There's a Wideness in God's Mercy

         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.  

---