Dog Theology, part 4: Chaplain Dog

Here' sthe third installment in my ongoing series titled Dog Theology. (See parts one and two.)

Last night Dakota got loose. It's not unusual for me to let her outside to use the facilities without a leash. She typically stays close and comes back in once she's done. But for some reason, last night she ran off.

To make a long story short, I went out in the cold wearing athletic shorts, sandals and a winter coat. Daddy was not happy. After searching for several minutes I finally spotted her trotting happily down the sidewalk toward me two buildings over.

I leashed and spanked her (yes, we spank in my house!), and she timidly followed by my side back to our apartment like an inmate walking death row. Inside, I put her in the pin which has been retro-fitted with metal bars and looks like puppy prison.

Several minutes later, I came around the corner and found Lola lying faithfully in front of the crate as if to keep her company while incarcerated. "What a good chaplain dog," I thought, "she's simply being present with Dakota." I have opportunity to learn from this dim-witted doggy.

There's a lot to be said for simply being present with someone as I visit in hospital rooms. By present, I don't mean only there physically in the room. But when chaplains talk about being present with someone we try to be presently aware of a person's suffering and fears. We try to give them words to claim their pain and permission to ask tough spiritual questions or to doubt.

For me, to be present with someone is to let him know that he is valued and that he is known. There is power in being known by other people; some would say that the deepest level of intimacy between two people is to know and be fully known by the other. It's a gift that we are able to give hospital patients which they're probably not looking for. Perhaps that why we call it being present, because it's such a gift.

Lola was being present with Dakota, because when Dakota is in the slammer Lola has no play buddy, and thus she was sad. Lola was present with her big sissy, and this K-9 example may further teach me to be present with those who suffer, with those I meet daily, and to be present with you.

Starbucks Church

I recently stumbled across this video called "What if Starbucks Marketed Like a Church?" The video originated from a church marketing website founded and run by Richard Reising, a marketing consultant.

We all know that churches have their own unique brand/genre of marketing, and that genre is so different than corporate society that when churches do market like big business something feels odd about it. I live near Biltmore Baptist Church which often has commercial advertisements on stations that real people actually watch. And when they come on the TV it's plain weird. Churches just don't advertise that way.

But here's the prophetic video which just might be a wake up call. Though five minutes long, it's worth a watch and dripping with truth.

Enjoy.





Let's here your comments about it. Javalluiah!

Small Steps

I was on call Christmas Eve, here at the hospital all evening and through the night. And I must report that for some this season of usual cheer was replaced by waves of grief and holes of dark sadness. For some, this Christmas is like this ornament, broken.

8:45pm, I get a page from the emergency center that a cardiac arrest patient has arrived and the husband is in the lobby. The 30 something female patient is in "the room" that you don't want to be in, because to chaplains this room equals sad families.

Escorting the husband down the long hallway to a private waiting room our steps are small. My usual long strides are replaced by meager paces as I mimic the rate at which this worried husband is moving.

After a short time the doctor darkens the door to deliver the worst news. The husband breaks down, but shock and disbelief allow him the agency to direct me to retrieve his 11 and 15 year old children now arrived in the lobby.

This is one of the hardest parts of my job. Back to the lobby, I know the news, they don't. But it's not my place to deliver it, so my face must be a mask. Every signal of my body language is a lie. While escorting these two innocent now children of a single parent to the back room we take small steps. It takes long, but not long enough.

Dad's face does not lie. Children break down, and the family huddles in a scrum of screaming tears and painful hugs. This competes for one of the hardest scenes I've watched. More family arrives accompanied by more disorder and hurt. My role now expands to encompass crowd control as we wait for the coroner.

In the midst of hospitalized red tape, waves of grief and phone calls to break the news, an hour flies by, then two. The 11 year old vomits as a physical response to his grief. More family arrives. I struggle to avoid offering the cliches that "this is God's plan," or "It'll be alright," because this is not God's plan, and for this huband and children it will never be alright.

More family and two pastors show up to support everyone. By the time they're preparing to leave the hospital it's been three hours. The family is exhausted from crying so much, I'm exhausted from trying not to. After final embraces and parting words the husband and two children make their way to the car. Their family is one short. Bidding them goodbye and fighting my own tiredness and anxiety, I notice as they slowly walk away that once again they're taking small steps.

The crowd dwindles, and my moment to leave them arrives.

My walk back to the on call room where I can rest takes longer than usual. Burdened by my own grief I kept asking the terrifying question, "What if that was my wife?" And the last thing I noticed before I got to my room was that I also walked with small steps.

The Shack, by William P. Young

After hearing an annoying amount of people tell me that they absolutely loved this book, or that it changed their lives, after hearing too many accolades about what I decided was just the newest trendy book, I finally gave in to the hype and read The Shack by William Young.

Religious fiction is the appropriate gengre I believe for this book, and though it is extremely trendy, trendiness, contrary to my first assumption, is not necessarily a bad thing. Rather, after blazing through the 250 page dreamed divine encounter I must say our popular Christian culture could use more books like this.

Yes, I give my oh-so-coveted endorsement to this book, and the ground from which I give it is theological.

Mack is a husband and father, the out-doorsy type, whose youngest daughter is tragically murdered while on a family camping trip by a serial killer in an abandoned shack deep in the wilderness. Years later he returns to the shack searching for answers and encounters God in the form of three persons.

The book is heavily weighted with big theological questions, the biggest being Where is God in the midst of suffering? Worried that Young was writing from a theolgically mainline and conservative point of view I expected blaise answers to these questions to pop up offering little satisfaction to inquiring readers. Delightfully, Young challenges our narrow-minded views of God, and instead he presents God often in new ways and offeres fresh perspectives for understanding God's love for people.

The author covers a fair array of theological issues such as Trinitarian metaphors, theodicy, vengeful-God theory, God's love for all (yes everyone), salvation, atonement theories, and institutional religion. During his discussion of the Trinity I could clearly pick out a number of different theologians/theories being referenced such as Richard of St. Victor's Trinity of Love and the notion of Perichoresis. Being able to name these perspectives from which the book was drawing took away from it a little bit for me; but this was short lived and the read only got better.

What I take away from the book is an increased notion that God truly does delight in each of us regardless of what we do or do not. Each time the character "Papa," representing The Father, mentioned someone Mach knew, she would say, "Oh, I'm especially fond of that one." God is especially fond of you and of me.

Another section that challenges conventional conservative perspectives for the better is this little exchange:

(Mack) "Is that what it means to be a Christian?" (Jesus) "Who said anything about being Christian? I'm not a Christian...Those who love me come from every system that exisits. They were Buddhists or Mormons, baptists or Muslims, Democrats, Republicans and many who don't vote or are not part of any Sunday morning religious institutions. I have followers who were murderers and many who were self-righteous. Some are bankers and bookies, Americans and Iraqis, Jews and Palestinians. I have no desire to make them Christian, but I do want to join them in their transformation into sons and daughters of my Papa, into my brothers and sisters, into my beloved."

The Shack is a recommended lesiurely read for Christians that will make you think and hopefully broaden your view of divine possibilities. For non-theists, my hope is that this book will present a non-judging, non-violent, all-loving God that is perhaps not so repulsive to many critics of Christianity.

Suicide: Is God judgemental or compassionate?

My first exposure to suicide was in high school when a girl in my circle of friends took her own life by chasing a bottle of asprin with a bottle of Nyquil. I still vividly remember the black dark hole of sad emotions that engulfed my world and took weeks to lift away like a sun-rise in slow motion. So many of us were devestated.

Simple death (if there is such a thing) causes enough grief and pain for survivors, but things change when a person ends his or her own life purposefully. Simple conclusion: Suicide hurts a lot of people, I dare say, more than it hurts the victim.

I've oft heard suicide referred to as very selfish, but I've always kind of winced at such statements. But I'm also very torn on this one. From what I remember, my friend in high school was under an enormous amount of emotional pain, relationship stress and family anxiety. She suffered by simply being awake. But at the same time, her release from life caused thousands of tears and intense greif reactions from her friends and peers who all cared for her.


I've talked with quite a few hospital patients who made suicide attempts. And one conclusion I can draw is that suicide is not as easy as it looks! Lots of people survive. You might say they're bad at suicide.


I must have seen half a dozen people recover after shooting themselves...mostly in the head! One lady shot herself in the chest, went to minor surgery, stayed one night in the hospital and went home. Some wind up in ICU, some are rushed into extensive surgery, some go to the psychiatric wing, and some ultimately succeed after hours of excrutiating pain.

Some patients call the chaplain to ask, "the suicide question:" Does God send you to hell if you commit suicide? I've been called to the psych unit for just this question. My theology (though I'm not even sure I believe in a literal afterlife hell) says to this question, absolutely not! But, I dare not be so adamant to a psych patient who may be looking for theological persmission to try again guilt free.

Some of the worst emotional pain I've witnessed in the hospital is from families of suicide attempts. When I see such unecessary suffering I feel the selfishness of suicide. But when I talk to the patients themselves, more than once have I felt the overwhelming need for releif of life's troubles.

I think God's heart breaks when one of God's children ends his own life; but it may be that God's heart has broken a thousand times over the string of suffering that leads a person to such drastic action. I know this to be true, because almost everytime I feel my own heart break for these people. And if my heart is breaking, I must believe that the heart of a loving God is doing the same.

Total Money Makeover, by Dave Ramsey

I recently read The Total Money Makeover by Dave Ramsey after a dear friend bought for it me on a whim. Compelled to read the book because it was a gift and because I know little about money, I'm much better off for doing so.

Dave Ramsey is a money guru who has authored several money books, produced financial materials such as Financial Peace University, and has a talk radio show with an advertised 3 million listeners.

The Total Money Makeover provides a theoretical financial plan for how to get and stay out of debt. With a thin venear of Chrsitianity overlayed, the book does not offer technical equations for making wise, high-return investments. Rather, it reads more like a motivational speech containing straight forward sometimes harsh advice for those up to their eyeballs in debt.

And it works. Litered with real peoples' success stories, I can find no reason why Ramsey's plan might fail if carried out with what he calls "gazelle intensity."

One concept that I appreciated about the book was this point. Most people do not recieve formal training for how to handle money. I've graduated high school, college and graduate school, and in all of that have recieved zilch in financial education. Most Americans are financially ignorant. And that's where the book starts.

The basic premise is to begin to tell your money what to do rather than the opposite. This is one of the reasons why I think Ramsey is so popular: his advice is accessible. I know virtually nothing, technically, about handling or investing money. And I'd venture that lots of people are just like me. Ramsey doesn't waste time mulling over the technicals which require a CPA to interpret. He has two basic principles: save your money and pay your debts.

In the end, the book was a simple quick read which offered inspiration for becoming financially fit more than anything else. The plan is broad enough for just about anyone, yet specific enough that I can carry it out without having to reach for help every other step. I would recommend it as a necessary read for any young person or couple getting a start on life hoping to handle money well.

Half Way

Last week we residents hit a mile marker of sorts in our program. On 12/15 we officially began the 2nd half, the back nine, we're over the fence,the other side of the coin, the third quarter of our residency program.


That means in 6 months I will be eligable to get a full time job as a chaplain if I so desire. It also means that in 6 months I will be out of job! It means that of what I planned on learning this year, I better have learned half of it by now or else I'd better get crackin'.


As a quick recap, here are some of the things I've done, accomplished or experienced in half a year.


I have had approximately 1,330 encounters with patients, family members, staff or people in the hospital.

I have attended over 60 deaths. I've also been to about 60 traumas. Some of them wound up in death.

I have seen many--many--tears shed by mourning loved ones. I have shed more of my own tears these months than in the previous 6 years, or 12 years. Honestly, I haven't cried this much since I'm a baby.

I have grown very close very quickly to my other fellow residents, and I cherrish our relationships as some of the most formative in my life.

I have learned...oh how I've learned.

I have blogged bunches, and apparantly some of them make my big sissy cry...which I love.

I have read more books in this period than any other similar sized stretch of time. Most of them have been reviewed on this blog, but a few are still to come.

I learned better to read the "living human documents" that we all are. I've learned to see God in your eyes.

Compassion for others has grown in me like wild lillies--fast, tall and beautiful. I've learned that in some ways we are all the same.

I've learned God is usually bigger than we give God credit for.


I've seen an unmeasurable amount of suffering and been challenged to wrestle and reconcile with the presence of suffereing in the world. At the moment, I've concluded that God truly is present in suffering but usually only inasmuch as I am or you are present with those who suffer.


I've learned to do therapy on myself and have become much more reflective. I've also learned that virtually everyone can benefit from therapy, and those who think they don't need it usually need it most.


Whatever CPE is, it has been very healthy for me and my growth. It may not make sense to CPE outsiders, but here's a quote with which to end this post that is basically CPE in a nutshell.

"If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us." –Herman Hesse

Dog Theology, part 3: Delight

A former room mate of mine and I once ruminated on the likeness between the dog/man relatinoship and the man/God relationship. This branch of thinking was quickly named "Dog Theology" in honor of those bumber stickers which read Dog is Love. From time to time I like to comment on another point of contact or similarity between the two relationships.


My dogs are the greatest! I love them both very much, and while my wife and I are childless the dogs will serve as our little ones to care for. One of the things that I love most about my dogs is that I simply delight in them.


Dakota is wily. She's sneaky, kniving and loving. And I must admit, though she often uses her brains to get herself in trouble, I really love that part of her.


Lola is not burdened with an over abundance of brains. She loves to show off and carry around her favorite toys while snorting at you. She has high energy and is not graceful.


It's not uncommon for my dogs to do something which agrivates me or that I don't like. However, I always seem to love them. I delight in them. They don't have to do anything in order for me to simply delight in them.


When I look at Lola just laying in the floor on her back I take delight. When I watch Dakota sniffing the ground looking for a good location on which to make a deposit I am delighted just because she is.


When I think about this relationship dynamic and translate it to the man/God relationship I see similarities. Part of my theology includes the claims in Genesis that God created man and saw that man was "good." When I read this I hear that God delights in man. This means, just like my dogs, it's not my job to make God like me, God simply enjoys my being.

I can only take joy in the thought that I am loved as recklessly and even more intensely than I love those two cute little four-legged-tale-waggers.

Happy Holidays

Realizing that some people are less comfortable wishing everyone 'Merry Christmas,' as addressed in my last post, here's a list of ways to say 'Happy Holidays' in a few other languages.

Enjoy!

French: Joyeuses Fetel.
Swedish: Trevlig Helg.
Portuguese: Boas Festas.
Romanian: Sarbotori Fericite
Mandarin: Jie Ri Yu Kuai
Carlan: Bones Festes
Italian: Buone Feste
South African (Xhose): li holide eximnandi
German: Forhe Feiertage
Dutch: Prettige feestdagen
Hawaiian: Hou'oli Lanui (pronounced how-oh-law la-new-ee)
In Gaelic: Beannachtai na feile
Slovenian: Vesele Praznike
Indonesian: Selamat Hari Raya
Croatian: Sretni praznici
Souther English: Happy Holidays Ya'll!

I hope everyone's season is filled with a full amount of love and light and happiness.

Merry Christmas

There's just over a week until Christmas and people are wishing others 'Merry Christmas,' 'Happy Holidays' and other yule blessings.

So in the spirit of such blessings here's a list of how to say Merry Christmas in several different languages.

Enjoy!

Chinese: (Mandarin) Kung His Hsin Nien bing Chu Shen Tan
Chinese: (Cantonese) Gun Tso Sun tan'Gung Haw Sun
Croation: Sretan Bozic
Danish Glaedelig Jul
Filipino: Maligayang Pasko
Finnish: Hyvaa joulua
French: Joyeux Noel
German: Frohliche Weihnachten
Greek: Kala Christouyenna!
Indonesian: Salemat Hari Natal
Irish: Nollaig Shona Dhuit
Italian: Buon Natale!
Jajpanese: Shinnen omedeto. Kurisumasu Omedeto
Portuguese: Felize Natal!
Russian: Pozdravlyenie s Rozjdyestvom i s Novym Godom!
Swedish: God Jul

Next will be a list of how to say 'Happy Holidays.'

A Fine Balance, by Rohinton Mistry

I recently finished the arduous process of reading the extensive novel A Fine Balnce by Rohinton Mistry. A 603 pager with small font and tiny margins, this book that more resembles a brick took me just over a month to get through. And only now that I'm done with it can I say it was well worth it!

Mistry writes a tale woe (and when I say woe I mean, "wow") taking place in an unnamed city in India during 1975. The book follows the happensatance meeting of four people who develop an invaluable relatinoships, and end up living together for one year. Tracking the background of each person's family of origin, the reader understands well the struggles and idiosyncrecies of each character as they learn to deal with each other and cope with life.

Much like the 2008 film of the year Slumdog Millionaire, this book seems to tell these stories as a means to depict the situation in India. However, unlike Slumdog there is no sugar coating of a million bucks or a happy ending love story. A Fine Balance tells it like it was: horrible, heart-breaking, infuriating, shocking, and just plain sad.

Mistry has no need to strain his creative mind nor make florid his prose to produce his story. Rather, simply telling the stories of the characters will draw you in as your inner you, the part that connects you to all other people, is touched and the rope of your heart's compassion is tugged on.

Though officially the genre of the book is fiction, a note in the beginning makes very clear that though the city is unnamed, and the places visited are non-specific, the stories are all true. This book will expand your compassion for people different from you. One cannot read these tales and walk away unchanged.

A Fine Balance is a recommended read. If you have the time to put into it, this book will put in to you.

Hill-Rom

I'm fascinated! I just finished hearing from an employee of Hill-Rom about the complexities and intricacies of one of its main products. Hill-Rom makes hospital beds and medical equipment. A friend of mine has the job of training nurses on how to use these beds. The beds are much more than just beds, "they are medical devices," designed for comprehensive patient care.

An intensive care unit bed can not only move up, down, tilt and contort in all different directions, but it can massage patients, gently wave them to sleep as if sleeping on water, remove heat from specific detected hot spots on a patient's body, rigorously shake patients to keep clogged lungs healthy, and that's not all.

A standard hospital bed that can do the basics often costs around 5K. The super ICU models with all the bells and whistles can easily compare in price with a new SUV.

Because of all they can do, the beds really are not just beds. They can take care of patients, being gentle to wounded areas, in ways that otherwise would tie up nursing staff for an entire day. The newest models will even talk to you in English or Spanish!

Some beds have silver in the mattress which reduces infection. They can also detect ares on your body that are too hot and actively remove that heat to keep you cool, dry, and clean. Patients with pneumonia have a gunky build up in the lungs. This needs to be loosened up by shaking or pounding on the back. The beds can do this so the nurse can go about doing the other 2 million things s/he has to get done.

As said above, these are medical devices, and I am amazed each time I hear or read something else of which they are capeable. The next time I casually lean on one I'll imagine leaning against a Toyota 4Runner.

Maybe we can get one placed in the on call room so it can lull me to sleep by gently rolling massagy waves along my back. That sounds nice!

X-mas Music

If you want some variety from the seasons usual Christmas tunes you can check out these two delightful songs, which I revisit every year for a good laugh.


My absolute favorite! Visit this site for the best (or at least most moving) version of "Oh Holy Night" you'll ever hear. I alsmost cried laughing so hard the first time I heard it. And I'm fairly sure it's real.


You may have heard it before, but Adam Sandler's "Hanukkah Song" is quite entertaining. Here's a link to a YouTube showing of it, but I think Sandler was partially drunk during this preformance so the words are hard to understand at times. Take a moment to listen to Sandler's list of Jewish (or partly Jewish) celebrities and have a laugh.


Enjoy!


Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, have a great Solstice, happy Kwanza, have a good Dwali and also Bodhi Day, and of course, enjoy Festivus!

Images

Recently, we (the 4 residents) have been exploring different images that serve as good metaphores for pastoral care in the hospital. The wounded healer, the wise fool, the intimate stranger, and even the circus clown have all been inspiring images from which we can take parts to inform our care.

After finishing Dykstra's book, Images of Pastoral Care, our teacher inspired us to come up with our own images that represent some part, though not all, of our own pastoral style. The following is mine.

_____________________

I am a good listener. Holding my tongue and reserving my opinion come naturally to me during conversation. I am also a musician. I love listening to, playing and creating music.

In patient rooms I do lots of listening. I hear stories, complaints, tales of woe, theological copings and difficult questions. I hear people’s lives poured out. Their struggles, fears, life narratives, greatest achievements and deepest passions are mine, even if only for a few moments.

Much of my response is to keep them talking. And within the wealth of information and emotion that they share I always begin to see the beautiful people which they are. I become able to see not the drug addict but the innocent boy beaten down too many times by life who turned to narcotics as a means of survival. It's amazing how compassion userps the space previously occupied by judgment and prejudice. I see the beauty underneath all the pain, the clean sheet underneath its stains.

I make effort to sift through the superfluous details of people’s stories and find my way to their pain, to their beauty. I find myself filtering through the white noise of their stories trying to pull out the purity of their being and empower them to recognize it for themselves.

Reflecting on my pastoral care described this way an image began to form in my mind. A musical image, it is befitting that I thought of a Recording Studio Technician. The studio technician must also be a good listener. He or she is listening to musicians pour out their lives through music.

Song lyrics express life’s struggles, fears, stories and passions. Much like a patients spills it to the chaplain, the musician sings (spills?) it for the technician. However, after the recording session is complete the technician has work to do. Raw sound tracks are accompanied with white noises and unnecessary sounds that must be filtered out before the beauty of the song can be brought to bear. A good technician can quickly see or hear the purity and beauty of a song that simply needs to be uncovered.

So, much like a recording technician sifts through a newly recorded song/track to clean it up, I find myself sifting through people’s stories in order to help them find their clean self, to help people see themselves as God does: pure, and good and loved.

What I'd Say

Visiting with family and friends over the recent Thanksgiving break I spoke often about my challenging job as a hospital chaplain. It's not uncomming during these conversations for someone to ask me, as Ray Charles once said, "What I'd Say."

What do you say when you walk into a room where one has recently died? What do you say when worried parents wait in the trauma bay waiting room? What do you say while standing with someone facing life threatening surgery? What do you say?

I could say, "It's going to be alright," but you know things may never be the same. I could say, "God needed him more than we did," but that offers virtually no comfort to grief. The same goes for, "God needed another flower for his garden." I'd also never say, "He wouldn't come back now if he could," because that just sounds wrong. Silence is always a better option than these.

These are just a few of the phrases of attempted comfort we hear from others offering comfort to grieving and hurting families. At their worst these phrases only do theological damage and cause pain, and at best they fall on deaph ears. Perhaps most often I hear, "This must be part of God's plan." I hate to break it to you, but God did not plan on a drunk driver killing your sister and daughter like that of a woman I sat with some time ago. I don't think God planned that. I do think God's heart breaks with ours.

So, while I won't offer you a feeble attempt to deal with my own anxiety around your grief, I will sit with you. I will hurt with you. I will listen to what she was once like. I'll laugh at his pranks. I will cry with you. I'll carry the burden with you for a while. I will pray when you have not words. I will acknowledge your pain. I won't shrink back. I'll do my best to climb down inside the dark whole of your grief for a time and offer you the only thing I have - myself.

That's what I'd say.

Fresh Christmas Music Alert!

In an older post I introduced you to an old college buddy of mine, Gary Mitchell. Gary, a musician, writes inspiriational lyrics inlayed into an always funky groovin' rhythm.

This post is to alert you to his latest project entitled "Give Love Away," a compilation of familar Christmas songs set to a new Gary-style groove. The album also has an original song, "Christmas Stories" which I think is superb.

The grinch in me: I typically first grimmace my face when corporate merchand

isers begin playing Christmas music way to early (before Thanksgiving). I am slow to get into the spirit of over-played Christmas tunes blarring out the sound of cash registers ringing.

However, Gary's new set of songs brings life back into five of the season's classics. Gary, I want more! You can go to this website and download one song or the entire set. I recommend all of them as they each have their own bit of original flare.

You can also download his last full album of original music called "Everything and Nothing." I have this album, it's one of my favorites! Gary has a knack for writing lyrics which speak to the human condition with music that keeps your head bobbing.

Thank you, Gary, for bringing some fresh Christmas mucis to my season and my soul.

Check out his website and all of his music, I promise you won't be disappointed.

Book Reviews

It's been a while since I finished them, but I'm just now getting around to publishing my thoughts on two books I've recently read.

Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, awarded the Nobel Prize in literature, is an honest look into the harsh world of black culture in 1941. Morrison is a gifted poet to state it blithly. Her affinity for carefuly placed language which intentionally discomforts her readers gives the book a somber yet highly intriguing aromoa. The texture of her words is so rich they quickly become pictures which then become songs gritty with reality so much so that I could taste the ice cream which two the of young girls were too poor to purchase.

Don't look for a feel good or happily ending story. The Bluest Eye is about the harsh reality of young Pecola's life which changed forever when attacked unthinkably as a young girl. Accepted into a better off family, which is also dirt poor, Pecola deals with the reailty of being a poor, ugly, pregnant, black girl in Ohio.

Sure to change your understanding of the black perspective, this book is a gem needed in any respectable home library. It is one that has stuck with me in a bothersome way that will continue to inform my compassion for all people and to illustrate the potential of human wickedness.

____________

Enrique's Journey is a powerful documentary which chronicles the plight of one Honduran traveling to the United States in order to re-unite with his mother who left him for better paying work when he was five.

Nazario is a journalist, a brave one at that, who after conducting countless interviews traveled herself and retraced the same steps and train rides of Enrique. Written by a journalist, the writing style is dry and clunky. Yet the accuracy and detail with which she describes the conditions and dangers through which migrants must travel will challenge anyone's view toward immigrants no matter what your politics.

Migrants, many of them not Mexicans, travel through most of Mexico on the tops of dangerous trains. Having to run alongside after the train has left the station they run the risk of being sucked under the wheels and losing limbs or being killed. "El tren de la muerte," the train of death, it is often called. Once upon the chugging beast they must avoid local ganges which frequently rob, beat and rape migrants. Also, Mexican immigration officers (La Migra) are after them, and if caught migrants are shipped over the boarder of the nearest country, Guatemala, after having been robbed by The Migra as well. Enrique, carrying only his mother's phone number makes no less than eight attempts to get to the USA. Many attempt more times than that.

Reading Nazario's accounts of people and places that helped or hindered Enrique on his quest leaves readers wondering how many more calamities can come his way, as well it showcases some of the deepest most Christ-like compassion of which humans are capable.

Enrique's Journey will no doubt take you on a journey which will challenge your compassion to be deaper, your hate to be more forgiving, and your attitude toward those illegally among us to be more hospitable.

Are you Catholic?

We chaplains had a little treat this week when we got to sit down with the CEO of the hospital, Ingo Angermeier. Together, the 5 of us talked about practical jokes, heard much of his life's journey and even played with play-dough. Together we formed this stunning Bat-mobile for the plastic Batman behind it.


Born in East Germany (this explains the name), Ingo is what hospital administrators call "Mr. Fix-It." He comes to the aid of hospitals in need of some help and works to put them back on track. Building a culture that works together in an uplifting environment is his goal. Rather than tell others what to do, he makes effort to empower employees with a sense of pride in their job and then, "get out of the way."

During the conversation he shared a delightful story of a particular pastoral care department (not from this hospital) that needed some help.

When new to a hospital, Ingo likes to "play patient." Under the radar he has himself admitted to a bed just to see things from the patient's perspective. One day a kindly old man, priest so-and-so opened the door, popped his head in and spouted, "Are you Catholic?" "No," replied the patient incognito replied. The door closed. Momemet later it reopened, "You wanna be?" rapped back the preist.

This is not exactly quite how I've been trained as a chaplain, but I can take a lesson from this priest's frankness. Thank you, Ingo, for your shared wisdom and life lessons. I'll design a Bat-mobile with you any day.

Happy 9th Birthday!

Today my relationship with my wife is 9 years old.

On Nov. 18th 2000 at about 4:30 pm in our high school band room I, a senior, asked a cute sophomore girl if she'd be my girlfriend. She was only 15 years old and I 17.

That was 108 months, or 3287 days, or 78,888 hours, or 4,733,280 minutes or 283,996,800 seconds ago! And we're still together.

We were married May 20, 2006 after five and half years of dating, and in two more days we will have been married for 3.5 years.

We have two daughters, Dakota and Lola. Each have four legs and tail and floppy ears. They are beautiful and we love them so very much.

Birthdays are days to celebrate the beginning. And today, I am celebrating the start of the most precious, loving, intimate, worthy relationship of my life.

Together, Heather and I have skied mountains, flown on planes, visited other countries, bought Christmas presents for a struggling family, enjoyed an eight day cruise, supported each other through college and grad school, cried together, and been an integral part of one another's life development.

I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you, Heather, for being my girlfriend, high school sweet heart, bride and life companion. Happy birthday to us!

Daring Dakota

To the right you can see a picture of my older dog, Dakota. She's a 4.5 year old hound mix who found us when she was approximately 8 weeks old.

Dakota is a smart puppy. She learns tricks very quickly, is highly motivated by food, follows voice and signaled commands and knows when she's in trouble before I do.

Sometimes she's too smart for her own good. In our last apartment when she would eat dirt from our house plant strewing it along the carpet she would often run into her pin as soon as I got home before we dicovered the dirty carpet. A self-punishing dog.

Recently, her cleverness has resulted in added frustration for her mommy and me. Dakota has never been allowed on any furniture. But being left alone during the day to rome the apartment by herself has apparantly led her to believe she has certain newfound priviledges.

Dakota always greets us at the door when we arrive home with an excited and adorable wagging tale. But when she's done something she shouldn't have there is no greeting. When this happens our routine is to search the apartment for a warm spot that is crinkled and matted like a furry 60 lbs something has been sleeping there.

First, it was our bed. So we began leaving things on the bed of which Dakota is afraid. She's terrified of motorcycle helmets so those worked for a while until she overcame her fear and the warm spot one day was right beside a big scary helmet.

Then we placed my hand drum on the bed. Everytime I even graze it with my hand walking by and it sounds, Dakota goes running. But, eventually she braved the dangerous drum to enjoy some bed time. Now, every morning we cover the bed with various things-drum, tool kit, clothes-just to keep her on the floor.

Thwarted from the bed, we began finding warm spots on the couch. She is wiley. This one was easy. Remembering to do it is the hard part. I plop a bar stool longways on the couch and she has no space to curl up. Thinking we'd fixed her, I came home recently to the absense of a greeting not knowing why, because the couch and bed were both dog-proofed. That's when I discovered that she had discovered the sofa chair. Yarrr!

So, because of this daring dog, before leaving the house we must cover the bed with stuff, block off the couch and sofa chair, and close the second bed room door to keep her off that bed. It's a lot of work each morning when I'm in a hurry.

Reflecting, I wonder how often God sees us like I see my dog, constantly pushing the limits trying to get away with things even though there's no chance of actually hiding it. Does God ever look at us and think, "Bad dog!"? More likely, I think God's heart responds like mine toward Dakota, eventually calling her gently and loving on her with a good rubbin, telling her I love her and that she'll always be my dog.

(And yes, the third picture is underwear on her head!)

Tired

One week ago, Saturday the 7th I was on call. I came to the hospital at 8:30 in the morning and stayed until 8:30 Sunday morning-a 24 hour shift.

Monday: Regular work day (8 hrs)

Tuesday: Regular work day (8 hrs)

The following Wednesday (11/11) I was again on call. I worked a regular day (8:30-5) and then stayed on at the hospital all night working through half a day Thursday. (28 hrs)

Friday: 1/2 day because I would work Sat. (4 hrs)

Today: Another Saturday on call totalling 24 hrs

So here I am, blogging in between calls for the chaplain. I was wondering why I feel tired but, when I add up these numbers my question gets answered. Come tomorrow morning I will have worked a total of 96 hours in 8 days! Arg!

Before I took this job, I knew the residency year would be tough and include a number weeks of this kind of punishment. So, I don't want to sound like I'm just complaining; rather laying out my recent work schedule helps me regain my sanity back.

Why have I been going to bed earlier all week? Why have I not wanted to do much once I got home recently. Why is my energy level low? 96 hours is why.

What I need is a shabbat, a day of rest, or better yet two days! Let me encourage you, yes you, the one reading, to take some time for rest. I've never heard anyone on his death bed say, "I wish I had worked more." And I've talked with plenty of people on their death beds. It's what I do. Something to think about.

Jesus Tears

The shortest verse in the Bible, most people know, is John 11:35 which states, "Jesus wept."

I've run across a phenomenon a number of times while visiting patients in the hospital. Every so often someone will become easily teary when telling me about his or her church, religious history or story of how he came to be a Christian. Some stories are more dramatic tellings of transition from a rough life of drugs to getting clearn with help from a church, and some are a simpler, milder tales of nurtering by their faith community. Along with many of these stories come tears, and I for the life of me cannot figure out where the tears come from.

I've come to call these, Jesus Tears.

In Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) we deal with tears all the time. Often they are tears of grief from those losing a loved one. Many times they are our own tears as we learn more about ourselves in CPE's own sick version of therapy. We are quickly promted to identify from where our tears come as someone asks, "What are your tears about?" In my experience, it's usually pretty obvious. We talk about them, and it's the weirdest thing, somehow healing happens.

I can't explain it, but as much as I don't want to-crying is healthy, darn it!

So when I come across Jesus Tears in a patient visit I have been known to ask, "What are your tears saying?" Most often, people don't know, or just won't say. Trying to fight them hasn't worked but they're determined not to talk about them.

Perhaps their tears are from feeling overwhelmed by their condition in the hospital. I imagine I would feel this way in the situation that so many patients find themselves. Perhaps these tears are the expression of past pain that was never dealt with but is now coming out. Perhaps they're tears of joy because of such a meaningful relationship with God. But it could be any of these explanations or others. They always catch me off gurad, and I never know why they are there.

So where do Jesus tears come from? They're often some of the sweetest tears I see. They show up when people don't seem to have words with which to articulate their thoughts.

Have you ever cried and not known why? Have you ever had Jesus tears?

Any thoughts?

Basura Blanco

The title of this post is the best Spanish rendering I can find for "White Trash," a home made candy that our supervisor has brought to share with the chaplain department. The candy is also commonly called 'People Puppy Chow,' I think. It's made up of chex mix, pretzels, peanuts and other crunchies covered in chocolate and then white confectioner's sugar. Well, we like the concoction so much that the four of us residents decided to weasle our way into getting more.

A few weeks ago our boss went out of town for the week. And it was during this time that we orchestrated a plot to ransom his beloved wooden parrot (loro in Spanish) which prominantly stood atop his file cabinet.


When boss man entered his office the next Monday morning he found an inter-office mail envelope containing a CD. Playing the CD, he watched a video of a quivering parrot including a background voice narrating a ransom note in Spanish, which he speaks. Along with the video there were pictures of the loro loose in the hospital.

The ransom demanded that he deliver lots of white trash candy to the resident's on call suite within 48 hours, otherwise the pitiful parrot would never wear his little tie again. The video ended with a maniacal laugh which I wish I could include on this blog, but for now you'll have to do your best to image a high pictched voice with a Columbian accent trying to literally pronounce, "Muahahahaha" with little maniacism in his inflection.

Playing along, our supervisor posted signs around our area of the hospital stating, "Missing, Large Parrot, Lost/Kidnapped. Please help with any information." We then orchestrated a number of random employees and volunteers to call his office leaving messages of parrot sightings. One caller caught him in his office so our boss ran upstairs to see if the parrot was still there. Alas, he came back empty handed. The parrot had evaded once more.

Nearing the deadline, and no white trash in sight, a message was left on our bosses phone of a parrot screeching in the back ground. Later, the same ransom narrator's voice left a brooding reminder on the answering machine threatening parrot demise if he didn't fulfill his end of the arrangement.

It turns out, that "basura blanco" doesn't translate well to mean White Trash candy, so our supervisor wasn't even sure how to pay the ransom. On Wednesday he finally figured it out, and by Thursday the goods were delivered to the drop location. So, later that day while we were all in a meeting with our boss there was an innocent knock on the door, and the parrot was delivered safely back home. Attached was a happy note written by the captive bird exclaiming, "Estoy en mi casa," (I'm home!).

It was an epic prank in our department, orchestrated by the mastermind Chaplain Cathie, that will likely go down in the annals of chaplaining and candy eating.

You know it's bad when...

Here is a picture of Heather's and my Halloween outfits. Officially, our costume was supposed to be, "Country as all get-out." My name was Melvin, hers Melva. We used to be cousins 'till we dun got hitched.

You know it's bad when your Halloween costume is made up of fake teeth and old clothes.

You know it's bad when we shopped through someone else's closet to find all the clothes. Mind you these are clothes they still wear regularly.

You know the costume party we attended was bad when we arrived to find about 8 people, none of them dressed up of course, huddling in a teepee-tent outside in the dark while it's raining. Mind you we were sitting in the drive way of a perfectly good house. Why we weren't inside the house, who the #&$ knows?

You know it's bad when you have nothing better to do than dress up in a lame costume made from other people's clothes and go to a lame 'party.'

While we ended up having a good time this Halloween (after we left the party), all I can say is, we knew it was bad before we started, and we should've known better.

Hope you had a happy Halloween.

Too Close To Home

I'm on call. The pager buzzes. I jot down the number on my pad then quickly dial. "Hello," says a voice. "It's the chaplain," I respond. "We've had a death here in our unit," she says.


I make my way weaving through the corridors to a familiar family waiting room and gently open the door. Looking back at me is, surprisingly, a familiar face. Something is wrong. I'm used to caring for strangers, bearing their grief when they cannot, holding them up when they cannot stand. But this face is no stranger. "Hi Nathan," she says with a defeated painful expression.


That day I sat with a friend, a co-worder, in a little room during the death of her husband. I looked into her fragile familiar eyes as they looked back at mine searching for strength, for hope. I sat next to her in the same way I've sat next to her for the past four months.


This was too close to home.


There was no stopping the tears in my own eyes as my heart broke into pieces, as her arms wrapped around me, as we couldn't believe the horror--the same horror she's observed so many times before.


But this time she saw grief from the inside out. You might say we chaplains are experts in grief, but when it strikes us there is no bonus relief from its pain. We too must suffer through it.


I could hardly be a chaplain to her, a chaplain to a chaplain. I was a friend, a friend who sat with her in that horribly sacred moment. My heart wrentched. Every time she fell apart, I did on the inside. It was almost too much grief to bear. It was one of the hardest calls I've ever had to take. I shall not forget her eyes, her tears or her desperate embrace.


Dear friend, we love you, and our hearts break with you. Prayerfully, Nathan

Not Sure How I Feel About This

I attended a Catholic Mass today. This is the second I've even been to. I knew that the Catholic church was finicky about who receives communion and who doesn't, but for some reason it's never struck me until now.


Below is what was printed on the back of the service bulletin, and I'd like to know what you think about it.


Guidelines for Receieving Holy Communion


We welcome to this Holy Mass all who share our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, but while all are welcome here, we cannot extend to all an invitation to receieve Holy Communion. This is not a lack of Christian hospitality; rather, it is the recognition by the Catholic Church that real divisions of faith and practice do sadly exist among Christians. Practicing Catholics who go to Confession whenever needed are invited to receive Holy Communion. Non-Catholic Christians and those Catholics who should not receive Holy Communion (including those married outside the church and those in need of the sacrament of Penance) are asked to pray for a spiritual communion with the Lord Jesus and for the unity of His Church. Those who are not recieving Holy Communion but who would like to recieve a blessing are invited to indicate this desire by crossing their arms across their chests in the Communion procession.


I'm an ordained minister, and yet I am not 'allowed' to receive the Lord's Supper. I'm not sure how I feel about that.


Comments?
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Actually, you know what? I do know how I feel about this. I'm offended! But, I'm not in the mood to rant incoherently on my blog forcing you to suffer through reading it (all two of you). So I want to hear your perspective, Christian and atheist.

Pie #2 Review

This is a picture of Heather's second ever home made mouth watering pumpkin pie. In a recent post I raved about how delicious her first pie was. And here I am again to praise pie number 2.

Using a different recipe, Heather concocted her second mouth watering wonder in pie form. This one, a traditional recipe, used less sugar and a fair amount of tasteful spices including ground cloves which gave it a rich flavor reminding me of grandma's thanksgiving ham.

I must say, this one tastes even better than the first which was a custard based kind of texture. This one's fluffier texture and spices combine wonderfully forming a flavorful delicacy which leave you wanting more.

She used the self-harvested pumpkin pie filling left over from last week's pie (none of that canned stuff), and there's still some left over (though not enough for another whole pie). However, all this is only half of the pumpkin, so when the rest is boiled and mashed we'll have ample amounts for yet more pies.

This excites me.

Because Heather seeks the opinions of so many Ashevillians I still have yet to bring some to my fellow chaplains in Spartanburg. I'm thinking I may have to make my own pie to bring to work; however, my co-workers may wonder why it doesn't taste as good as those I've described that Heather made.

I'm hoping for more pies between now and Thanksgiving, in fact I'm counting on them. This one was better than the last and the last one was still great, so you can start being jealous now.

My Will Be Done

The opening scene of Lethal Weapon 4 includes a man with a flame thrower, AK 47 assault rifle and a suit of bullet proof armor. Detectives Martin Riggs (Mel Gibson) and Roger Murtaugh (Danny Glover) decided to simply run over the assailant who hadn't yet detected their presence.


"What if he turns around" said Murtaugh?
"We're gonna will him not to," replied Riggs.
"We're gonna will him" retored Murtaugh?!
"Yep, we will...don't turn around," said Riggs now talking at the metal covered man.
Clasping hands, they both began chanting "don't turn around, don't turn around."


This scene is a funny mix between action and humor. Too bad their willing didn't work, because he did turn around, and they had to leap from the car into the rain as he fired at them.


While on call this past Saturday, I had a lot on my agenda that I wanted to do: reading, blogging, case study, etc. I came into the office much like Riggs and Murtaugh approaching the armored man, willing the pager not to go off.

"Don't go off pager. Stay quiet just for a while. Don't vibrate attached to my belt which causes my body instant anxiety. Don't go off. I will you not to page me."

BUUZZZZ!

Much like they leaped from the car in Lethal Weapon, I leaped from my seat very soon after arriving at the hospital. Throughout the day the pager thwarted my plans as I had approximately 20 calls (!) to attend to. The break down of those calls looks something like this:

2 deaths
2 Healthcare power of attorney consults
3 stroke assessments
2 emergency heart cathiderizations
3 traumas
2 code blues (patient's vitals crashing)
6 requested pastoral care visits.

I began around 9:00am, had time during the day to grab lunch and later dinner, but I didn't get to bed until 12:30am. A 15 hour work day. Whew.

I'm reminded of that old adage that says, "People make plans, God laughs." So my willing the pager to remain silent didn't work. I had a rough day. None of my own work got done. My will was not done. But I was also able to be a calm, caring, pastoral presence for many people that day who needed calmness in the midst of chaos. My hands were held during fragile intimate prayers, my eyes were looked into by one searching for hope, my advice was asked concerning tough medical decision, and I was hugged tightly by a heart broken new widow.

This list sounds more like what God has in mind for us: serving others, and in my context those who are in crisis. It's funny when I look back at my plan for that day versus what actually happened. My plans weren't satisfied; there were other needs to attend to. And when I think back to those hands holding mine, those eyes gazing at me and the arms embracing me, I'm sure glad I was available, glad I could offer a glimmer of hope, glad it wasn't my will being done.

Pink Slips

On the corner of my desk there's a stack of little pink slips of paper. Each time someone dies in the hospital we chaplains must obtain from the surviving family a small bit of information which I record on these pink slips.

It's been four months since this residency started and I've lost count of how many deaths I've attended. Each has been a different kind of somber in it's own way. Sadness is shown, tears are released and sometimes held back. Family members ask "why" questions: "Why did this happen?" "Why did he die so young?" One teenager , after his father was pronounced dead, looked at me in shock like a dear in headlights and asked with dry eyes, "Why can't I cry?"

This past Wednesday while on call for the day and night I attended six deaths among my calls for the day. My emotional reservoir, like the teenager's eyes, was dried up. You could say I was "all deathed out."

I'm on call again tomorrow, and I fear the stack of pink slips will grow again. After all, it's rare in a big hospital for no one to pass away within a 24 hour period.

Attending a death has become something I expect, yet it has not become something I am comfortable doing. I have learned to sympathize, empathize and at times protect myself erecting emotional boundaries. No strategy makes it any easier.

When a person dies, others hurt. There's emptiness, loneliness, shared pain and loss. These are things with which we can all identify, and therefore, we hurt as well.

In this way we all seem a bit more connected. After all, we will all experience death as well as losing someone to which we're close. The pink slips represent something we all must endure. They're symbols of our connectedness, our oneness as humans, our shared experience, our unity. For me, this gives reason to put an end to oppression, violence, acts that hurt others, because in the end we are only hurting ourselves.

These pink slips are reminders that, if in nothing else, by experiencing death and loss you are a part of me, and I am a part of you.

Punkin Pride

Last night, my wife made a genuine, bonafide, homemade pumkin pie. Her first one, and it is delicious!!!

She didn't cop out either by using cans of pie filling. This concoction originated from a jakalantern sized pumkin peeled, chopped and boiled down to powerfully pure product. The crust was from scratch as well.

She cut up and cooked down only half the pumkin which yeilded twice as much as needed. So naturally, I'm hoping this one pumkin will result in four mouth watering pies!

The pie is quite sweet, something I enjoy more than Heather who favors flavor over large quantities of sugar. The recipe called for three items that we opted not to include.

A small amount of burbon was called for, but we didn't want to buy a bottle just to use 1 tsp of it. Not to mention I wouldn't know how to find burbon in an ABC store any better than I would a push-up bra in Victoria's Secret.

To reduce the sweetness, Heather also left out the cane syrup. And thirdly, the recipe called for Cardamom, a rare spice. After visiting two grocery stores to find it, we decided to go without it rather than pay more than $11 for the small bottle.

Three ingredients short, this pie was still the best pumkin pie this pie lover has ever had. A little whip cream on top just before taking a bite of the still warm wonder put me in a number of momentary states of bliss.

I'm looking forward to more of those!

Changing Perspective

Revenge movies, our society is obsessed with them. Basic plot line: protagonist is wronged in some way at the beginning of the film. He or she then spends the rest of the time plotting, "or possibly scheming," on how to take revenge and kill the bad people.

And I must admit, I have been a fan of many movies within this genre. Coming to mind is Taken, Brave One, Punisher, Gladiator, Kill Bill, Eye for an Eye, Double Jeapardy, Payback and the most recent Law Abiding Citezen. I haven't seen all of these movies but many of them. Some, by the title, I can tell are revenge flicks (e.g. Payback, Eye for an Eye).

What is it about revenge that's so compelling? Somehow the film makers are usually able to put the audience on the side of the one doing the most violence. I recently saw Law Abiding Citizen. From an action point of view the movie delivered. The plot was intricate and well thought out. However, the theme of justifiable revenge purvading the film industry was not doing it for me with this movie. I feel I've had a change of perspective.

The extent in which Gerard Butler's character exacted his revenge was over the top and disturbing. Jamie Foxx played a DA who was also not the most wholesom of characters. There was no lovable character to this story to cling to.

I've begun ruminating on our culture's affinity for revenge. The Count of Monte Cristo is also a revenge movie that by the end makes a good point: revenge doesn't make us feel better. At the end of the book Edmond Dantes, having gotten his revenge, is left with a lonely depressed sense of loss. Happiness is an elusive stranger for him.

I wonder if that's why Jesus had no time for revenge? I wonder if he knew that vengence will only kill us from the inside? Jesus seemed to know that the only way to trump our dark desire for revenge is to act lovingly toward those who wrong us. After all, he asked God to forgive the very ones nailing him to a Roman death cross. Dietrich Bonhoeffer called this "costly grace," because it's not easy and it's not cheap.

And if none of this works for you, take Paul's advice who in Romans makes a hermeneutical joke by quoting Proverbs, "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head" (Rom. 12:20). Sounds a bit vengeful.

So, while in the past, I admit I have been entertained by revenge movies, they just don't spin my fan much anymore. I'm sure Hollywood will never quit making this genre; but perhaps they might consider a film about costly grace about loving those who hurt us the worst in order to find healing and wholeness, about overcoming evil with good rather than another kind of self-righteous evil. Though I don't think it would sell many tickets, it would be a pretty radical shift.

"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." -John 16:33

{Picture: A Change in Perspective by kuschelirmel1}

Loving Listener

Since I began my residency as a hospital chaplain I've found it difficult to describe to folks just what a chaplain does. I've abandoned almost all efforts at describing the whole program of CPE, but I can still make attempts to convey what mysterious endevors we chaplain kind get into.

It's not easy though. Some people think we visit patients in the hospital to try and convert them. This couldn't be more wrong and is often a place of humor around the office. Others seem to think we simply pat sweet old ladies on the back saying, "there there." Though this does happen from time to time (minus the "there there") it's not representative of what a chaplain does.

Officially, chaplains tend to the emotional and spiritual needs of people in the hospital. But while this definition is somewhat telling, it is also vague.

At a meeting with some residents from another program, I came across a concept from theologian Paul Tillich called the "Loving Listener" which does as good a job as any describing what chaplains are after. Our handout reads, "A loving listener is one who will listen to our story without judging or giving advice. The loving listener listens with empathy, understanding and concern. A loving listern is one who will encourage us to pour out our feelings until they can be released and healing occures" (Lemons, Stephen A., The Five Tasks of Successful Grieving).

He went on to point out that everyone, ever person, needs a loving listener in his or her life. We need someone to whom we can spill our emotional and spiritual guts who will be non-judgmental and not try to fix our problems. Anyone who's done any kind of therapy (professional or otherwise) knows it's helpful to just get things off our chest. A loving listener can provide a safe space to do just that.

As chaplains, this is what we are trained to do, and sometimes we have to draw it out of people. Again, this is not a complete job description of what chaplains do; however, it is one of the profound and meaningful ways that we interact with other "living human documents."

I hope you have a loving listener in your life. If not, I hope you can find one, someone to unload your troubles onto. This will allow you to feel your own experience instead of suppress it, and that's healthy.

A helpful Chinese proverb reads, "Suppression leads to momentary relif and permanent pain. Feeling your expereince leads to momentary pain and permanent relief."

What does the Bible say...really?

When I was an adolescent and teenager I used to think that I'd heard or read pretty much everything in the Bible, and reading parts of it again just became mundane repitition. The Bible seemed boring. Boy was I wrong. The truth is, I was boring.

Whether you believe in God or not, whether you believe the Bible is inerrent or have put some actual thought into the matter, the Bible is full of many adventurous, exciting, often graphic, scandalous, sexual, murderous and random stories.

One of my favorites is the story of Ehud from Judges 3. Ehud, an Israelite brings a gift to the enemy king ruling over Israel. After the "gifting" ceremony, Ehud gets the obese king alone by speaking of a secret message. Once alone, Ehud, a left handed man "drew the sword from his right thigh and plunged it into the king's belly. Even the handle sank in after the blade, which came out his back. Ehud did not pull the sword out, and the fat closed in over it. Then Ehud went out to the porch; he shut the doors of the upper room behind him and locked them."

Not surprisingly, I didn't hear that one in Sunday school as a kid. And there's no need to embelish this little nugget, it's graphic enough by itself.

In Mark, there's a random appearance of a naked guy. "A young man, wearing nothing but a linen garment, was following Jesus. When they seized him, he fled naked, leaving his garment behind."

Random, but okay...

Judges 4 graphically describes how an enemy general had a tent spike driven through his temple all the way to the ground while he was sleeping. Yikes!

I think if we spent half as much times reading the Bible rather than talking about the Bible we'd come to some pretty different conclusions. It turns my stomach often when people try to prove their own agenda by beginning sentences with, "Well, the Bible says..."

With the dawn of the internet, modern technology, and the persistence of the Gideons we have more access to the Bible than ever before, yet for some reason people seem to read it less. Now, this post is not meant to be a cheap guilt trip to get you to read the Bible or read it more. I do think, however, that people have lots of opinions about what the Bible says, but often little first hand experience to back up what they're saying. I've been in that crowd before too, so I'm no better.

I hope that as a community, Christians will begin again to read the Bible out of interest rather than guilt. Let's not use the Bible to promote our own cause but rather let it inspire a cause within us. So many of the storeis are radical, worthy of Hollywood's rendering. I hope we can more and more let the Bible speak instead of speaking for it.