their family member is doing and what the next steps are. One turns to me, "Do you have the yellow pages?" They understand - they are on a family plan with free minutes, but with extra charge for "information." They won't use the landline in the waiting room ("Dial 9 for an outside line) but they want the yellow pages. Gratefully, they all had their phones on "silent" or "vibrate." Except Great-Grandma whose phone rang Born in the USA, or some other rock song, when the pastor called back.

I think about how God is calling me and what ringtone God uses. What kind of "family" plan do we have with God's calling service? What tone does God use when I call? Or is God listening all the time?

Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. Isa 65:24

What ringtone resonates in your heart, right now?