Making Connections

Connections:Making Connections

I only speak a few words of Spanish, like “no hablo Español” and “por favor”; to be honest, I sometimes have enough trouble with English, so I don’t often try out my limited Spanish.

He spoke almost no English, so we were about evenly matched.

I was told he was Central American (not sure of the country) but that he had served in the Cuban Military before coming to the US, and it was while in Cuba that he got the blood transfusion which gave him HIV. This was 1994 when the treatment had not advanced very far, and AIDS was seen as a death sentence in slow-motion (sometimes not that slow).

I did not know how he got to this Philadelphia hospital room, and really did not care.

It was during Seminary, and I was on my Hospital Chaplaincy Internship. I was on-call that night, and the patient had taken a turn for the worse. The nurse knew he was dying and was alone, his family had been called, but it was the middle of the night and they did not have access to a car so it would be hours before they arrived by bus.

Not being able to stay with him herself, the nurse asked me to come over and sit with the man.

When I got to his room, the nurse introduced me in Spanish and then left to tend to her other patients, and there we were in the dimly lit room, just he and I, with nothing to say to each other.

Because AIDS was so misunderstood at that time, I was required to wear a mask and gloves – I hated this, as I did not feel that this offered real comfort to the man. I had worked with other AIDS patients who were in hospice, and learned that all we really needed to do was wash our hands carefully and use our own common sense…but these were hospital rules.

Fortunately, I was wearing my clerical collar, so he knew I was some sort of clergy as soon as I walked in, and this helped break the ice. I reached out and took the man’s hand and he nodded to me, I nodded back, greeting him in the way that men do, and the only way we could understand each other. I then said his name, pointed to myself said my name, and we smiled at each other.

After this, the awkwardness fell upon us, and I found myself hoping that his family would get there soon, not only so he could see them, and have someone to talk to, but also so I could go back to bed – with a new baby at home, I appreciated any opportunity to sleep.

However, it would be some time before they arrived, and so we waited.

Although we were unable to talk with each other, we were able to communicate…to a point. We said the Lord’s Prayer together, which he knew, and we also read some Psalms – at least he knew it was the Bible, and I am sure he caught the cadence…I believe we were both grateful for anything that drowned out the sound of monitors that would counting down his life.

Although we could not talk to each other, we formed a bond through our words, a touch, a look. I could tell he was happy to not be alone, and so was I.

And it seemed like he knew how awkward this was for me too.

As we faced the long, dark hours together, that shared experience brought us together. We were no longer strangers who did not speak each other’s language, people from different cultures, but two human beings sharing an impossible moment together: one of great transition, a moment that called for reverence…and a bit of fear, but which was also incredibly boring.

As we were waiting, waiting and waiting…

For his family to arrive and for death to take him, unsure of who would arrive first.

Finally, just as the sky outside of the window was just beginning take on that deep purple color that announced the arrival of a new summer day, the nurse came in with the man’s family! They had taken three buses in the middle of the night, to arrive at this bedside just in time!

His face lit up, and he smiled as they greeted him. I squeezed his hand, said “goodbye” and took a few steps towards the door, thinking that the family needed their time with him. One family member stopped me, and said that the nurse told her that I had been sitting with her relative for hours, she thanked me, and asked me to say a prayer with them before I left. Fortunately, most of the family understood some English, and they all understood prayer.

I do not remember what I said, there in that room, as we held hands and prayed for comfort, but I know that I was moved by the love that this family shared, and that they wanted to include me, if only for a moment or two.

When the prayer was over, I had an awkward moment of not being sure what to do, when the nurse motioned to me from the doorway, and that was my opportunity to say my goodbyes (again) and leave.

I went back to the sparse on-call room as the sun was rising and managed to sleep for about three hours before going back on duty. I got busy with training and visits, and did not find out what had happened with the man, until later in the morning, when I was called back to the unit.

I saw a cart of empty coffee cups and untouched cookies by this room, and knew that he had died. His family was gone, and now a young priest was standing by the room, looking anxious. He too was in training, and this was to be the first time he ever said Last Rites for someone by himself. He was anxious about performing the rite and about being in the room with the deceased person, and had asked for a chaplain to stand with him.

I was happy to help, and as we walked into the room, I told the priest what I knew about the man, and how I had sat with him throughout the night and prayed with his family. I watched as the new Priest gave the man his final honors, and prayed with him as we commended this man, a soldier, an immigrant, AIDS victim, a son, brother and father, into the hands of the Almighty.

Although the priest only knew the man in death, I could see how he was moved by providing the last rites, shaking and holding back tears…and I was right there with him as we bonded in grief for a man we really didn’t know.

While I never actually got a chance to talk with this man in his own language…and cannot even remember his name, my time with him has had an impact. Twenty-five years later I can still remember the look in his eyes when I took his hand and prayed with him. How we connected just by the sound of each other’s voice, and how relieved I felt when his family arrived!

When it all comes right down to it, there is much more that brings us together than separates us…as we are all bound by our humanity, and held together by our compassion. How, no matter who we are, or what we believe in, that we are all well-loved children of God, and all in this world together…so we might as well make the most of it.

Speaking Out

This has not been an easy essay to write.

I am Christian, and as such, I believe that we are called to show compassion and understanding to those we disagree with. This is part of the reason why I have struggled to walk a fine line between standing for what I believe in as a person of faith, and with not wanting to shut-down any opportunity for discussion with those who hold different beliefs than I do.

In these contentious times, I see the importance of seeking common-ground with each other, as I feel that the only way we can move forward into a better future is through working together. Hence the importance of fostering reconciliation in the midst of a culture that appears to value being ‘right’ above all else.

Another reason I am reluctant to challenge others when I disagree with them, is that I am something of a ‘people-pleaser’ and I want folks to like me.

I’m also not a big fan of conflict, and would much rather find a way for everyone to get along.

This is why it was hard for me to write this essay, as I know it will annoy some people, and could cause a lot of discussion, not all of it pleasant or easy to hear. I could be ‘unfriended’ or called out for being naïve. In spite of these risks I also feel that my faith and values call upon me to speak my mind, and if people don’t like it, that is their prerogative. I still will not condemn someone ONLY because we disagree on the fundamentals.

This changes once true hate rears its ugly head…I have unfriended folks who had displayed swastikas or passed on ideas that I could not turn a blind eye to (I am no saint, but out and out racism or hate-speech are things I just cannot accept).

Therefore, while I have not shied away from criticism of Trump for (among other things) his philandering, lies, hate mongering, disdain for the sick and poor, the separation of families, etc., I have refused to condemn or shame someone just because they support Trump and his rhetoric…especially those who I believe to be good and decent people, who also profess to be Christians, and appear to be practicing their faith.

Which is why their support of Trump mystifies me…but this may be a sign of my naiveté.

Recently, I have been rethinking this approach.

We are in an important moment, not only is it the birth of a new century, but also of a new millennium. It is a time of change.  After a century of rapid and tumultuous changes in technology and culture, our world is now becoming more diverse, and closer together, due to the variety of social media outlets. These constant reminders that we are all sharing the same small planet gives hope to many, but they can also feed the fear that many have for the new and the unfamiliar.

This fear is fed by misunderstanding, and is often expressed with intolerant or hateful rhetoric, and sometimes even violence.

In the face of these fears and the anger they incite, we have to ask if it is dangerous to be inviting everyone to gather around the fire to sing Kumbaya while the house is burning down?

While Christian faith calls us to treat each other with respect, and to seek reconciliation in the face of our brokenness, it also calls us to compassion and social justice. In light of this call, it can be argued that the truly compassionate thing to do is to speak truth to the “Alternative Facts” that stir up fear and misunderstanding, to call-out the messages of blatant hatred, bigotry and injustice that often go unchallenged, and unchecked for the sake of keeping the peace…because we are all getting tired of fighting amongst ourselves.

For me, this call to compassion is especially is especially poignant when I hear the scriptures being used as a justification to condemn or marginalize others. I believe that the Gospel of Christ offers liberation from bondage to sin and oppression, and should not used to tell people that they are sinners, or unworthy of God’s love or our respect due to who they are, where they were born or who they chose to love.

As a Christian, I believe we are to stand up for those who have had their voices silenced, and to speak out against those who will twist the words of the scriptures into a message of fear that serve only to line their own pockets. Our faith calls us to do more than just wringing our hands and offering thoughts and prayers, our faith (and humanity) also calls us to action! To live our faith out-loud on a daily basis!

This is not always a comfortable or safe thing for us to do…we may not win many friends by speaking our truth.

That said, I still believe in the importance of working together, and feel that we will get farther with a discussion than with an argument, as we cannot move forward if we are constantly at each other’s throats.

Therefore, the challenge is how to speak out against such rhetoric while keeping the conversation civil? After all, speaking out does little good if it leaves those we want to talk with angry and defensive; this is about reaching out, not about shaming (or shutting off) people that we disagree with.

How can we do this?

This is a good question…with no easy answers, as every situation is different, and our lives can be awkward (kinda like this essay).

The best suggestion is to not be afraid to tell the truth about how we feel and what we believe in, while remaining open-minded to the opinions of others.

We can stop trying to label each other, and instead see each other as human beings, and we (including myself) can learn to grow thicker skin, we can apologize if someone is feeling offended, or disagrees with us, but still stick to what we believe…

We can remember that if what is said causes us to become uncomfortable, then maybe it is something that needs that needs to be heard.

Finally, we can remember that no one has all the answers, which is why we must work together if we want to find solutions…but the hardest part is often finding a way to meet in the middle.

“Just Five More Minutes”

My bedroom is in the attic.

During the summer it can get very hot, with the air conditioner struggling to keep up; but as there is no heat in the room, during the winter it can get very cold. I don’t mind this, as I do have a space heater for the dog, and I really like being wrapped up in quilts on a cold night! It reminds me of when I grew up and my parents kept the house just warm enough to keep the pipes from freezing (the thermostat only went up to 60 when company was expected; however, we did have a big fireplace).

However, waking up for work on a cold morning can be difficult, especially when I can hear the wind blowing outside, and I am shocked by the cold air as I reach out to put the alarm on ‘snooze’!!

I’ll retreat back under the quilts and tell myself “five more minutes and then I’ll get up” but when the alarm rings again, I’ll hit snooze and go back to sleep…once again telling myself “five more minutes”.

And when I finally do get up, I become annoyed because I am running late.

This reminds often me of when I was a kid, and I got the warning that it was time to go to bed, and I would ask for “…just five more minutes” to finish a TV show, etc. My parents were not surprised by this plea, in fact I think they moved up my bed time to accommodate this request, which was why it was often granted, but when I asked for another ten-minute reprieve I was usually denied and told it that my time was up.

This made those extra five minutes very special to me, and I wanted to make the most of them, enjoying every second of this bonus time…and moving as slowly as possible when on my way upstairs to brush my teeth.

Often our lives can get so busy that hours and days can fly by without much of a thought, and five minutes mean so little to us, unless we are asked to wait for five minutes!

However, what if we had just five more minutes to spend with the people in our lives who have died?

I would love to spend that time with my parents, my older brother Pete, and any number of others, family and friends, who have passed away.

What would I say?

Maybe I would try to make amends for wrongs done, or just express how much I love and miss them, or we could just spend those few minutes together just hanging out and talking…who knows?

Imagine what we could do if we had five more minutes to re-think a bad decision, to take back a mistake, or if we could stop ourselves or someone close to us from being hurt?

What if we had five more minutes to spend with our children, as they were first learning to walk, or spending a long afternoon just playing?

Or what if I had five minutes to spend with my biological mother, to ask her why, and to let her know she has been forgiven?

There are many times when we find ourselves wishing that time would go by quickly: during a long work-day, in the midst of cold winter, when going through one of those ‘life on life’s terms’ periods, or when waiting for something!

We all do it, not giving a thought to how precious each moment is…how just having five more minutes to stop and breathe, to talk, to share, to love, or to heal would be a gift beyond value.

Of course, we can never have” just five more minutes”, we can’t relive the past. What’s done is done; however, we can still do our best to make things right, to heal the brokenness that can settle between us and the people in our lives…even those we love!

What we can do, is to make the most out of the next five minutes, by doing what we can to bring the warmth of hope and reconciliation to a cold and broken world…and then the five minutes after that, and so on.

Whatever it Takes

The weather reports called for another round of bad weather: snow, rain, and maybe some ice, just to make things extra special!

So, we begin to make plans, so that we have plenty of milk and bread to make it through the long hours (may as much as 12) of being snowed in. Trips to the store are made, invitations declined, gas tanks are filled up and we settle in for some binge-watching before having to go out and shovel snow (or ask my daughter’s boyfriend to do it for me).

When it gets nasty like this, I do not like to go out, unless I absolutely have to, because I hate driving in the snow and ice! If I can I will even call off of work if I know the weather will be awful, turn down invitations, and change plans!

There have been times when I was reluctant to walk down the street to church, make the short trip to visit with my girlfriend, or go to one of my 12-step meetings – even the one held just down the street.

Often this makes good sense, driving during a winter storm can be dangerous…I have even gotten seriously injured on my front walk when I slipped on the ice! However, there are times when I have used the weather as an excuse to simply stay at home.

This is significant because when I was drinking, there wasn’t much that could keep me from the love of my life: alcohol!

I remember one evening, while I was in college, and it was snowing intensely, after only a couple of hours the roads had filled with snow, all but halting all traffic! I could have happily stayed in for the night, but I had no booze, and that simply could not stand!

How could I face a snowstorm sober???

So, I put on my boots (which were not waterproof) my puffy goose-down coat (which had seen better days) and gloves, put up my hood, and ventured out into the storm! The wind was howling, driving the snow into my face like little daggers! It was coming down so quickly that the plows could not keep up with it, so I had the road to myself as I trudged along toward the liquor store!

Even in the road, the going was slow as I was walking against the wind and the snow was getting deeper all the time. When I was about halfway there, had to stop for a minute to let a plow go by, chains clinking on the road. As I stood there, I was struck by the thought that the liquor store might be closed! I pushed that horrible thought out of my head, and continued on…I was on a mission!

Due to the weather and harsh conditions, the trip took twice as long as usual. I was cold and wet and had a tough moment as I turned the corner, and it looked like the place might not be open after all! Then I saw the lights, and watched someone leaving, and I was relieved! The front of the place was a regular liquor store, but in the back was a bar. Despite the weather, and the fact that I hadn’t seen anyone other than the plow out on the roads, the bar was packed! I can still remember how warm it was in the store, the smell of cigarette smoke and the music coming from the bar…and it was almost enough to make me forget about the weather!

However, it was not enough to get me to forget about my mission!

I had been going to this place to buy beer and liquor for years. When I was a kid, I would often go with one of my brothers to buy beer or wine for a family dinner, and I would run in while he was waiting in the car, double-parked. I would point outside and tell the clerk the purchase was for him…and as it was the 70s, and he could not care less, I never had a problem when I went there, even when underage.

This time was no different, the clerk just nodded and sold me the pint bottle of cheap whiskey that I wanted, and a six of Old Milwaukee (top-shelf all the way), and I headed back out into the storm! I slogged back to the dorm, desperately trying to keep the paper grocery bag from completely disintegrating!

When I got back, I dried off, warmed up, and then proceeded to drink the pint and the beer while watching my little black and white TV, and when it was all over, I was sick, the room was spinning, and I still wanted more…instead, I just passed out!

When new in Recovery, I was told if I put half the effort into my Sobriety as I had put into getting drunk, that I would be doing sure to be a success!

Whenever I am feeling lazy, and am looking for an excuse to not do what I need to take care of myself, i.e. going to a meeting, I often remember of that long walk through the storm, just to get some cheap booze, and I think of what I was told about doing whatever it takes to stay Sober!

Sometimes I even listen to that advice and get off my butt!

Recovery has seen me through many worse storms that the one I walked through that night, giving me the tools to face some of the most awful challenges that life has thrown at me, and still stay Sober! These tools are not just the steps, but also the people (both in and out of Recovery) who have been there to support me!

In the same way, what I have faced has helped me to give support to other people who are facing some of the same challenges in their lives…and this is how we work together to not only survive the storms, but to thrive in spite of them!

One day at a time.