Tears of Hope

I’ve spent most of today crying.  This isn’t really surprising if you look at the current circumstances of my life.  My mother has terminal cancer, my work has some difficult pieces of conflict that will not have resolution for some time, and I have other family circumstances that I’m not free to discuss publically but worry me to literal sickness and fill me with dread.  But it’s not those things per se that have left me crying today.

Today, I’m crying because of a wonderfully whole yet complicated sense of vulnerability.  Last night at work, I sat with a family who discussed their child’s illness and I was struck in a different way by their experience of fear and dread.  I heard it in a way I had never fully understood emotionally even though I did intellectually and academically.  I heard their fear of death and it struck me in a deeply personal way. 

See, I’ve spent most of my life outrunning a legacy of abuse, crushing depression, and illness that have left me feeling as though my death would be a welcome thing.  In spite of my desire for my suffering in this world to end, I’ve pushed forward and lived what others would consider a full life.  I’ve cultivated a family, friendships, and pastoral relationships in a way that reflect my faith that every moment matters in spite of my desire for my suffering to end.

But a funny thing has happened over the past few years.  I’ve experienced healing in ways I didn’t imagine and I hope isn’t done yet.  I’ve moved into and through the suffering to a place of peace with most of it.  Some of it will always be there but I have a growing sense that I am not just my suffering.  Maybe a better way to say it is that I am now living more and more because I love life and not in spite of suffering.

Oh sure, I still have bad days and I suspect my predilection toward suicidal thoughts will always be there but it isn’t all I am.  Yet I’ve had to ask the question “who am I if I’m not suffering?” because so much of my identity has been built around my deep understanding of that experience.  Some would tell you that one of the reasons I’m such a good friend and chaplain is that people sense I truly understand their sorrow and I’m not afraid to go to the dark places with them.  In part, I believe that’s true. Nevertheless, I have a growing suspicion that it’s not the whole story.

All of this brings me to my tears of today.  Since listening last night to that family’s fears of their child dying, I keep flashing on my own precious life and all the things I don’t want to lose or leave behind.  I keep thinking of my wife, daughter, brother, and others who I love so deeply that their loss would break my heart into a thousand pieces.  I keep thinking about my own tenuous health and how desperately I don’t want to leave those things behind.

For the first time in my life, I love more than I hurt and so I want to cling to every precious second I have with those people.  Before, their loss would have been more shattering to an already pulverized soul.  Now, love lives so much larger that the thought of losing them or leaving them fills me with vulnerability and brings tears to my eyes in an ironically hopeful way.  I say ironically hopeful because it has taken finally outrunning my longing for death to realize that my new fear of death reflects healing and restoration.

I don’t know what all this will mean for my work as a chaplain.  I can’t imagine that it’ll have a negative impact.  But that’s not really today’s concern.  For now, I’m crying.  I’m crying for fear, for hope, for love.  And these tears are sacred.  Amen.

Two Brothers and a Hope for Something New

There were two very influential theologians in the twentieth century named Reinhold Niebuhr and H. Richard Niebuhr. They were brothers whose works as Christian ethicists changed the landscape of the Protestant church. I’ve read a great deal from both of them yet I always prefer Reinhold Niebuhr’s conclusions and trajectory. In fact, I consider him my most influential ethicist and favorite theologian. But what I like most about him is not always what he said but that he said and did something. This brings me to my point in writing this.

I frequently have reflections on our experiences where I blend my deeply held religious beliefs, interest in history, and passionate love of life into an thought that I then verbally pass onto others. They often tell me that I should write these down to share with others. My boss is most adamant about this because she believes I have a way of explaining things that would truly help grieving parents (I am a pediatric chaplain). Nevertheless, I don’t write and share these ideas because I feel fearful of putting my ideas out there before they are well thought out and refined… which is another way of saying bulletproof.

This brings me back to the Niebuhr brothers. I was told by someone who actually knew them as well as a seminary professor of mine that the reason Reinhold Niebuhr wrote so much more prolifically than his brother is that he did not regret having to go back and say something to the effect of, “I’ve grown since I wrote that and I’ve changed my stance.” However, H. Richard Niebuhr would spend much more time pouring over his writings before letting anyone see them. He was certainly never confined by his need to “be sure” of what he was saying before putting it out in a public arena as he did produce and publish several books, articles, and letters. Yet, even in his political stances, he was still bound by this need to think, examine, and consider to the point of inaction or late action. Reinhold Niebuhr was not this way. He said boldly what he believed and acted out those ideals.

I want that boldness but more importantly, I want that humility. I want to start writing these experiences and reflections for myself as well as others. The more time I spend with others, the more important it seems to share these things with one another and not leave them locked away. So, please accept this as my foray into blogging on chaplaincy, life experiences, and revelations of the Spirit. I hope this is an experience of growth, developing connections, cultivating humility, and much more.