It’s two days before Thanksgiving, that time of year where we’re reminded to count the many blessings that we’ve received throughout the year, even our lifetime. I’m feeling a bit like an emotional wreck, yet I persevere.
It has felt like a tough few days of taking care of my parents and packing to move out of my home of 20 years. And today, I attended the funeral service of my sister-in-law’s brother. He wasn’t much older than me, which I hadn’t realized, although I’ve known him since I was about 9 or 10 years old. I always liked him a lot. He was genuinely kind and generous, and rather funny. He seemed to enjoy taking care of people. I learned today he was a Virgo, so that makes sense.
My sister-in-law and he were deeply devoted to each other. In fact, she spent the last few weeks of his life driving about 30 miles back and forth to his home to help care for him and was at his side when he died.
Sitting in the very large and elaborately decorated sanctuary of the Catholic church where his services were held this morning, I was reminded of how quickly our reality can change, sometimes in ways we don’t want. It was just a few months ago, my sister-in-law was sharing with me her brother’s excitement about meeting Pope Francis this year when he visited the city and the church where he worked. With only 38 days remaining in this year, I spent my morning sitting in the same church with her brother's family, co-workers, and friends celebrating his life and saying our final “good-byes.”
I was not only struck by the beauty and elegance of the church with its high cathedral ceilings and stained glass, statues and pictures of Jesus and the saints everywhere—as a graduate of Catholic high school and having a great appreciation for Renaissance art, I’m always impressed by the architecture and décor of Catholic churches—I was also struck by the majesty and beauty of the funeral mass, and the warm, loving, and encouraging words spoken by the priest who knew him well. He spoke of his great love for his family and friends and of his commitment to serving the parishioners of his church, always with a smile. He told of how her brother always went out of his way to encourage and help someone because he believed in uplifting people.
As I looked at my sister-in-law, I could see and feel the sorrow in her heart. I wanted to do something for her, but what is there really to do or say at such a moment? Today, she was burying her brother whom she loved deeply and had cared for and he had cared for her. They expected to grow old together, to share many more laughs at cookouts and family dinners, and have more time to talk trash to each other while playing cards. What could one possibly say or do other than be present? There really are no words that provide comfort. No words that stop the "why's," "what if's," and "if only's" from flooding your mind. Having twice experienced a similar loss—the deaths of both my youngest and oldest brother—I could say that I understand her grief, but it isn't true, not really. Feelings of grief and sorrow are very personal. Yet remembering what I felt when my brothers died, my heart felt broken for my sister-in-law going through it now.
My heart felt broken also for his wife who was willing to do whatever it took, pay any amount of money, to spend another Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and all the days in between and thereafter with the man she loved. I can relate to this, yet cannot claim to understand her grief either. I do know that feeling of being willing to do whatever it takes, pay whatever it costs to be with the one you love. Love can be that powerful you want it to last forever, or as long as you can make it last, and are willing to sacrifice all for it, if necessary.
Seated with my sister and grand-niece, my mind wandered to the last time I was in a church with my sister-in-law for a funeral service. Eleven years ago, we sat in a different church to say “good-bye” to her son, my nephew. My grand-niece now seated next to me was seated next to her then to say “good-bye” to a father she had barely had the opportunity to know. More heartbreak that no words could ease. Only time, perhaps, and the joy of caring for the now nearly adult daughter he gifted her with.
It's two days before Thanksgiving, and I know there’s much for me to be grateful for. I know this. In spite of how I'm feeling right now and all the challenges I’ve faced this year—the setbacks and disappointments—I am alive and, at least until the end of the month, have a roof over my head and a comfortable, warm bed to sleep in. I have a family who loves me and helpful neighbors. I’m able to hear and see and walk without assistance. I have money in the bank, clothes, food, and my funky purple laptop to post my thoughts to this blog. Tomorrow I’m going to spend part of my day packing and part of my day with my grand-niece and grand-nephew, both of whom are home from their respective colleges. I am grateful to be able to do that.
I am also grateful for the courage, humor, and hope that my sister-in-law’s brother showed me is possible, during even the most dire and frightening of circumstances. No one may ever know or understand why he succumbed to the disease that he’d been fighting so hard for several months to overcome, but fight he did for his life, for his sake and the sake of those he loved. I believe he had much he was grateful for and wanted to live for—his family, his friends, his work/calling—and more dreams yet to fulfill, more lives to impact. He fought as best he could for another day, and another, and another to be with those he loved and see more of his dreams realized. We who still live should do likewise.
"Don't count the days; make the days count." - Muhammad Ali
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
Saturday, November 19, 2016
What Would Jesus Really Do?
“He Himself took our infirmities
And bore our sicknesses.” - Matthew 8:17
I am not your typical Christian, and I do still consider myself Christian although I haven’t been to church in more than three years. I am absolutely, I think, of the heretical variety at least according to the teachings you hear espoused in a many American churches today. I’m okay with that. If I am honest with myself and with others, what I am at my core is a seeker—a seeker of truth, a seeker of wisdom, a seeker of understanding.
Tonight, I write this from my parents’ home. They require 24/7 care, at least at this moment, and it’s my night to sit with them. My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s related dementia about three years ago. A few months ago, he fell while walking down the stairs in his home. In addition to a broken elbow, which has now healed, he’s has since demonstrated significant changes in cognitive function that no one in the medical profession has been able to clearly explain to us. My mother also shows signs of dementia related to a benign brain tumor that occasionally also causes seizures because of its position in the brain. Caring for them has proved to be both physically and emotionally exhausting for me and my siblings.
Some years ago, can’t recall how many, there was this huge, highly popular “What would Jesus do?” movement in churches across America, maybe even outside of America. The idea behind it was to encourage Christians to be more Christ-like by considering whether their actions and words were aligned with what Jesus would do or say, and then to act or speak, accordingly. How would Jesus treat the homeless person asking Him for money? How would he treat his colleagues at work? Would Jesus start or engage in an argument with his spouse or children? Would He curse the driver who just cut him off on the highway? Would He be caught throwing back a few beers at the local tavern with his buddies? I’m sure you’re starting to get the point of this exercise in mindfulness, except I think whoever started this movement and those who followed it may have missed the point of what Jesus actually came here to do.
As I sat in the chair by my father’s bed after giving him something to drink, I found myself asking the question: What would Jesus really do? What would Jesus do if He were here, right now in the flesh, in my parents’ home? What would he do after he entered their home and noticed my father in a hospital bed in what used to the be the dining room, uncertain of where he is, who I am, or even who he is? How would he respond to my father's difficulty to complete a single, coherent sentence? Would Jesus walk over and fluff my father’s bed pillows to make him more comfortable in his bed? Would he sit down quietly beside my father and hold his hand? Would he try to encourage him with words like: “The Father loves you and understands what you’re going through. It will all be alright; there’s a great reward waiting for you in heaven.”
What would Jesus do if he took a walk upstairs to my mother’s room where he would find her blurting out random words and phrases uncontrollably, or complaining that she can’t sit up to properly eat her food, or can't even swallow her food? Would he offer her some more water to quench her imaginary thirst? Would he, feeling compassion for her condition, attempt to reassure with words that everything is okay, after all the Father knows all her troubles?
Let’s assume that the stories in at least two of the Gospels are eye-witness accounts of actual events that occurred, what would Jesus do, really? Perhaps, he might do what he did when he entered Peter’s home and found his mother-in-law sick with fever. Upon entering my parents’ home, he’d walk toward my dad and gently place one hand on my father’s head and the other on his heart, and immediately my father’s body would be restored to a state of perfect health. And then, he and my father might share a quick meal together before heading upstairs to visit with my mother where Jesus would declare to her with firm, yet tender authority: “Woman, you are set free.” She, too, would immediately be restored to a state of perfect health and soundness of mind, and offer Jesus a drink of water.
I closed my eyes for just a moment to imagine this. I closed them again and remembered that Scripture says Jesus and I are one.
So, I set about doing what Jesus would do. Moments later, my father awakens and I ask if he’d like something to eat or drink. He responds coherently that he would like something to eat. Earlier in the day, he’d refused both lunch and dinner—such behavior is a common symptom of dementia, according to my father's doctors.
Does this mean that my father is healed? I am certainly encouraged. The way I figure it, I owe it my parents and myself to begin exercising the mustard seed faith Jesus spoke of and believe that like him I, too, can be a vessel of healing.
"And when Jesus went out He saw a great multitude; and He was moved with compassion for them, and healed their sick." - Matthew 14:14
I am not your typical Christian, and I do still consider myself Christian although I haven’t been to church in more than three years. I am absolutely, I think, of the heretical variety at least according to the teachings you hear espoused in a many American churches today. I’m okay with that. If I am honest with myself and with others, what I am at my core is a seeker—a seeker of truth, a seeker of wisdom, a seeker of understanding.
Tonight, I write this from my parents’ home. They require 24/7 care, at least at this moment, and it’s my night to sit with them. My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s related dementia about three years ago. A few months ago, he fell while walking down the stairs in his home. In addition to a broken elbow, which has now healed, he’s has since demonstrated significant changes in cognitive function that no one in the medical profession has been able to clearly explain to us. My mother also shows signs of dementia related to a benign brain tumor that occasionally also causes seizures because of its position in the brain. Caring for them has proved to be both physically and emotionally exhausting for me and my siblings.
Some years ago, can’t recall how many, there was this huge, highly popular “What would Jesus do?” movement in churches across America, maybe even outside of America. The idea behind it was to encourage Christians to be more Christ-like by considering whether their actions and words were aligned with what Jesus would do or say, and then to act or speak, accordingly. How would Jesus treat the homeless person asking Him for money? How would he treat his colleagues at work? Would Jesus start or engage in an argument with his spouse or children? Would He curse the driver who just cut him off on the highway? Would He be caught throwing back a few beers at the local tavern with his buddies? I’m sure you’re starting to get the point of this exercise in mindfulness, except I think whoever started this movement and those who followed it may have missed the point of what Jesus actually came here to do.
As I sat in the chair by my father’s bed after giving him something to drink, I found myself asking the question: What would Jesus really do? What would Jesus do if He were here, right now in the flesh, in my parents’ home? What would he do after he entered their home and noticed my father in a hospital bed in what used to the be the dining room, uncertain of where he is, who I am, or even who he is? How would he respond to my father's difficulty to complete a single, coherent sentence? Would Jesus walk over and fluff my father’s bed pillows to make him more comfortable in his bed? Would he sit down quietly beside my father and hold his hand? Would he try to encourage him with words like: “The Father loves you and understands what you’re going through. It will all be alright; there’s a great reward waiting for you in heaven.”
What would Jesus do if he took a walk upstairs to my mother’s room where he would find her blurting out random words and phrases uncontrollably, or complaining that she can’t sit up to properly eat her food, or can't even swallow her food? Would he offer her some more water to quench her imaginary thirst? Would he, feeling compassion for her condition, attempt to reassure with words that everything is okay, after all the Father knows all her troubles?
Let’s assume that the stories in at least two of the Gospels are eye-witness accounts of actual events that occurred, what would Jesus do, really? Perhaps, he might do what he did when he entered Peter’s home and found his mother-in-law sick with fever. Upon entering my parents’ home, he’d walk toward my dad and gently place one hand on my father’s head and the other on his heart, and immediately my father’s body would be restored to a state of perfect health. And then, he and my father might share a quick meal together before heading upstairs to visit with my mother where Jesus would declare to her with firm, yet tender authority: “Woman, you are set free.” She, too, would immediately be restored to a state of perfect health and soundness of mind, and offer Jesus a drink of water.
I closed my eyes for just a moment to imagine this. I closed them again and remembered that Scripture says Jesus and I are one.
So, I set about doing what Jesus would do. Moments later, my father awakens and I ask if he’d like something to eat or drink. He responds coherently that he would like something to eat. Earlier in the day, he’d refused both lunch and dinner—such behavior is a common symptom of dementia, according to my father's doctors.
Does this mean that my father is healed? I am certainly encouraged. The way I figure it, I owe it my parents and myself to begin exercising the mustard seed faith Jesus spoke of and believe that like him I, too, can be a vessel of healing.
"And when Jesus went out He saw a great multitude; and He was moved with compassion for them, and healed their sick." - Matthew 14:14
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