Why I'm breaking up with the ELCA

I have started and re-started this post so many times. I wish there was an easy way to say this. I used to love the ELCA. But I don't anymore.

This is my story of how I broke up with the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

I have literally been a lifelong Lutheran. I was baptized at just over one month old at Hope Lutheran Church, in Bozeman, MT. As a child, church was a place of comfort and belonging. I played my trombone in the church. I was an active member of youth group. I went to Lutheran bible camp. "Lutheran" to me always had connotations of warmth and home.

I went to a Lutheran liberal arts college. I spent six summers working at two different Lutheran bible camps. I participated in a  Lutheran volunteer program for a year. I used to be proud to be a Lutheran.

Just before I turned 30 I followed the call to seminary. I attended a Methodist seminary, because it was in Denver and so was I. I entered into candidacy, the process that prepares seminarians to become pastors.  I had a wonderfully supportive candidacy committee. They nurtured me and helped me to grow. Seminary was a great experience. I loved Clinical Pastoral Education. I loved my internship. I got clarity on what God was calling me to do, which is the hope of any vocation, and I learned that I was called to be a hospital chaplain.

This is not acceptable in the eyes of the ELCA. 

Chaplaincy is considered a "specialized ministry" in the ELCA. Other ministries in this category are military chaplaincy, campus ministry, and outdoor ministry.  Before you can receive a call to specialized ministry (a piece of fancy paper that allows you to receive ELCA benefits, pension, and so on), you are required to serve as a parish pastor for three years. This is referred to as the "3 year rule."

I have heard from several bishops, who shall remain nameless, the following with regards to this rule:

"It is the only way that you will learn how to be a Lutheran leader."
"The parish is the location of the ministry of word and sacrament."
"We have a clergy shortage in parishes."
"We need first call pastors to be in congregations that could not otherwise afford them." (ie: cheap labor)
"The truest calling to the ministry of word and sacrament is to be a parish pastor."
"Every one else has had to do it, and so do you."

But somehow, something magical happens after three years in a parish that allows you to do specialized ministry.

I will admit that I have known about this rule since I entered seminary. I also knew that it would be extraordinarily difficult to bypass. I will own that.  However, if your bishop is willing to bring an exception regarding this 3 year rule to the other bishops, the Council of Bishops, it is likely that your exception will be granted.  This is particularly frustrating because different bishops are more rigid gatekeepers than other bishops. In other words, if your bishop likes you, they will bring an exception on your behalf. If your bishop doesn't like you, you are out of luck.

This year I found myself with a full-time chaplain job and only 6 months of parish ministry experience. (Because the yearlong parish internship doesn't count as experience.) I also found myself in trouble with my bishop.

When I asked if an exception to the three years rule could be made, I was denied. I was also advised to "leave this denomination if you can't follow the rules." Shortly thereafter I was thanked for my "caring and compassionate ministry in this city." Which feels like a kick in the stomach, given that this same ministry is not recognized as Word and Sacrament until three years have passed while working in a parish.

This denomination needs to evolve or it will die. The ministry of word and sacrament isn't confined to a church. The role of parish pastor is just one expression of word and sacrament ministry. It is not possible to make every candidate fit a parish-shaped hole. Just because you have open congregations that cannot afford to pay a pastor with more experience doesn't mean that you should force people into serving parishes who have another calling.

I am a chaplain in my soul. I love my work. It gets me out of bed every day and I fall asleep satisfied every night. I can point to tangible things that I do to alleviate suffering in this broken world every single day. I am happily doing ministry, perhaps some of the best evangelism there is, at the bedside of my patients. I hear from many people that having a chaplain at the bedside of their dying loved one is such a comfort, and might inspire them to return to a church. 

I am doing God's work. I am doing sacred, beautiful, painful, and holy work. It is not in a parish. It does not directly support a congregation. I am doing the thing that I simply must do. 

And so, because the denomination of my baptism, confirmation, first communion, and ordination will not recognize this work, I am breaking up with the ELCA. 

On Talking to Children About Death and grief

Recently, some of my online groups have been talking about how to talk to children about death and grief. I realized that I am in a unique position with my work at the intersection of life and death to share what I have learned, since I visit with many children and their families about death and grief.

I have found that the resource, "What Will I Tell the Children?" published by the University of Nebraska Medical Center has been one of the most useful pieces of literature for me.

Here are some of the things that I have learned in my work as a hospital chaplain about how best to support children with regards to the death of a loved one.

1. The importance of security and secure attachments cannot be stated enough. If the child is experiencing the death of a parent, they need security that they will be cared for.  They need to know that adults will meet their needs. It is best to explicitly say this. It can be as simple as, "I know your mom has cared for you up until now, but now we, your aunt and uncle, will be taking care of you. You will live with us."  If the child is experiencing the death of a grandparent or other relative, they might feel like their parents could die too.  Listen to these fears because they are real. Share that while everyone will die someday, that time will likely not be for a very long time.

2. Help your child to say goodbye  This can take place at the bedside or at the funeral service. Encourage the child to say goodbye in their own way.  The Four Gifts of Dying ("I love you", "Thank You", "I'm Sorry" and "Goodbye") are as appropriate for children as they are for adults. If the death was sudden, encourage the child to write or dictate a letter to the person that died. It can be buried or cremated.

3. Give accurate, age-appropriate information about the dying process Use simple concrete language. Do not use euphemisms such as "lost" or "passed." Do not be afraid to say "Dead" or "Death." Talk about how once someone has died, they do not hurt anymore. Be prepared for questions like "What happens after death?" and "Where does the body go?" It is okay to let your child know that you do not have all the answers.

4. Keep the lines of communication open  Let your child know that they are always welcome to talk. Talking about the loss of their loved one is important and won't cause additional pain. You can say, "I miss Grandpa too. Do you remember some fun times we had together?" 

5. Enlist the help of outside resources  Involve your child's school (principal, social worker and school psychologist), church (if relevant), and therapists (such as play therapists or family therapists).  Let your child know that they are many people who care about their well-being.

6. Normalize Grief  Let your child know that it is okay to feel sad, angry, or happy. Sometimes it is possible to feel all those feelings at the same time. Say that the intensity of these feelings will come and go and whatever they are feeling is okay.

7. Understand the long-ranging concerns Children and teenagers who are losing loved ones might be concerned about the future. They might ask, "Where will we spend Christmas now that Grandma is dead?" or "Who will walk me down the aisle at my wedding if Dad is dead?" Provide love and reassurance. Recognize that birthdays, holidays and other special days such as graduations, proms and weddings will come with grief.

What do Chaplains wear?

When I first started this chaplain gig four years ago I remember being entirely puzzled by what to wear for my shifts in the hospital.  This is a professional job, but it comes unique challenges when it comes to attire. I will share a few of the things that I have learned in the hopes that it might be helpful for all those CPE students or other chaplains.  I can only speak to women's attire, perhaps my male colleagues have more to offer for men.

First, hospitals will likely have a dress code of some sort.  Chaplains fall into the "professional" category of employees, but do most of their work in clinical areas and have direct patient contact. Other professionals who fall into this category include social workers, registered dietitians, pharmacists and psychotherapists. At the bare minimum, hospital dress codes usually include closed-toe shoes, socks (no flats for women unless wearing tights or socks), and what is termed "professional/business casual attire."  For women this can be button-down shirts, slacks, cardigans, skirts, etc.  Some hospitals have their own specifics.  I've worked at facilities that required me to cover my forearm tattoo (hence why I have a wide variety of cardigans).  My current employer has requested that we dress "for safety", which means no dangling scarves, neckties, earrings, necklaces, etc, that could be become hazardous by being pulled by patient or caught while doing a task.

Next, think about what you need from your clothing to complete your tasks at work.  I carry two pagers simultaneously, which means I need somewhere to clip them.  For this reason, dresses don't work for me and I never wear them to work.  I will wear skirts if they have a tailored waistband that can support the pagers. I also need pockets because I am frequently carrying around pieces of paper, rosaries, and other things.  My work requires standing, but also bending my knees and squatting down next to beds or chairs, and lots of walking around.  I have found that what works best for me to wear are high-end tailored neutral color scrub pants.  My favorite style is the five pocket pant from Grey's Anatomy by Barco. I have them in black, charcoal and khaki.

This is a typical summer work outfit

 They have pockets, look presentable and are comfortable. This may or may not be acceptable depending on your hospital. I am frequently cold at work, as hospitals keep temperatures low to reduce infection risk.  I wear layers (cardigans, fleece vests or sweaters) all year.  Bonus points if your warmup jacket contains pockets. You need to wash your hands a lot, so having sleeves that roll up is important.

This is a typical cooler weather
work outfit for me.

Third, think about your clothing as it relates to infection prevention for yourself and for your patients. Some units (at my hospital the SICU and Burn Unit) require you to remove a sweater, jacket, cardigan or lab coat upon entry. Everything I wear to work is machine washable, because I have no interest in dry cleaning. As evening chaplain, I am on every single unit. I could be in the ER with extremely injured patients, I could be on the burn unit with patients at high risk of infection, I could be on labor and delivery or I could be visiting someone on enteric or contact isolation precautions in the MICU. I do not want my clothing to become an infection vector for myself, my family, or other patients.  So once I wear something to work it goes directly into the hamper at home until it is washed.

Shoes are an important consideration when it comes to comfort, functionality and safety.  I wear a dedicated pair of Danskos to work.  They are the Pro XP model, which has a slip resistant sole and removable insole.  I have custom orthotics which fit into the clogs. I walk about 14-16k steps per day at work, so comfortable shoes are a must. I wear these shoes pretty much only to work and they live just inside my front door because I have no desire to track anything nasty into my home.

With regards to accessories, I wear a watch or fitbit everyday.  I note when I enter and exit a patient's room, because I must enter that into a chart note later. I have a work notebook that is covered with leather and has a pen attached for this purpose. It has taken many iterations to find a system that works for me. Sometimes I use scraps of paper, but I find that the notebook is useful for keeping track of information for more than one shift and sometimes patients or families will request a blank sheet of paper and I can just tear one out of my notebook for them. I usually have one or two pens clipped to my shirt or in my pockets also because pens are a hot commodity in a hospital. Hospitals require you to wear a name badge in a place that is visible above the waist. I wear mine clipped to my collar on the left side. This gives me access to hospital doors, the employee parking garage, and identifies me as someone who belongs at the hospital.

A note on clergy shirts for chaplains:
I would never wear a clergy shirt while visiting patients in my work as chaplain.  For me, a clerical collar belongs in a parish as a work uniform for the pastor or preacher.  Just as I would never wear my employee badge to preach in a congregation, I would never wear my clergy shirt to the hospital while employed as chaplain. I find that the image of a clergy collar can be off-putting to patients who might have had bad experiences with church and who are already in an extremely vulnerable state while being hospitalized. For me, not wearing a clergy shirt is a matter of hospitality.  I also find that outside my specific Lutheran context, a woman in a clergy shirt is confusing and controversial. I find that the shirt is a distraction more than a comfort. People know that I am not a Catholic priest but cannot seem to make the required leap that I am a pastor. Additionally, chaplains are interfaith. I visit patients who are Christian, but also Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hmong, or no particular religious tradition at all. A clergy shirt can create barriers to conversation or create a sense of exclusion.

These Shoes

These shoes belong to a chaplain. These shoes are "hospital shoes", which is a nice way of saying they barely make it inside the front door of my home. Because I have no desire to bring MRSA, CDiff, VRE or anything else home to my family. 

These shoes are hardworking shoes. They walk endless miles of hallways, at least 5-6 miles a day. 

These shoes are covered in blue surgical booties in bloody traumas or operating rooms at the time of organ donation. 

These shoes stand alongside deathbeds and extubation procedures and trauma bays. 

These shoes are stared at during family consults and death notifications and on silent elevator rides with families who leave their beloveds in a sterile morgue.

These shoes see so much. 

On standing in the midst of trauma

As a chaplain who responds as part of the trauma team at my large regional trauma center, I occupy a strange role. While the rest of the trauma team rushes to put on lead vests and gowns and masks and hats, I stand quietly. 

When a patient arrives by air or ground I listen to report from the paramedics, listening for our patient's name, age, location & whether or not their family knows where they are. I work with police and other EMS workers and charge nurses to find and notify family members. But a lot of the time I just stand quietly. 

Early in my career, I struggled with not having a "task" in the midst of trauma response. But an emergency room tech at the hospital where I worked in Colorado stated it best, "chaplains represent comfort. You remind us that God is with us in this mess. You help us keep going." 

In a trauma response I care for patients, but I also care for staff. 

Recently I responded to an extraordinarily difficult trauma. The traumas that involve grave injuries with little chance of survival wear on medical staff. It causes our staff pain when a patient is unidentified and their family doesn't know where they are. This situation involved all of these factors. 

I just stand in the pain with our staff and remind them that they are cared for. I believe that my calming and quiet presence is a steadying influence. That my "care through proximity" for the team contributes to resilience. I'm available if they need me, and they know my face for future situations. I accompany physicians when they notify family members that their loved one has died. I exude a quiet strength, and like caring for my patients, my message is, "I am here with you." 

On the incarnational nature of chaplaincy

A.Kumm-Hanson, Iceland 2016

My work as a chaplaincy is intensely incarnational.  By this, I mean I continually encounter God in the flesh.

"Incarnate" has latin origins, "in" mean into and "caro/carn-" meaning flesh.  It has theological connotations in the Christian belief system, but we usually only speak about a God incarnate around the time of Christmas, with Jesus as a newborn baby. It is uncomfortable to think about God as a human body. A body that sweats and eliminates and requires food and water.

As a hospital chaplain, I am never removed from humanity in all its bodily manifestations.  I see what the body is capable of doing to repair itself, and all the ways that it can fail. I smell the sharp metallic smell of fresh blood. I smell bodily odors of every kind.  I smell the earthy smell of birth and the earthy smell of death. I hold the hands of patients who are swollen with IV fluids, with a gentle touch so that I do not exacerbate their edema. I stroke the foreheads of newborn babies, with skin so soft they don't yet seem made for this world. I use my brain, certainly, but chaplaincy is primarily the use of my body.

Walking into a room and meeting another person wherever they are. To show up and shut up and be present. To move through the human desire to say something to make it all okay and just be. To be a reflection of God-in-flesh to those who are suffering.

Also, my patients reflect God to me. People who are dying share visions of angels and whispered messages from the hereafter. Patients who are undergoing intensive rehab therapies after a stroke speak of wrestling with God in the dark hours like Jacob and emerging with a limp, but having touched God.

Chaplaincy is not a cerebral ministry of long hours spent in a pastor's study in preparation for preaching. It is holding hands through bed rails and wearing isolation gowns and being willing to literally stand in suffering with God's beloveds. It is not about translating Hebrew or Greek from ancient texts, but about translating scripture into something now that matters to the mother who is delivering her stillborn child or the son losing his father to cancer.

The theology of the cross is particularly apparent to me in my hospital work. This theology holds that God's love for all of creation is most clearly seen in the act of dying on the cross.  That God did the most human thing of all, which is to die. The theological conviction that shapes my ministry as a chaplain is that God knows what it is to suffer and to die, and there is no place that God is unwilling to go, even death. This is good news for all of us who feel immersed in suffering, our own or that of others.

Because to be human is to be made in God's image and to carry God's likeness.  We are the incarnate God to one another.

How to talk to children about serious and terminal illnesses

Recently in my work at the hospital I have accompanied a number of children who are learning that their parents or grandparents have serious illnesses or are dying. I have provided support and end of life education to many parents and relatives. Additionally, some clergy in professional groups of which I am a part have been discussing this same topic. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hope that it might be helpful for others.

Here are some helpful tips:

1. Be honest
Children are incredibly intuitive beings. They can sense their emotional environment and they know when something is different.  You are not sparing children's feelings by hiding a serious diagnosis. By honestly saying, "you father is sick" or "your grandmother is dying", you are validating what children already probably know.

2. Use simple, concrete language
This is not the time for euphemisms.  Children tend to be very literal in their understandings of the world.  If you say, "We are losing grandpa" they might not understand what that means. Saying, "Grandpa's heart and lungs are sick, and they are having a hard time doing their job to keep him alive, so he is dying" is preferable. Do not be afraid to use the words "Cancer" or "Dying" or "Death."  Odds are, your child is probably already thinking it, so saying it out loud gives them permission to ask questions.

3. Be open to questions
This is not necessarily comfortable. But giving your child space to ask the questions that they have is an important way of caring for them. It is a way of assuring that they are seen and heard. Also be willing to admit, "I don't know the answer to that" and enlist the help of nurses, doctors, social workers, chaplains, and education professionals.

4. Provide reassurance
Children often have questions related to security, such as, "Who will take care of me?" and "Can we afford this?"  It is crucial to remind children that they are loved and cared for, and they will continue to be cared for. If parents are unable to be provide the necessary care and support while hospitalized, enlist the help of other relatives or caring neighbors to provide support and attention. Also, reassure children that financial matters and other "adult" worries are being taken care of. A child's most important job is to continue to be a child.

5. Encourage children to be as involved (or not involved) as they wish
Provide children with the opportunity to visit their parent/grandparent/other family member in the hospital. Because of developmental needs, children often need to see someone who is sick and/or dying to understand what is happening. There is often an impulse to give children happy memories or not see their relative in a sick or weakened state. But also give your child an opportunity to refuse. Do not pressure them to touch the sick person or talk to them, as this is an extremely difficult situation. If you child chooses to visit someone who is seriously ill or dying, designate a specific support person for them during that time. Make sure that person is attentive to the needs of the child.

6. Prepare children for what they will see upon visiting
Provide careful and developmentally appropriate information. For a younger child you could say, "Your mom has a tube down her throat. It is breathing for her."  For a teenager you could say, "Your mom is on a sort of life support called a ventilator, it is doing the work of breathing for her." You could describe the room and talk about who might be present in the room ("Your dad has a nurse and a doctor in his room with him who are taking care of him") and encourage children to talk to their parent/loved one or touch them if they like. If someone has extremely traumatic injuries, be sure to emphasize that their pain is being managed by the medical team.


Here are some resources that I have used in my work:

When Someone Has a Very Serious Illness by Marge Heegaard

Resources from the American Cancer Society

The Elephant in the Room by Amanda Edwards

I hope to continue to curate a list of other resources. Stay tuned for my next blog post about how to talk to children about death and grief.

The work of chaplaincy and "emotional labor"

A. Kumm-Hanson Minneapolis 2016

I stumbled across something the other day comparing the physical labor to what is called "emotional labor." This idea resonated with me, because of the emotional intensity of chaplaincy. Work of this nature has ramifications for the chaplain's personal life and perhaps an honest appraisal of the toll of emotional labor can contribute to resiliency and health for the chaplain.

Chaplains dwell in the realm of the not-quite-tangible. Our practice involves spiritual and emotional concerns, not physical or social issues to be addressed. Our tools of assessment are not stethoscopes or CT scans, but our ability to listen deeply, our intuition, and our own emotions. In order to assess our patients, we literally use our own souls. We check in with what we are feeling to "take the temperature of the room" (to quote a CPE supervisor). We reflect back the emotions of our patients using mirroring techniques. We do not feel in full the trauma or death or pain of our patients, but we do go into those spaces with them and surround ourselves with that suffering.

Chaplaincy does not involve physical labor like industry, but it involves labor. One of my wise colleagues mentioned that the main difference between a healthcare chaplain and a parish pastor is that while pastors can and do enter into spaces of suffering and dying, they may only do so a few times a year. Chaplains go into the places of deep suffering many times per day. It is emotional labor to center one's self again and set aside whatever might be happening in the next hospital room over or the ER or whatever the chaplain witnessed already that day to be FULLY present with each patient.

It is tremendous emotional labor to be able to walk into a trauma room (I have the privilege of working in a level 1 trauma center) and exude calm. It is human nature to react to extremely stressful situations with "fight or flight" responses. It is a matter of training and experience to be able to observe calmly what is happening, with heightened senses, and be a source of calm and steadiness for others.  Instead of "fight or flight"chaplains "focus and feel." One of my favorite ER nurses said about chaplaincy, "Your physical presence in a trauma room is a rock for the patient, but also for the staff. We know you are going to be calm and we look to you for that strength." It is not physically possible to hold onto all the pain that we take in, but it takes emotional labor to release that pain also. When we come home from that night shift or that day of visiting nursing homes, we often just want to eat and turn our brains off. And in our sleeping or our reading or our netflix binge watching, that pain seeps out slowly like sap from a tree. It hurts a little, but it is necessary to relieve the pressure.

Our conversations with patients are deep. We talk about the sorts of things that many of us would rather ignore. Death and suffering and aging and tough decisions. We are called into ethical dilemmas and to bear witness to patients gasping for air and to offer comfort to family members. We are called to sit with patients so they do not die alone. Sometimes we forget how to have light conversation, because so many conversations in chaplaincy are serious. We might have little tolerance for small talk in our personal lives because we bear witness to the most sacred and painful moments of the human experience. But we want you to know that nothing you might say will scare us, because honestly, we have heard it all before.

We might not want to be social butterflies during our off time or we might want to surround ourselves with a close network of people who "get it." Because it is so hard to explain what we do, why we do it, and how we can possibly continue to do it day in and day out for years. We love our work, but it changes us. We think way more than the average person about the ravages of cancer or the slow death of dementia or the violent randomness of trauma. We are constantly thinking about the lives (and deaths) of our loved ones and we are constantly faced with our own mortality.

We might not always have the emotional energy to be fully present to our own spouses, families and friends at the end of the day. This is the greatest consequence of emotional labor for me. I am an introvert and sometimes I just do not have the emotional reserves to be a wife and family member without time to recharge.

For me, the most important tool in managing the toll of emotional labor is ritual. I symbolically put aside the day by changing out of my work clothes immediately upon returning home. I pray silently in my car that God would hold the concerns of those whom I serve in my work, so that I can let go of them. I visualize all of the trauma and suffering that I hold in my body draining out of me and into the earth. Sometimes I literally lay on the ground and do this. I worship in a faith community that sings its prayers and holds hands together, and I derive strength from the great cloud of witnesses each week. I cry when I need to, because sometimes it is all too much to bear.

Another important part of my resiliency is self-care. I relax HARD on my days off. I sleep a lot. I work out. I eat good food and enjoy good coffee. I try to do creative, generative activities like art and knitting, that allow me to create something tangible. I derive enjoyment from physical activities like yard work and cleaning, because it allows me to use my body instead of my mind. I ask for help when I need it. I love my spouse deeply and enjoy the company of my dogs and their enjoyment of the present moment.

I am not perfect at any of these things, and I still find myself getting worn down at times, but they are disciplines and they get better with time.

Fellow caretakers and chaplains, how do you counteract the toll of emotional labor?

Vigil with the Word: Year C, Second Sunday after Epiphany

The texts for the Second Sunday after Epiphany are:

John 2:1-11
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
Isaiah 62:1-5
Psalm 36:5-10

My commentary on these texts focuses on the Psalm and on the Epistle.

John 2:1-11

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ Now standing there were six stone water-jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, ‘Fill the jars with water.’ And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, ‘Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.’ So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, ‘Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.’ Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

This is the first miracle attributed to Jesus in John’s Gospel. I think a lot about miracles. Patients ask me to pray for miracles.  Sometimes I bear witness to miracles. But a lot of the time, I bear witness to unfulfilled prayers for miracles. And sometimes, I wish I could order up a miracle.

I care for pediatric patients in one of the hospitals where I work.  I got to know a patient who will likely not make it into the double digits. It seems so miraculously unfair. This vibrant soul, who is precocious and hilarious and gentle, needs a miracle. But this little patient will most likely not see a miracle.

And this hurts. I wish I could order up a miracle like Jesus ordered up wine for this wedding. There’s very little comfort in saying, “God is with you.” I wrestle with faith and what God is up to in so much pain. But in all my frantic grasping, one of the few things I can hold onto is, “God does stuff.”  God makes something out of nothing. I don’t know how it works, but God does stuff. In the form of water into wine and in the form of joy in ICUs, despite all evidence to the contrary.  God does stuff.

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

Now concerning spiritual gifts, brothers and sisters, I do not want you to be uninformed. You know that when you were pagans, you were enticed and led astray to idols that could not speak. Therefore I want you to understand that no one speaking by the Spirit of God ever says ‘Let Jesus be cursed!’ and no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by the Holy Spirit.

 Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. To one is given through the Spirit the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge according to the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by the one Spirit, to another the working of miracles, to another prophecy, to another the discernment of spirits, to another various kinds of tongues, to another the interpretation of tongues. All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses.

I spend a lot of time working with patients experiencing cognitive decline.  Who flicker in and out of awareness.  Whose spirits are still whole, but whose minds are fragmented into memories of now, then, and never.

To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.

Every once in awhile, I see a flicker of vibrant spirit and of the beautiful soul that exists behind the wall of the dementia. The gifts bestowed by the Holy Spirit that are still there. I visited a patient recently who was a pianist. Who was in the grip of dementia, frantically pacing the halls searching for the world, and would sit down at the piano and play a perfectly executed minuet or sonata in between laps. The river of music trickling down the hall of the memory care unit, bringing beauty into such a dark place.

All these are activated by one and the same Spirit, who allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses.

Our elders with dementia, tucked away in euphemistically named “gardens” and “villas” and “neighborhoods” for their own protection and the protection of our sensibilities, have abundant gifts of the Spirit.  The mystery of what the Holy Spirit is up to never ceases to amaze me. And sometimes inspires me to sit down at the piano and play a minuet myself.

Psalm 36:5-10

Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds. 
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains,
 your judgments are like the great deep;
   you save humans and animals alike, O Lord.


How precious is your steadfast love, O God!
All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings. 
They feast on the abundance of your house,
and you give them drink from the river of your delights. 
For with you is the fountain of life;
in your light we see light.


O continue your steadfast love to those who know you,
and your salvation to the upright of heart!

I get the honor of seeing steadfast love in action all the time.  Of adult children who care for their aging parents in living rooms. Of nurses and aides who wipe foreheads and offer water tenderly. Of elderly parents who sit at the bedsides of their middle aged children. Of people who show up day after day in love.

Human love is imperfect, but it is beautiful. And I think it is God’s steadfast love that helps us love one another. This psalm is one of praise, but I think it is also one of pleading with God to continue to show up. Of begging in the dark of night, “Continue your steadfast love!” Because caretaking is love all jumbled up with pain.

A son asks me, “Does it mean I love him less if I resent him sometimes?”

A daughter weeps, “I wish sometimes she would just die in her sleep, and then I don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

In your light we see light. All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.

I pray a lot for deep peace and rest. For families and patients to know the deep comfort that can only be found in the divine, because comfort on this side of heaven can be so fleeting. 

Lord, shelter your beloved under your wings. Help them take refuge from the burden of loving.  Love them steadfastly.