In the Face of Death: More Light. More Life.

Another day of death. This one a sabbath.

Eleven people are dead at a synagogue in Pittsburgh,
killed in a crime of hate.

This but a few days after pipe bombs were mailed,
but did not explode. That would have been more death.

The synagogue was called
The Tree of Life.

More light. More life.

These are the words borne on the emblem of the Tree of Life * Or L’Simcha Congregation in Pittsburgh, PA. They stand for that Jewish community’s daily mission and work, mode of worship, hope for the world, and rallying cry. (Museum of Jewish Heritage)

Earlier this week a man of peace and grace I have gotten to know died after a short illness. Tonight I learned of the death of a friend of many, many years. It sounds trite but any death can strike us hard. One may bring anger or fear. Another good memories and sadness. There may be relief at some deaths, surprise at others. A violent death or deaths can overwhelm us with uncertainty and confusion. A quiet, unexpected death can shock us into private grief.

In the Jewish tradition there is the Mourner's Kaddish, a prayer to be said in a time of death and for 11 months after. But it is a prayer that does not mention death. It begins in confidence and humility:

Exalted and hallowed be His great Name. 

It continues later:

 May His great Name be blessed forever and to all eternity. Blessed and praised, glorified, exalted and extolled, honored, adored and lauded be the Name of the Holy One, blessed be He. 

Blessed be He. Even on a Sabbath of death.

Especially on a Sabbath of death.

May we join together to proclaim

More light. More life

In the name of the Holy One, blessed be he,

Let all say,

Amen.

Life: It Is!

Yes, life just is. Put about any word that fits for you right now and it will be right.

Life is.

• A friend's wife has cancer.
• A retired friend, an iconic person in my years in ministry, is in hospice care.
• A college friend, who later was a colleague of mine in a clinical practice, died suddenly only months after retirement.

Life is.

For this week, then, is a reminder that life is precious and fragile. Perhaps the fragility is part of what makes it precious. This is not a surprise. I have dealt with death since my parents died when I was a teenager. As a pastor I have officiated at funerals of an 8-year old and a nearly 100 year old.

Life is precious, fragile, and unpredictable. Of the three things this week, only the hospice care is less of a surprise. The other two- unexpected, out of the blue, a break in the fabric of my life, if only for a moment.

Yet a reminder that the break in my fabric of life will also happen one day. It is not an easy thing to think about when you feel happy, healthy, and younger than the calendar tells you. It is not easy, even when you are now older than just about anybody you knew in your immediate family. The mask of immortality that we all wear gets a little ragged around the edges on a week like this.

Which is good. We need that balance between mortality and immortality. We need to maintain that awareness of the shortness of life, yet without allowing that to infect us with defeatism- or fear. What is, is. What will be, will be.

So this week I am also grateful for what my life has contained- more than I can even make a dent in recounting.

• Family! 
• Friends! 
• Career! 
• Fun! 
• Meaning! 
• Joy! 
• Health! 
• I have been granted the opportunity to continue the best of both my personal and career worlds in retirement. 
• I have had the chance to become the musician I have always dreamed of wanting to be. 
• I work in a job that is rewarding, challenging, and never dull- but 
• I am also "retired" so I can balance that work with my other passions.

That is only the surface.

For today, I am filled with these words attributed originally to a Confederate soldier, but as real today as they were a century and a half ago.

Most Richly Blessed
by an Unknown Civil War Soldier 

I asked God for strength, that I might achieve.
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked for health, that I might do great things.
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for riches, that I might be happy.
I was given poverty, that I might become wise.

I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men.
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need for God.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life.
I was given Life, that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I had hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers and true needs were fulfilled.

I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

Charming, Challenging, Moving

Those three words in the title describe two books I recently read. Rachel Joyce started an amazing storyline in The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. In it she tells of Harold who received a letter from an old friend, Queenie Hennessy, that informs him she is dying and in hospice care. He decides to walk the length of England to see her and, in so doing, help her to live longer. As any regulars here know, I am a sucker for the idea of "pilgrimage," so I jumper right on it when a friend highly recommended I read it.

He was right. It is quite a commentary on all kinds of things of every day life- work, relationships, renewal, retirement, hope, dying, fame in 380+ pages. There were a number of places where Joyce could have taken an easier, more Hollywood-type approach, but she didn't. She kept the story moving at a pace that matched Harold's journey and his wife's musings. We hear much about Harold's past and see how his becoming mindful of his journey changes just about everything.

I loved the flow of the book and the way the characters kept interacting through Joyce's narrative. It's kind of like life- which I know is a pilgrimage of daily discovery. It was a bestseller and longlisted for the Man Booker Prize.

The second book is Joyce's parallel story of Queenie Hennessy as she relates her story while Harold is making his pilgrimage, The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessy. It is a deeper telling of the events from Harold's life from a person involved in them in ways Harold never knew. Queenie starts writing this letter after she informs Harold of her terminal illness. She describes life in the hospice, how they respond to Harold's pilgrimage and their own mortality that you can never escape in a hospice. In the midst of that Queenie also tells her back story of her time working with Harold and the 20-years since she last saw him.

Harold's pilgrimage is a physical one, transforming his inner life and world-view. Queenie's is internal, remembering and reacting, finding new ways of bringing life to a closure. Her's is truly a love song about finding and losing love while internalizing it, building it in different ways, and finally giving it a voice.

Since we already know one side of most of the events Queenie relates, it is intriguing to put the two together for a larger and more profound picture. It reminded me that we don't often know either how much impact we have on others, or how they are interacting with our lives. While that sounds trite and cliched, Joyce is an accomplished storyteller who keeps us wondering, "What next?" even as we know the end.

That is what this pilgrimage of life is like, though. We all know the end. It is the ultimate equality And yet, it is how we walk that pilgrimage, how we respond to our events that makes each life unique. Hope, transformation, grace- they are all just around the corner at each moment.

The Easy Way of Being a Prophet

Last Sunday the Gospel lesson was the end of the story of John the Baptist- where he lost his head to the whims of the king. The Hebrew Bible lesson was from Amos who got into trouble for speaking the truth to power- the King. They fit right in with my sermon two weeks ago on Jan Hus and his martyr's death at the instigation of the Pope and the church powers in 1415.

THAT'S not an easy way to be a prophet. What is the easier, softer way?

The pastor then talked about a recent experience he had at national convention where he and 1,200 others did a march against gun violence while carrying signs that said, "Black Lives Matter." It was a very moving spiritual experience for him, as I am sure it would have been. We had done a simple march in Miami 20 years ago as part of a world mission conference. All we did was walk as a witness to our faith. That was amazing. This was standing up to power and pointing out one of the deep divides and cardinal sins of our culture that no one wants to talk about.

The pastor then commented

It's easy being a prophet when you are with 1200 other people.

Yep. A lot of truth in that. It is easy when we can get lost in the crowd. When all of you are chanting the same, protesting the same, but just face the reality and, well, things can get a little more difficult.

I discovered that back in the early 70s in the midst of the Vietnam War protests. I had gone down to Washington to participate in the May Day protests. I had been there a week earlier with the big protests. It was fun and an anti-war carnival. Many people came back a week later with the expressed purpose of shutting down Washington in acts of civil disobedience. We arrived on Saturday, May 1 and camped out in West Potomac Park near the Washington Monument. It was a picnic-rock fest with people hanging-out and listening to the music. There were about 35,000 people there.

I fell asleep that night, though fitfully, aware that civil disobedience could get one arrested.

I awoke on Sunday morning and looked out the tent flap. As I remember it now it was the sight of riot troops (we'd call them SWAT teams now) lining the streets around the park. It seemed like an endless number of them. The Nixon administration had cancelled the park permit. They were urging us to leave. Later in the morning the troops started to move across the camping area, tearing tents down, using tear gas to disperse the crowds.

I never saw that part. I gathered my stuff and, along with about 25,000 others, left D.C. heading back home.

Sometimes it isn't even easy being a prophet when there are 35,000 of you- and 10,000 of them with guns.

Or you are standing on a Memphis motel porch, there's one lone gunman across the street and your name is Martin Luther King, Jr.; or Robert Kennedy, surrounded by supporters as Sirhan Sirhan pulls the trigger; or Mahatma Gandhi about to enter a prayer meeting as a gunman came up to him and fired three times.

 It appears that it is never easy being a prophet when you have to stand up to the ways of the world that lead to death, destruction, hate, and fear.

I give thanks for those who are willing to take that prophetic stand of speaking out, of challenging those who would use their power to oppress those already under oppression; those who would conspire to take dignity and hope, health and support from others who are different; those who would use their religion and their patriotism to denigrate others and turn them into non-persons.

I know that I am a weak prophet. I want people to like me- and I certainly don't want to be tear-gassed or have my head beaten by a billy-club. But I also know that I have to find ways to stand up for what I believe to be right.

The easy way of being a prophet is to stay at home and not speak out. Because one is no longer a prophet. Maybe I need to find more people who are willing to do it with me.

Feelings and Transitions and What's Important

It has been a tough week or so. I have found myself in a kind of non-specific cloud of sadness and disquiet. I know exactly what is going on- it is life that is hitting me. It is life and transition and uncertainty and trying to stay focused on the important things.

It starts with making a sudden trip to support my wife's 95-year old aunt who needed surgery and a move to a rehab care facility. The questions of "What next?" and self-care and support are rattling around as I look at this very determined little old woman who has been independent and self-caring her entire life. She hasn't lived with anyone else since her father died over 40 years ago. There is a helplessness as I think about what my wife and I can do to help or support her- from 1,200 miles away.

Then there is knowing that while I am out east I can visit my old and most important friend who is facing significant health issues. We have talked and I know what's going on there. To go visit him is essential and heart-wrenching!

The third thing has been hitting a wall in my writing. There is obviously something I am digging toward in the work and I am hesitating in some ways about finding it.

On the lesser side of the issues, yet surprisingly emotional for me, is the series of TV shows as David Letterman ends his incredible career. I have been watching wistfully each night watching him move toward retirement. Having been in the midst of that myself this past year I have a strong sense of what he is going through. Since he is in my age-cohort, I am also watching the end of my generation's work on late-night TV. That, for me, requires a post all its own. Letterman has been a TV guide/guru/friend for well over 30 years and I am saddened as I am reminded of the incredible passage of time.

Perhaps it is not the "lesser side." It touches on my own journey. Like the other three it is what I have often called "intimations of mortality." Change sucks- even planned change- because it means we are getting older. We may not notice that until we do begin to notice that we ARE older. No, I don't believe we Baby-Boomers have invented aging. It may be, though, that we are the first generation to be able to truly experience aging into old age- and experience it with better health than ever before. When people say that 60 is the new 40 it is both a denial of aging as well as a statement about how aging has changed in the past 40 years.

But then the final blow came when I learned of the serious auto accident and eventual death of the 18-year old son of a friend. The young man was about to graduate from high school. He lost control of his car on Sunday and crashed. He was in an induced coma for several days, but was unable to recover. I fond myself prayerfully focused on the family over several days, even coming to tears for them and their personal tragedy.

The helplessness of life is what we most fear. My 95-year old aunt, my friend's health, my own inability to move forward with a personal project. These of mine are brought up short when I ponder the death of an 18-year old who will never get the opportunity to find out the ups and downs of life. I am humbled in pain as I think of parents losing their child so violently and in such a purposeless way.

So I have to put life into perspective. Mine, my friend's, my aunt's. I am sure that Letterman would be the first to agree that his retirement- even his achievements- are nothing- he was only a TV entertainer. To come to grips with loss and change and finally death is the reality of life.

I pray that in the end the quality of life- short or long- may not be dimmed by the pain of losing it. I pray that each day of life may be filled with an awareness of how important each day is and how important it is to live a life that touches others in their hurts as well as our own. To live otherwise is to truly lose sight of the great daily gift we have had.

No, this does not get rid of pain. But perhaps it can give us a perspective that helps us walk through it and be there with others when they need that companionship.

For me to live otherwise would deny everything I profess to believe. It isn't easy- and it is at those moments I can repeat the old but eternally true word: I believe; help my unbelief.

Listen and meditate.
May the soul be cleansed and
held close to the Creator.

A Starting (and Startling) Insight

Susan Sontag, Illness As Metaphor (1978), foreword, p. 3, Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks ago I found out about a good, important and long-time friend who is wrestling with "end-of-life" issues. That, of course, is a fancy way of saying he is in the advanced stages of a life-threatening, terminal illness. We've talked on the phone a few times and I have spent a great deal of time reflecting on the issues he is facing- and which we will all deal with some day. Being in the second half of my sixties it is obvious that I am closer to that than I am to birth. I have also been through many times of people dying in my life. Grandparents and parents, aunts and uncles, cousins and a nephew, best friends, a college roommate and hundreds of church members have all "passed on" during my life. In the past couple years one of my best friends learned of a genetic disease which places him at risk; another has been through some real medical difficulties emphasizing his health concerns; now the person who was there at the beginning of my adulthood, helping me discover what it means to be me.

Last week at work one of our doctors gave a talk that included the above passage from Susan Sontag. The phrases- "kingdom of the well" and "kingdom of the ill" resonated as did the thought that one day we all will exchange our "passports" from one kingdom to the other. I remembered the essay, but needed a refresher so I read the book. It is an "easy" read as Sontag gives us a history of the use of metaphor to describe first tuberculosis and then cancer. (Note: She later updated this to include AIDS.) The book was written in 1978, more than 35 years ago and may be at least partly responsible for the changes that I could sense in the specific metaphors she was dealing with.

Here, from Wikipedia is a summation:

[S]he challenged the "blame the victim" mentality behind the language society often uses to describe diseases and those who suffer from them.

Drawing out the similarities between public perspectives on cancer (the paradigmatic disease of the 20th century before the appearance of AIDS), and tuberculosis (the symbolic illness of the 19th century), Sontag shows that both diseases were associated with personal psychological traits. In particular, she says that the metaphors and terms used to describe both syndromes lead to an association between repressed passion and the physical disease itself. She notes the peculiar reversal that "With the modern diseases (once TB, now cancer), the romantic idea that the disease expresses the character is invariably extended to assert that the character causes the disease–because it has not expressed itself. Passion moves inward, striking and blighting the deepest cellular recesses."
-Link

Sontag was reacting to some of the then "alternative" therapies such as the use of psychotherapy, that ended up causing many people with illnesses to see it as their fault. When AIDS came along a few years later, this "blaming the victim" became even more prevalent. AIDS was, at times, presented as God's judgement on Gay people, for example.

I actually remember sometime during this early- to mid-1970s period reflecting back ten years on my mother's death from colon cancer. I recall wondering what she had repressed in her life that she died at age 48? What fears or anger or resentments was she holding in that ate away at her?

That was real, progressive, alternative thinking in 1975. Does that sound crazy in 2015? Not to some people. Every now and then you may still hear someone speak of a person who has a "cancer personality." Or when some research seems to indicate that a virus may be involved in some cancers, people don't believe it. When there is a vaccine, for example, some people discourage its use since it will "encourage" bad behavior which, of course causes cancer.

In some ways, thought, what all this can be is a difficulty accepting our individual powerlessness in the face of illness and death. To be able to blame it on some flaw or fault in our personality that we could have done something about, gives us a sense of lost power, yes, it's an awareness "too late" to do anything about it; but at least we are not powerless. We caused it. It is our fault. (I'll come back to that...)

First a bit more from Wikipedia about where this all goes:

Sontag says that the clearest and most truthful way of thinking about diseases is without recourse to metaphor. The tone of her treatise was angry and combative, and she makes sweeping claims that, while perhaps true to a first approximation, may go too far (Donoghue, 1978).

She believed that wrapping disease in metaphors discouraged, silenced, and shamed patients. Other writers have disagreed with her, saying that metaphors and other symbolic language help affected people form meaning out of their experiences (Clow, 2001).
-Link

Finding meaning in dying?

The current way of expressing that can be seen in obituaries where they will say that the person "fought a courageous battle" against the disease that took their life. I have at times reflected on that passage and realize that this still fits within the metaphor image.

My mother died of cancer before this phrase was used. As a 13-year old boy I wouldn't have said that I saw courage. I saw a disease taking her. She was powerless. And that scared the crap out of me. Was there meaning in that for her? For my Dad? For me? I don't think so. The meaning of dying is simple- "I am done. Time to move on."

Finding meaning in dying? Isn't that a little late to find meaning?

Or, as I have been asking it for about 25 years now,

What is the meaning of life if it ends in death?

That is something that we should not be ignoring at any time in our lives. The clearest and most truthful way IS, as Sontag says, to leave the metaphors aside, at least as we come to grips with our own mortality. It is to recognize that we do have citizenship in what appears to be two kingdoms. It also means seeing that these two kingdoms are not as far apart as we like them to be. It may even be that they are night and day of the same reality. Not flip sides, but part of a continuum.

As I have listened to my two friends wrestling with their end-of-life awareness I have been reminded of my own mortality. I have been reminded, as a radiologist said to one of the friends,

Life is a terminal illness.

But that is insufficient as well. While it places living and dying into the same plane, it also keeps the illness metaphor. Yet let's be real- we may not be able to speak of the unknown in any way other than metaphor. We use metaphorical language all the time to speak of God, in spite of what many fundamentalist literalists like to think.

So, then, where has that led me in these weeks as I have again come face-to-face with the human experience of this life/death citizenship? First,

• The meaning of life may be found in living in spite of dying.
• The meaning of death may be found in how we lived.
• And, I believe, it is in those "meanings" that we find the courage to continue in spite of illness or impending death.

At that point, as I always have to do, I return to the Twelve Steps of AA and the recovery world. As I learned early on from a spiritual guide, it is only when we come to the acceptance of our dying- the last step of death, dying and grief- that we have reached the First Step of Alcoholics Anonymous.

I am powerless and my life is unmanageable.

Leading me to Step Two

Do I believe there is some "high power" that can move me forward in sanity in spite of that?

If so, then there is Step Three

Let that higher power be my guide and source of power.

Everything else is how we do it. Simple? Sure.  Simplistic? No, not the way I have seen it. It is a daily walk in hope and meaning. The things I learn today at 66 are far different than the things I was learning 25 years ago when I first discovered these steps.

This is NOT, I repeat NOT, giving up. Powerlessness is NOT giving in to dying!! Notice again that it is only when we accept our powerlessness that we can seek the power to move on. It is only when we recognize the reality of what we face that we can look for the answers, decisions, directions and options that may impact who we are and what we do.

Illness itself may be the wrong metaphor in the end since it has a negative connotation. Can we accept "illness" as a given, part of our humanity? Can we accept that it will happen? In doing so can we also be ready to continue to affirm and uphold life when it does?

That may be a way that allows for more honesty, hope, and support.That is where courage comes in. That is where the courageous battle against an illness is not a denial of the illness but rather a willingness to seek support, care, treatment. It is a reminder that, yes, we all will die, but until that happens, we are still in the "kingdom" of the living!

A Comedian With a Heart

We just finished listening to Martin Short's moving memoir, I Must Say: My Life As a Humble Comedy Legend, on our trip home. I am glad, first of all, that we did the audio book version with Short himself doing the reading. That way we got the "real deal" of Short's characters and own way of presenting his story.

Two things stand out in my mind about the book. First, it gives a down-to-earth view of celebrities that we see often- Tom Hanks, Steve Martin, Paul Shaffer, Bill Murray, Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn and Short himself. As Short tells his story and these friends of his show up, we find that they are just every-day people in their own world. While they may be in a whole different culture than most of us, within their culture and relationships they do the same things as we do. They sit on balconies and look at the ocean, on the porch of a cabin and watch the water on the lake. They go to the doctors and have fun times together. They call each other up on the phone and go shopping.

They also have the pains of life that we all have. Which is the second outstanding element of Short's memoir- he lays bear the pain of his life. His brother's sudden death while Short was a teenager, the death of his mother, the father who was like so many other fathers of the 50s and 60s and finally, the death of his wife of 36 years in 2010. His reflections on these events go deep into the ins and outs of being human and coping with life. They speak of the heart- and to the heart. He doesn't sugar-coat them not give glib answers. You can tell that through a lifetime of deaths in his life, he has wrestled with what the meanings are- for him.

As we were driving listening to the last sections of the book about his wife's death, my wife and I found ourselves crying. He doesn't play the emotions, he simply tells the story and his reactions. We could not stay dry-eyed. Short is of our generation, of course, and we are soon to celebrate 43 years together. The deep loss of the death of a spouse is not something to avoid. As Short presents it, when it happens, it will hurt, deeply and forever, but these difficult times are difficult because we have had a good life together.

While not one to regularly listen to audio books, I highly recommend this one instead of just reading it. You will get Martin Short at his best and most human.

A 50-Year Memory: Another Death for a Teenager

Not to be too dramatic but today is the 50th anniversary of my brother and me becoming orphans. December 4, 1964 our dad died in the Veterans' Hospital in Wilkes-Barre, PA.

As those of you who read this blog on a regular basis know, I have been spending a lot of time digging into memories and history of my family, and at this point, my dad's service in World War II. He had surgery that discovered a brain tumor in 1958. It was not malignant, which meant it wasn't the kind that spread.

But it did grow back, slowly but surely.

He spent the last year of his life in the hospital and quietly died on this date in 1964.

Already our Mom had died in 1962, Dad's brother in 1959, and Mom's father in 1958. We were raised by Dad's sister.

One becomes aware of the uncertainty and fragility of time and life in those events.

Unsurprising Surprises

Like most everything else in the world, we should not necessarily be surprised by what happens when change begins. Just because we plan on the change, try to think through it, even believe we are ready for it, when it comes right down to it, we are clueless about how we will respond.

Or at least we need to be open to be surprised, shocked, enlightened and expecting the black swans we didn't know would happen to us. Last week the black swans came out of their hiding place and I was surprised that I was just like everyone else.

"This is what happens when you move into retirement," my wife said as I couldn't figure out why I was feeling like I was. "It can take months to be ready for this."

"But I was so ready," I wanted to say. "Why is this happening to me?" Yep, that good old fashioned expression of terminal uniqueness. Yep- I'm unique just like everyone else. That means when, even with a year of planning and processing, as the events truly do unfold, you begin to realize that this is really happening.

The times aren't changing- they have changed! It is a whole new world. All the things that move along with this change of movement toward retirement is one of those major life-events that bring to the front all the feelings of loss and grief. It is a time, again, when the passage of time becomes more than real- it is right there in your face. "Look at me! See me! This is real!"

It is as much a step into the unknown as the graduations from high school or college, the new career or new job. Even looking at this move as a "third career" for myself insulates me from some of the underlying issues of mortality, physical ability, health and change.

Then word came that a colleague had died suddenly. He went for a bike ride and collapsed. He is just ahead of me by five years. He is the first of my cohort to die in our older years. Several have died of cancer, AIDS and premature heart attacks. This one is that reminder of reality.

So I have been unfocused, distracted, angry, sad, working harder at staying healthy (bargaining?), depressed and just generally denying things.

I wasn't supposed to do these things. I was supposed to have worked hard so they didn't happen and I could just slide into this whole retirement with no repercussions. In short, I wanted to do it without the pain and the fear, the uncertainty and concerns that always happen.

But here I am anyway. Just like you or anyone else. So w hat do I do about it?

The same thing I have learned how to do over the past 25 years- accept it and move through it. Make the most of what I can do and let life happen. The Serenity Prayer comes to mind, of course:

God, grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can, and
Wisdom to know the difference.

But that is only the beginning. It is a deep sense of acceptance that must also be rediscovered anew each day. In order for that we all need to learn to look inside ourselves and be honest about what is happening- and then talk about it. Other people are essential to that process. They call us to be aware- mindful- of who we are and what is happening. Denial is not a healthy place to stay. It gets us stuck in what was instead of what can be.

So for myself, this (re)newed awareness empowers me by pulling me out of where I was into where I can go. That's all I have. That's all any of us has. So take that energy and channel it into hopeful and productive actions.

Let's see how that works.

Consciousness- The Mystery

I've walked by the book a number of times in the local Barnes and Noble. I looked and thought it was one of those "new age" type of books. Proof of Heaven by Dr Eben Alexander never really caught my attention. I tend not to worry about heaven. Somehow or other I know there's not much I can do about its existence (or lack thereof). What is important is what I do and how I live in the here and now. Yes, I believe in eternal life, but I sure have absolutely no inkling of what that means, what it will look like, or even where it's located. We know far less than a lot of preachers and "believers" lead themselves to believe. I am looking forward to a reunion on some distant shore, but I don't get all caught up in the pursuit of it.

Then the other noon I was driving home and I started listening to Minnesota Public Radio broadcasting a talk by Dr. Alexander. Suddenly I was intrigued. He was talking about neuroscience, which I also talk about a great deal. He talked about meditation, mindfulness, and centering prayer, which I also talk about a great deal. He talked about the great mystery of "consciousness" and the difference between the brain and "mind." It seems he had a near-death experience in which he had visions that sound more extensive than the near-death experiences usually discussed. He talked about the "mystical" experience and the beauty, the sounds, the colors and light. He said that in deep meditative states the same things are possible. They are on the other side of some kind of consciousness veil (my words).

Then instead of taking some clear doctrinal path into traditional religion he seemed to talk about the truth at the foundation of all religious and spiritual traditions. He talked briefly while I was listening that our poor human words are almost useless. He had me at that point. No, not a believer, but willing to at least read his book, which I am about to start.

I feel life is too rich and powerful to be limited to what we can see. I have read too many examples of people having all types of spiritual experiences that are not easily explained- or explainable at all- by our human science. There are enough stories of the power of mindfulness and meditation; centering prayer in many forms is a deep and profound connection with something; the Celtic understanding of "thin places" where this world and the spiritual world are closer than other places expresses this same understanding.

We are living in a time, I feel, where the underlying spiritual quest of humans is being discovered and re-discovered. Jon Kabat-Zinn in Massachusetts has developed and proven the value of mindfulness-based stress reduction in physical illness. Dr. Amit Sood at Mayo Clinic has been developing a program of attention and interpretation therapy. These are but two elements of what is happening.

So I will keep exploring. I know I will never have it figured out- none of us will. But put all the pieces together and we might have a tiny sliver of the biggest picture.

In Memory

Some More Thoughts on Meaning

The meaning of life… deeper meaning

                It pulls you through suffering or

                Pulls you into it as you seek

For answers.

Meaning is a deep question-

                About life and existence

What IS the meaning of life if it

                Ends in death?

We are back to the First Step- we are

                Powerless.

Death is the ultimate powerlessness,

                The Ultimate against which we

                Fight and argue

                And build dikes of denial and doubt

                Against despair and desperation.

Until one day the question is clear. It is no longer

                A question. It is

                A statement beyond awareness,

Broader than faith

                Deeper than hope.

There IS meaning to life

                Because

It ends in death. Life’s very value comes because

Life is time-limited. It is finite-

                Filled with option that will end.

Is that okay?

                Is that acceptable?

There is no other option so it

                Must be.

Therefore run with it,

                Believe it

                                Act like it.

There you will find the meaning,

Not in words, perhaps, but in

                Soul and Spirit.

Look around. Become mindful.

                Be aware.

Let your experience be spun

                Into new ideas,

                New perspectives,

                New dreams.

Meaning will come. It will live and

                Become more alive each day.

The Passing of Time

Last July, I wrote a post entitled When Your Mentors Are Gone. In it I reflected on the fact of aging and the ongoing fact of people who have been important to you dying. In it I wrote about hearing of the deaths of mentors. I wrote in part of it:

The great cloud of witnesses is loaded with witnesses I have known and who have helped me become who I am.

But now they are almost all gone. Few are left, now in their 80s and 90s. None of them to go to for advice but in memory.

Such is the pain and pleasure of aging, the pain of loss, the pleasure of memories, and above all the gratitude of the day in and day out gifts they have left behind in so many lives.

It has happened again this week. Two emails from our church offices that one of those mentors has died at age 99 and another is moving to a nursing care facility. I paused again to ponder the movement of time, of aging, of gratitude for the support and care received. I thought again of special moments.

I sat in the break room of the Church-owned nursing home in a far away city that was about to become my hometown. The Bishop filling me in on the church I was meeting with, the history of the place I was sitting in, the opportunities for ministry that lay ahead of me. He was older that day than I am today, yet full of excitement and energy. We talked and he paved the way in my mind for the ministry I didn't even know I was capable of.

There was also the day that I had to go to him and tell him that I was about to enter treatment in Milwaukee for a "problem" with alcohol. He didn't judge, he didn't scold, he didn't ask how a pastor could be an alcoholic. Instead he prayed and kept contact while I was gone with both myself and my wife and for many years after. He wasn't sure that I could return to the same church as pastor after treatment, but he didn't say I couldn't. He let it work itself out and never got in the way as I spent another 11 years as the pastor there.

Over that time I spent many an hour with him later as his pastor and he as a wise soul both listening and giving, sharing and receiving. After 15 years as the pastor we moved to a different town, but that place is still home- and he continued to be an inspiration and a challenge. Never "old and stodgy," always looking for the cutting edge of ministry, I only wish I can be half as interested and interesting 30 years from now.

There are probably thousands of people that he touched. I was blessed to be one of them.

Such is the power of that great could of witnesses.

Life can be a burden- or it can be a joy. It is a burden if you long to be somewhere else and feel trapped. It can become a joy when you discover who it is you are becoming and what God's will is for you in that moment. We learn the joy from wise mentors. We can share it if we are willing to be mentors to others. Death does not come as such a devastation at nearly a century old. When we can live and grow in the memories and share them with others, it can become the seeds of eternal life.

To the Bishop my deepest gratitude today for who you were and for the seeds you have planted in so many!

All Souls' Day

Death is not extinguishing the light; 

it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come.

-Rabindranath Tagore