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.

Selah

In the morning, I read the day's psalm.  Sometimes, there is written "selah" at the end of the verse, as in:

Psalm 4:4-5

When you are disturbed, do not sin; 

   ponder it on your beds, and be

             silent.                      Selah

Offer right sacrifices,

   and put your trust in the Lord.


My New Oxford Annotated Bible (NRSV), the commentary indicates:
"selah - a Hebrew term, of unknown meaning, appearing in only the psalms (and psalmic Hab 3).  Often separates subunits of psalms, and is mot likely a musicological technical term."

In one person's blog, I read that this word is used, "...to denote pausing in order to reflect,...It is in those places of “selah” that we get perspective of all that is going on around us. Perspective is like being in the eye of a storm – the place of peace and stillness where we can get clarity."

It seems appropriate that I have encountered this word so often recently.  I recognize that my life is in a "pause" space.  That's not necessarily bad or good - it just is.  As I reflect, take perspective, and pray, it seems that selah has something to teach me.  In this moment, it is "of an unknown meaning" for sure and seems to indicate a separation of subunits - between stories, between ministries, between times. 

I'm showing up, in this moment, to selah.  Sounds like a breath.  Breathing in. Breathing out.

selah

Ring The Bell

We have a fun ritual in our work these days. Each afternoon - or more often, when possible - we acknowledge as a team the "money" envelopes we receive.

After weeks of delivering pledge cards, showing videos, making invitations to give and participating in all kinds of rallies, we now have something to show for it all! Each account's pledge envelope inscribed by their campaign coordinator tallies up the pledge cards with payroll deduction agreements, cash, checks, and credit card numbers. All gifts matter! Even the small, $1 gifts!

We collect up our envelopes, gather as a team, and march into the lobby of our building. One of our team grabs the cowbell from the shelf in our space and with a knowing nod, runs through the hallway ringing the bell. We all shout out, "All staff to please report to the front desk! NOW! We have some celebration to do!"

Amidst bells ringing and fun music launched from someone's iPod, we dance, do the hula hoop and announce our envelope numbers. Each day we hear about how we are doing - after all, that's why we are there - to collect funds for distribution back into our community. Yippee! We are doing it!

With the sound of clanking, I reflect on the sacramental nature of our ritual. It's an outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace that so many other people have given generously to help our community be stronger. We are marking, in our own way, how Spirit has moved hearts to give and inspired minds to put those gifts to work. We pray using our body in movement - "shaking our groove thang" - to show the movement of grace between and among companies.

We all show up - to that moment - inspired and remembering God's presence in our lives.


"But remember the root command: Love one another." John 15:17 (The Message)

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?

Left Behind

As I mentioned in last post, we (the Helicopter EMS) took off pretty early in the morning. After loading the big patient into the aircraft for return to our hospital, Serious-RN looked right at me and said, "Sorry, you'll have to stay here." Then she radio'd back to let our hospital know that one "of us" stayed at this other hospital. They all apologized profusely; it was really okay.

I knew it was okay as I was befriended by the long-retired security guard at this other hospital. After the aircraft took off, he huddled next to me and escorted me through the waiting room to the back of the emergency area. As we sauntered, he proudly told me about his career in the army, about his piloting experience, about how blessed he felt with his life. I felt like I had a new grandfather!

We moseyed into the "major care" area of this other hospital, me with my helmet under my arm and grandpa by my side. We stood near the nurses station until the charge nurse approached us. Grandpa shook my hand vigorously and explained to charge nurse why I was left behind. The charge nurse took over my care.

He was an experienced nurse, I found out. A leader in the regional "emergency nurses association" and good friends with the coordinator of this 'ride along' program of which I was a part. He wanted me to pass greetings along to Mr. Coordinator the next time I saw him. He offered me coffee and a space to stand at the counter for the unit secretary. Just as he excused himself to go care for someone, the unit secretary came by.

She looked curiously at me, but without an ounce of suspicion. I think that emergency room medical workers get pretty used to seeing weird things, like me and my helmet. I said, "pretty quiet in here, eh?" and she shushed me. That's code for, "Yes, it is but don't you jinx it!" As if I have that kind of power (hee hee!). Just then, the emergency room doors opened and in comes a stretcher holding a 150 year old woman, bless her heart, and two strong-looking paramedic women explaining to her 80-something year old daughter where they were going.

One of the paramedics came over and asked with curiosity what was up with me. She took time to hear my "left behind" story and then offered me some coffee and a comfy chair in the family waiting room. (The bubble over my head said, "Oh no, don't put me in the family room! I know what happens in those rooms!") But Ms. Paramedic insisted that I'd be more comfortable there. I resigned and offered the large sofa to my helmet as I snugged into the overstuffed chair. I called Mr. Coordinator and he was just 10 minutes away.

He picked me up just outside the ambulance entrance. Mr. Coordinator remarked about his buddy the charge nurse at the emergency center there. I passed along the greetings. He then pointed to a police car that was just exiting the freeway, remarking how that was his friend, "Joe," who recently helped them in some late night trauma. "We all know each other in this business."

I could see that! The security guy knew the charge nurse who worked with the unit secretary who was amused by the paramedic nurses who drive the ambulances that arrive at scenes policed by folks like "Joe" who contact the helicopter EMS crew for life threatening traumas.

I was left behind, but I was not forgotten. I was part of the web of care and welcomed into a community of emergency medical providers. Later that day, I was in our hospital's emergency center. One of the trauma transport nurses approaches me and says, "Hey, I heard you got left behind at that other hospital. Sorry about that!"

I really felt held by that web of support - all those folks so intricately connected and who feel responsible for each others' vocational interests. I reflect with my colleagues about the theological implications. This has to do with God's presence in our interconnectedness, with our care for each other no matter how strange and welcoming each other since we were once left behind, too.





"Do not mistreat an alien or oppress him, for you were aliens in Egypt." Exodus 22:21

When we try to pick anything out by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe. John Muir

"Humankind did not weave the web of life. We are but strands within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves." Chief Seattle Native American Leader (1786-1866)

Mid Point

December 15, 2009

Today is the official mid point of this year. December 15 is exactly six months since our start date, June 15. I'm thinking about how when you run a marathon, the real "mid point" is the 20 mile mark. That's usually when I hit the wall.

In marathon training, we gradually work up to those long runs. The cycle is three consecutive weeks of increased mileage followed by a week of restful runs. Eventually, the "long run" for the training is only 18 or so miles, with the theory that if you can run 18 miles, you can run 26.2. It's weird but it works!

Also, there's a three-way principle in place: you need to run and train, you need to eat and eat well, and you need to rest. Train, eat, rest. That's pretty much what life is like when you are training for a marathon.

In chaplain residency programs, I think the same principle applies. We need to train (initial visits, trauma calls, dying patient vigils), we need to learn how to eat right to sustain us and we need to rest.

I'm aware that this time is bitter sweet - half way done means hooray! and it also means Oh No! I love my team, the learning, the supervision, the course work, the ministry, the staff of the hospital, the routine, the experience. And, it's exhausting.

At this mid-point the advice that I give myself is to remember to train, eat and rest - and all shall be well.

"All shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of things shall be well." Dame Julian of Norwich (1342-1416)

What is your mid-point at this moment?

Waiting

I recently heard about a new book called "The Meaning is in the Waiting," by Paula Gooder. In this run-up to Advent season, it offers ways of learning to love waiting.

I am learning about waiting; we do so much of it in chaplain work. My own tolerance for waiting has grown immensely, mostly by denying that I am waiting and instead accepting that I am present for the other person. I'm not waiting at all. By being present, I remove my expectation from the room and can accept what each moment brings.

This book offers more depth to waiting that I had not yet considered. The summary indicates that in the company of the biblical characters we "discover very different kinds of waiting..."

* Abraham and Sarah -- who waited a lifetime for the fulfillment of God's promises.
* The Hebrew prophets -- who waited for God's intervention, both longed for and feared.
* John the Baptist -- whose ministry marked the end of one era and anticipated the new.
* Mary -- whose life was shaped by waiting and by events beyond her control.

These are different kinds of waiting. I still dance with that tension between waiting and being present. "To be 'expectant' rather than urgent, yet focused on God's presence rather than on some future." It's subtle, I think, this delicate difference.

Usually, the family member or patient helps discern it for me. Sometimes, it is too traumatic to ask where God is in the moment. Sometimes, asking that question is the only way to tolerate the waiting. If I name that we are waiting, and that I am present with them, I find that somehow a mutuality arises about what kind of waiting we are both experiencing.

I ask, how does waiting affect my abililty to show up to the moment?

Mark 15.43: Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council, who was also himself waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus.

How does waiting affect you?

Your Delivery Has Arrived

There's this strange phenomenon around the hospital. It's a robotic delivery box for medictations, mail and, well, whatever else needs to be delivered around the hospital. It's name (their names) are Tuggle, Tugster, Rx2D2 (say that three times fast!)... etc.




About the size of a small freezer, Tuggle makes its own way on its own around the hospital by wireless routers positioned on the hospital ceilings. It has a large camera-eye on the front that informs itself if it's about to run into something (a wall, a nurse, a chaplain...).



Seriously, we'll be milling about in the ICU hallway, comiserating about an impending death with a wailing family member and ... oops - here comes Tuggle. Look out. Part comic relief, part hospital work horse, part bane of the unit secretary's existence.



When Tuggle arrives at it's destination, it cries out in a semi-robotic, non-gendered voice, "Your delivery has arrived." Tuggle patiently waits. If the appointed recipient does not respond promptly, Tuggle repeats it's statement. "Your delivery has arrived." I was with one unit secretary when Tuggle arrived and annouced it's presence. The secretary was on the phone with someone and said, "Oh, hold on a minute, my husband is here..." as she went to get her delivery and then send Tuggle on its way. In another unit, I saw the classic stacks of folders for mail delivery; there were three levels, "In" "Out" and "Tug."

Just down the hall from our office, where the Behavioral Health Unit is locked, Tuggle waits and repeats any number of times before that unit secretary, at the end of the long hall behind those locked doors actually hears Tuggle. "Your delivery has arrived." "Your delivery has arrived."



But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut. - Matthew 25:10

How many times has God stated this to me and I did not hear? How many times has my delivery arrived, and God patiently waits; waiting for me to unlock the key and receive with gratitude what God delivers.

What has arrived in your delivery today?