Crazies Wanted

This page in the book I'm finishing up said so much that I'd simply like to share it:

What's crazy is a matter of perspective. After all, what is crazier: one person owning the same amount of money as the combined economies of twenty-three countries, or suggesting that if we shared, there would be enough for everyone?

What is crazier: spending billions of dollars on a defense shield, or suggesting that we share our billions of dollars so we don't need a defense shield?

What is crazier: maintaining arms contracts with 154 countries while asking the world to disarm its weapons of mass destruction, or suggesting that we lead the world in disarmament by refusing to deal weapons with over half of the world and by emptying the world's largest stockpile here at home?

What's crazy is that the US, less than 6 percent of the world's population, consumes nearly half of the world's resources, and that the average American consumes as much as 520 Ethiopians do, while obesity is declared a "national health crisis."

Someday war and poverty will be crazy, and we will wonder how the world allowed such things to exist. Some of us have just caught a glimpse of the beauty of the promised land, and it is so dazzling that our eyes are forever fixed on it, never to look back at the ways of that old empire.

(Clayborne, Shane. Irresistible Revolution. Zondervan: Grand Rapids, Michigan p.344.)

This just makes too much sense to ignore. Let's not only imagine, but let's run after a world devoid of billionaires down the street from homeless people. Something just seems wrong with that. Give me a world where weapons of war are only found in history books. Let's point out the absurdity of a world with starving children and fat bellied Americans.

If that's crazy, then I'm in!

Crappy Day

Once in a while when asking another how his day went I here someone respond with a long face and a sigh, "It's been a crappy day."

I have two dogs. Dakota is a 4 year old regal, lady-like, cute, prissy hound who loves pillows, long naps and belly rubs. Lola is a 7 month old excitable, dim-whitted, mud loving cute puppy with virtually no reservations in life. It is the latter of these two, my daughters for now, which led to my most recent 'crappy day.'

I got up in the morning while it was still dark and routinely went straight to take the haggle of hounds outside to use the grassy facilities. Lights are out, the world is quiet and lines are blurry as my glasses are typically not on my face (they will be from now on).

I waited on the pourch for them to finish their business, and after breathing the crisp morning air I stepped back inside to a living room with suddenly a peculiar, yet familiar and disconcerting smell. "Funny," I thought, "I didn't smell that before." I hadn't really put things together until as I walked through the dim living room my heel landed sloppily into a cold mud puddle of puppy poop!

Hopping one-footedly to the light switch my senses suddenly became very acute as I noticed two deposits of doggy diarhea in the apartment. Eew! After washing my foot, crating the culprit, and waking my wife I dashed to the store to buy carpet cleaner of which we were (naturally) fresh out.

Of course the ordeal negated the chance for a shower and made me late getting ready! It would be the day of a car pool when I was driving! Naturally these things happen on days I have a stressful group presentation and emotionally draining individual supervision! Just when CPE couldn't get more stressful we had to throw feces (like monkeys do) into the mix!

It gets better...

Upon arriving home, I step through the door to a familiar smell, and received no typical greeting from my beloved K-9s or wonderful wife. "She's struck again!" I thought.

While in her cage, sadly Lola had to go two more times. (That part is sad.) She was locked up with it, and it got smeared around by her feet and tail for God knows how long during the day. The crate has holes in the corners through which liquidy droppings had found a path to the linolium and spread on the floor as my wife turned the cage to keep Lola off the carpet when exiting. "It's good to be home!" I thought.

Not my usual welcome. The smell was compounded over several hours and strong enough to taste.

She cleaned the floor; I cleaned the cage. I washed both dogs, which with a 60lb animal requires basically showering together. Heather dried them, aired out the rooms and made a fresh smelling dinner to combat the day's aroma.

I am rarely one to say that I had a bad day. However, after this one, were you to ask me how the day went, I think I am safe and justified to answer, "Crappy day!"

Stripped by God

Below is a poem I read this week which spoke heavily to many of the deep faith questions that I believe we all deal with if and when we're honest with ourselves. Enjoy...


What would happen if I pursed God -
If I filled my pockets with openness,
Grabbed a thermos half full of fortitude,
And crawled into the cave of the Almighty
Nose first, eyes peeled, heart hesitantly following
Until I was face to face
With the raw, pulsing beat of Mystery?


What if I entered and it looked different
Than anyone ever described?
What if the cave was too large to be fully known,
Far too extensive to be comprehended by one person or gropu,
Too vast for one dogma or doctrine?


Would I shatter at such a thought?
Perish from paradox or puzzle?
Shrink and shrivel before the power?
Would God be diminished if I lived a question
Rather than a statement?
Would I lost my faith
As I discovered the magnitude of Grace?


O, for the willingness to explore
To leave my tiny vocabulary at the entrance
And stand before you naked
Stripped of pretenses and rigidity,
Disrobed of self righteousness and tidy packages,
Stripped of all that holds me at a distance from you
And your world.


Strip me O God,
Then clothe me in curiosity and courage.


It's natural to want solid, clear, easy answers to our questions about faith, but to our discomfort sometimes there just aren't any. Robert Louis Stevenson said, "To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive."


Answers to questions of faith that stem from certitude are safe, and they're also easy. Sadly they don't require all that much faith. This poem suggests that the healthier place to be is in question. Someone once asked their rabbi, "Why is it that rabbis always answer a question with another question?" The rabbi answers, "So what's wrong with a question?"


Jesus was a rabbi. He rarely gave straight or simiple answers. Rather, he often replied to questions with questions or told a story causing others to ponder.


This post is not to say that there's no truth or that we can't know anything about faith. However, I do cast a hesitent glance toward any person, denomination or otherwise that claims to have it all figured out.

Questions?...

Irresistible Revolution

This is a the title of a book I'm reading by Shane Claiborne. My plan was to write a book review when I finished; however, I find the book generally too good to wait until my slow-reading self finds time to read the rest.

So, because I haven't finished and am technically unqualified at this point to write a review (did I mention I hadn't finished yet?), I thought I'd just share some quotes from the book to give you an impression.

Enjoy.

“The best thing to do with the best things in life is to give them away.”

“True generosity is measured not by how much we give away but by how much we have left.”

“One business man confided, “I too have been thinking about following Christ and what that means, so I had this made.” He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a bracelet engraved with WWJD. It was custom-made of twenty-four karat gold. Maybe each of us can relate to this man—both his earnest desire to follow Jesus and, bound up in the materialism of our culture, his distorted execution of that desire.”

“There is nothing more sickening that talking about poverty over a fancy dinner.”

“Jesus was not simply a missionary to the poor. He was poor—born a baby refugee from the badlands of Nazareth, wandered the world a homeless rabbi, died the rotten death of insurrectionists and bandits on the cross, executed by an oppressive empire, buried in a borrowed tomb. Jesus was crucified not for helping poor people but for joining them. That is the Jesus we follow.”

I agree.

Eeew!.....Oooh!

I have had many amazing opportunities in my life. I have jumped out of an airplane! I sat front row to watch my team (Tar Heels) win the NCAA basketball chamionship! I married the perfect girl!!! I once caught a 65lb King Salmon in an Alaskan river (2nd biggest non-commercial catch!). I have sat with a mother in the hospital as we watched the heart monitor slowly count down to zero as her son took his last breaths of life; heart wrentching, humbling, sacred. I have done many things. Two days ago I added another to this list.

I observed an autopsy...

As much as I didn't want to see it, given the opportunity to view one while working in a hospital, I couldn't pass this one up.

The process was shocking, grotesque, fascinating, and inspired in me a sense of wonder at the complexity of the human body. Those preforming the procedure took great care in what they did and gave respect to the deceased. They also worked with efficience as if it were just another day in the office. They talked about grocery shopping and coupons, the night before, and how their day had been.


I watched from several feet away, at first not able to watch, while my body strongly considered nausia as it's chief reaction. However, these feelings fleeted as my curiosity took over. "Liver," one announced as she put it on a scale for another to record the weight. Then out came one lung, then two, a stomach, and kidneys. The intestines seemed never ending, other organs and finally the heart was removed.

By this time I had gowned up and was standing in the thick of it asking the doctor, "Need any help?" He chuckled but paid no mind to the silly bamboozled chaplain in awe at his side. How emty. There was but a shell left formed by the ribs, an opening and the spinal column. Nothing left over...nothing.

Perhaps the most interesting was the brain. Yes, you read it right, they went after the brain. I'll spare you the details, but this process involved a knife, a power saw and a pair of strong hands.

The experience will go down into the hall of fame into my memory's corridors for sure. Look how God so intricately put together our bodies, it is nothing but inspiring.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:13-14

Lesson Learned

I visited a patient in the Coronary Care Unit during my regular rounds one day. As I entered the room I noticed that Jane Doe, an elderly patient, was intubated (breathing tube down her throat) yet also awake, which is unusual. Her hands were covered with large mittens like hospitalized boxing gloves except for one thumb and index finger with a monitor attached. The mittens were to restrict her from pulling on the incredibly uncomfortable breathing tube. She was unable to speak, use her hands or communicate her needs. Her face was so sad. It was a pitiful sight.


Not knowing exacly how to be a chaplain for her, I introduced myself, said a few other words and tried to understand her facial expression crying out to be heard. I stood in silence with her doing my best to meet her on her level.


After some time of silence with a few words sprinkled here and there she reached out her weak mitten covered hand gesturing toward something on my shirt. As I tried to identify what she wanted her two exposed fingers finally caught mine and grasped them. Then her hand, gently holding mine, lowered and rested on the bed.


I finally got the point.


I stayed with Jane for 45 minutes saying little, holding her hand much. Before I left, I placed my hand on her head to brush the hair out of her eyes. Her face fell into my hand as if it had not been touched in days. Her entire body calmed and for that brief moment she finally looked peaceful.

Some days later I returned and met Jane’s family. Upon introductions I was met by her daughter saying, “So you’re the chaplain. She said she wouldn’t have made it without you.” Floored by the comment, my lesson had been learned.


I learned that Jane needed someone to care, to be with her, to touch her and to be recognized as a person while lying rather inhumanely in a hospital bed. This taught me about the gentle power that the pastor can wield: the power to go to people where they are as Jesus did, the power to acknowledge a person's struggle and worth at the same time.


Jane did not need a sermon or religious ritual, she needed me. She needed touched and cared for, and the beauty is these are things I can do out of who I am rather than something I’ve learned.

Good Samaritans

The sputtering of the engine and lurging of the motorcle could only mean one thing...I was out of gas. This happened once, while riding my motorcyle on a long highway trip. As I pulled into the emergency lane and coasted to a hault I watched my wife's car right in front of my drive drive away as she didn't notice my distress. Dang!


Remembering that motorcylces have reserve gas tanks I flipped the switch on the side of the bike, and to my surprise, it started up! "Whew, I'll be alright," I thought. There was enough gas to get me to the next exit where the bike died again at the end of the exit ramp.


One problem: no gas stations in sight.


To my fortune, a man and wife, heading home to take a ride on their motorcylce had pitty on me and stopped their old pick-up truck full of seemingly junk in the back. "We'll fix ya'up," he said enthusiastically and as country as humanly possible. "I got sum'hose in m'truck...an' we can use 'at bottle," he slurred as he ran to pick up a discarded, dented, empty two-liter sprite bottle from the grass. Inserting the hose into his gas tank, he looked at me, said with a worried look on his face, "I always 'ate dis part," and began to suck gas up through the hose."


I found myself wondering, "How many times has he done this? He'll probably have some motor oil for dessert later."


Seeing the gas approaching through the clear hose, his eyes bulged out and he spit the hose out just before he received a mouth full of Exxon's finest unleaded. But he filled the sprite bottle and then put it in my tank. Plenty to get me to a fill station.


I thanked them repeditively and offered money to pay for their gas. They declined and happily wished me a good day before they went on their merry way to help others stranded by the way side.

_____________________
Just the other day as my car pool buddy (or should it be "buddy-ey"?) and I got to the car to begin the trek up the mountian, we found the neighboring car and fellow employee driver with a dead battery. She had called secrurity to come and jump her battery but didn't know when they'd arrive.


So, thinking of my own side of the road rescuers, I offered to jump start her car with my cables. Moments later her car started, and she thanked me before mosying on her merry way.


_____________________
It seems to me that this world could use more stories like these. Simple ways in which regular people can leave a lasting impact by helping. Out of our own abundance can we give to those in need?


Too often do I pass by cars on the side of the highway and moments later someone walking with a gas can. I think I'll stop next time. Maybe I'll even keep with me a spare hose and sprite bottle.

Has you helped anyone lately? Has anyone helped you?

Shared stories welcome.