There’s a wideness in God’s mercy. Back when I was serving in the parish I would say to folks who worked in hospice, “I could never do what you do.” And at the time I truly meant it. It felt too raw. Too intimate. Too vulnerable. Too scary. We plan, God laughs. My career track shifted suddenly and I needed to work. With the help of some kind friends and a great deal of grace, my next path was working with families as chaplain/grief counselor with hospice. And there I was. There’s a wideness in God’s mercy. For almost five years I’ve been working with folks who are writing their last chapters and with their families who are beginning to write new ones. It’s impossible for me to fully describe what the work is like from day-to-day. It is holy. It is precious. It is a privilege. It is endless, mindless paperwork. It is sadly business/regulation – driven. It is working with the best of the best. It is maddeningly futile. It is that most each and everyday. There’s a wideness in God’s mercy. This past week I facilitated a Support Group for caregivers. There was a sister and brother whose mother was a resident in the memory unit of the facility hosting the group. They’d brought pictures. They spoke of their mother’s strength and heart, of her wisdom and faith. The son (“I’ve always been her favorite”) said, “I could endure these days if I was sure she wasn’t suffering.” The daughter (jostling her 50+ year old brother, “No, you weren’t. She always told me I was her favorite”) said, “I just need to know we made the right decision bringing her here.” And soon there were only tears. There’s a wideness in God’s mercy. What could I say to them? Could I say that their mother wasn’t suffering? That they’d made the “right” decision? That I knew what it felt like to lose both parents to painful disease? That I knew the pain of putting our Dad in a facility when his Alzheimer’s progressed? That I knew exactly what they meant when each believed to be the favorite (cause I know I was)? That I knew everything was gonna be ok? There’s a wideness in God’s mercy. Over these past years, hospice has been a wise, sometimes over-demanding teacher. From story-to-story hospice has taught me: that there aren’t answers for another’s journey; that listening is one of the strongest and most loving acts we can do for another; that light is greater than darkness; that the sharing of our stories is one of greatest connecting places; and that I should always, always take off my shoes when I know that I’m standing on holy ground. Like that night listening in that Support Group circle. It was as if there was a soft melody suddenly filling the room, “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy.” And we all (somehow) heard it at the same time. Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr., I Have a Dream: Writings and Speeches That Changed the World On this day many of us are stopping to remember the words, the marches, the imprint of the life of Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. On this day we lean especially into those words that launched us into freedom. On this day we wonder whether or not we are continuing in those steps that faced down oppression, injustice, hatred. On this day we remember that there is much more work to be done. Everybody can be great…because anybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and verb match to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr. It’s a day to recommit our hearts and our hands to the work that is yet to be done. I see it everyday driving to work and in many of the faces I encounter throughout the day. I hear it on the radio and see it written in the paper. We are an incredible country, always have been. But we fall so short of who we could be ~ together. Forgiveness is not an occasional act, it is a constant attitude. ~ MLK, Jr. Each of us listen particularly, hearing it through our lives to Pastor King’s words. Each of us has something of which to be reminded. Each of us has miles to go before we sleep. Each of us. Again this year, I working through and toward forgiveness. This spiritual practice is not a checklist to be crossed off, but a rending and opening of my heart in a new way that brings grace. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper to a night already devoid of stars…Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. ~ MLK, Jr. As I stop this day, may I not be content with only remembering. This day may I recommit this one life I’ve been given to standing up and standing for. This day may I look my neighbor in eyes and not turn away. This day may I choose to live into the light that will lead me, lead us all to what’s next. I love mosaics. I love the little pieces coming together to shape and form a bigger picture. I love the colors, separate and then joining together, something bigger, brighter, better. What if all of your friends pictures were joined together in one big mosaic? What would that do to your heart? And what would it look like if this mosaic could hold your life story? Tapestry? One long book with many chapters? One long album with melody after melody after melody? Working in hospice, I go to many, many funerals. And I’m often touched by clergy, family and friends trying so very hard to tell us all the stories of the person’s life. It’s often wonderful, sometimes endless, always tender. Words fall short of a lifetime. But words are what we have. Facebook has done a great kindness in its re-connecting of so many friends. From grade school to just yesterday, friends gather. White Horse is my way to engage. What’s amazing to me is when my Mattoon friends interact with my Candler friends, when my St. John friends chat it up with my KD sisters. It’s overlapping a lifetime in real-time. So I’ve been wondering about using colors and shapes instead of words to hold a picture of my Friendship Mosaic. It’s comforting to me to try to imagine the personalities. Besides Claud and Bets, Tracey was probably my very first friend. Or were the Dougherty’s who lived on the same block? Or Polly who I remember meeting in 1st grade. And who’s been my most recent friend? Would it be Carla and Rendi at work? Or Wade and Burt at church? Every now and then it’s life-affirming to stop and think about the different friends I’ve had throughout my life. Kindergarten to college; sorority and seminary; work and church; friends for football and friends for Saturday mornings; friends for the dark nights of the soul and friends who stay awake with you to wait for the coming of the sunrise. And then there are our parents’ friends, our partner’s friends, our kids’ friends, our pets’ friends. And don’t get me started on the notion of making a mosaic of your 10 favorite sunsets, or days at the beach, or book covers, or albums from college days, or favorite movie posters, or sneakers, or front doors of houses you’ve lived in…what pictures we could create. Let’s get started, you want to? Time after time after time, I’m reminded of how amazing our bodies are. Mom called our attention to that gift from Psalm 139 that tells us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Having a body memory is one more example for me of Psalm 139. What is that really? Body memory. And how is it possible? And can we live with and just celebrate the fact that it just is? This came to mind the other day when I was sending out a bunch of end-of-year letters at work. A bunch. And as I was stamping the envelopes, I stopped short. And somehow I knew that I’d missed signing three of them. Three of a pile of them felt un-signed. And so I sighed (loudly) and began going back and opening envelopes. And sure enough somewhere in the middle of the pile were four un-signed letters. Not a big deal. Sure, a good catch, but it just got me thinking about how very precious all of this is. Somehow we are wired to pay much better attention than we know or even grasp. Somehow, even in our bodies life is not passing us by. Somehow we are toting with us a deep knowing and attentiveness that sees through what seems to be ordinary, monotonous tasks and recognizes the order of it all. May this be a gift of new appreciation and awareness for 2014. Body memory. For all that I have lived in and through in these 56+ years, may I sit up a bit taller and give thanks a bit longer. May 2014 hold ah- ha’s for us. May we shed our robotic-selves and put on our body memories. May moments, small and not-so-small enter into our lives with gifts of possibility, bringing with them a future and a hope, as the prophet Jeremiah would say (29:11). May 2014 come with life for one and all. May we learn all the words to this year’s Alleluia! |
Lesley BroganWorking in Family Experience at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta, Lesley is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ. A Candler School of Theology graduate, Lesley has just published her second book, Grief and the Psalms: Companioning the Moon for 29 Days (available on this website). She and her partner, Linda Ellis are raising their two sons, Brogan and Sam in Decatur, GA. Archives
April 2018
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