Food

This is something that I wrote last summer:



Sometimes, it is the simple acts of giving that are the biggest agents of change. I was at work one day, simply doing what I am paid to do. I was trying to discharge a homeless man from the Emergency Department. My tasks as a nurse were done. My tasks as a Christian were not. I felt a sense of duty to secure a cab ride for this man. I wanted to feed him. Angry at the delay, he started to yell at me, and call me names. I did not react to his lashing out, because I realized that he was wounded and scared. Yet, he was starting to disturb the other patients and bother the doctor. So, I finally said very firmly to him, “Sit down and be quiet. You are not leaving here until I feed you!”. What happened next changed me in many ways. He sat down on the end of the stretcher, buried his head in his hands and began to sob. He managed to ask me a question. His voice was raw and filled with hurt. “Why do you want to help me?” It was the question that had lived deep inside of me for many years. It was the same question that I had not had the courage to ask those around me. As I looked at his tears falling at our feet, I took a deep breath. The answer washed over me in a flood of my own emotions. “Simply because you are human. Every human deserves help and love.”

I found a sandwich in the refrigerator and brought it to his room. He began to eat, slowly. He seemed humbled and grateful for a moment of dignity. In those few short moments, I realized the immense privilege it had been for me to feed this man. I had a glimpse at what Christ meant when he said when you feed them, you also feed Me.

At church the next Sunday, my day was filled with my own tears. I managed to tell someone that I was having a hard time accepting the fact that she loved me. I confessed my own sins of lashing out and deflecting the love given to me by others. I realized that I had been asking the wrong question. I had been asking “Why would you hurt me?” I had been stuck in my wounds, waiting to be hurt. In that, I had forgotten the most important part of Love. It is in the fullness of the receiving that God is most present. This man showed me where I had failed. God’s love is ever present, all reaching and bigger than we could ever imagine. We don’t earn it, or have the ability to return it. It simply is there for the receiving. Every single human on the face of the earth deserves to know God’s love. Yet, we can only see it through the other humans around us. It takes courage, trust and humility to see it. Sometimes we get hurt. Sometimes others lash out at us. Sometimes we suffer deep betrayals. Yet, even in the deepest of wounds, God can reach us. Sometimes, we just need have someone tell us “Sit down and let me feed you.”

Looking at the edge of the water

Matthew 14: 28-31

And Peter answered him, "Lord if it is you, bid me come to you on the water." He said "Come." So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus; but when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, "Lord, save me." Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, "O man of little faith, why did you doubt?"

After publishing my last post, I realized that it was time for me to call my spiritual mother. I also realized that I was getting a bit snotty with my comments about wanting others to 'practice what they preach.' So when I got her on the phone, I started telling her about missing her and missing my church. Next thing you know, she started to challenge me. Yep, you guessed it, she told me something that I didn't want to hear. She talked to me about this story about Peter.
"You are too busy looking at the edge of the water!" She said that once Peter took his eyes off of Jesus he began to get scared and started to drown. She told me that I need to quit worrying about what everyone else is doing and concentrate on Jesus.
Of course, she is right. I keep getting distracted from my own walk with Jesus. I am amazed at how this story fits so directly into my life right now. I am amazed at this woman's ability to draw me into this one, and others.
Every single day, I make mistakes. Some of them I learn from. Many of them I am doomed to repeat. I am blessed to have people in my life who find ways to reach me when I get caught up in myself. Because of them, I get to grow. I will grow for the rest of my life. When we stop growing, we start dying. Or in Peter's case, we start drowning.

Witness

Last night, I decided at the last minute to attend the Holocaust Memorial service in Columbia. As I was driving there, my social anxieties started to surface. I don't like going to an event by myself. I had never attended a service at this Synagogue. As my mind started to wander, I started thinking about my maternal grandfather. A couple of years ago, I found out that he was involved in the liberation of Buchenwald. Since he did not speak much about it, I pieced together stories from my mother, and information off of the Internet. I have no details, but it is clear that he was involved. I also know that in the late 1950's, he took my mother and grandmother to visit Dachau. He took his family so that they could see in person what had happened there. This made a very big impression on my teenage mother. I have heard hers, and my grandmother's story of this trip many times.

My grandfather died before I was born. As I understand things, he suffered with alcoholism and many of the ills associated with it. I think it would be easy to say that he led a bit of a tortured life, and his family suffered with him. I never thought much about all of this until last night. At the memorial service, main speaker was a man who served in the American army and liberated one of the camps. He only spoke for about 15 minutes, but his words carried great power. He managed to give a strong sense of what he found without going into much detail. At the end of his talk, he tried to convey a story about one of his soldiers. After 65 years, and numerous speeches, this man choked back tears as he tried to tell his story. I sat in stunned silence as I recognized the immense burden this man carries. He carries the burden of being a first hand witness to the unimaginable. He has carried his burden well, but obviously there is a price.

I now look at my grandfather with different eyes. I had a glimpse at the burden he must have carried. I can only imagine how hard it was for him to reconcile his experiences. My grandfather's trip to Dachau with his family was probably his best attempt at providing witness. He could not talk much about it, but he made sure that his daughter saw with her own two eyes.

So, a chance encounter at a service helps put so many things into perspective for me. I wish that I could go back and speak to my grandfather. I have to honor the price he paid for serving in a war. I have to acknowledge the price he paid for being a witness.

Good Friday

It is Good Friday. It is the day that we remember the Crucifixion. I have always, even as a child, taken this day very seriously. I was raised Lutheran, and our church didn't use any sort of Liturgy for this day. They usually offered silent communion. It was probably my favorite service of the year. It was a solemn, silent, personal passive experience. It was a way for me to try to understand what happened so long ago.
When we joined the Episcopal church several years ago, I was able to worship this day in an entirely different manner. I wept as we walked the stations of the cross. I watched with awe as our Priest reverenced the cross during that first service. At that moment, I vowed to remain true to my Christian heritage. The next year, I would reverence a cross at the convent. This was an act. I was finding a way to participate in church, not just watch.
This Good Friday is different for me. I am not a participant in any corporate worships services. Well, at least I am a passive participant. Maybe that isn't it either. I've never been a particularly passive person. In fact, I think there in lies my troubles at my current church.
I am going to the Cathedral for the Good Friday Liturgy today. It will go back to the solemn, silent, personal way of trying to understand. Although, this time, it will be a little bit different. I will sit and try to understand what happened so long ago in a context of what is happening today. I understand, now, that there is nothing passive about worship. We all participate. It is with that awareness that I approach this weekend's services.
I am trying to embrace this year's Good Friday and Easter's celebrations. I am worshipping among strangers. I am worshipping without a strong sense of connection to my home church and the brothers and sisters who are there. I am beginning the process of shedding the layers of frustration, anger and shame. I seem to be working my way back to the cross.