Independence Day

Columbus was still holding on…

Although there were growing questions about his role in history, he was still held in some respect. In fact, that year saw a celebration of the 500^th anniversary of his voyage to the ‘new world’. There were speeches and books, TV specials and a parade of tall ships that sailed under the Verrazano and into the harbor just where they would stay for the fireworks!

I remember standing in the Wagner College parking lot in the fog that afternoon, watching them pass under the bridge, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

It was July 4, 1992 and a moment of change.

My father had been suffering from Parkinson’s disease for about twenty years, and was now at the end of his battle…the end of his life.

A life that began on the plains of South Dakota, where he grew up with his five brothers and a sister, working hard on the farm, and literally walking through the mud and snow to go to school! My guess is that all this farm-work inspired my father to higher education, and the desire to become a teacher!

This served him well when the war came and he was called away from his job as a High School teacher to serve in the Army Air Corps…as a teacher, at first anyway. He taught in New England, and took weekend trips to New York, where he met my mother at a church function in the Bronx.

The Army was kind enough to wait until after they were married to send him to the Pacific to be a Meteorologist. He arrived in the Philippines not long after liberation, and lived in the Governor’s mansion for a time, with several other servicemen. I believe he also spent some time in Korea, after the official end of the war, before coming home.

Once home, he completed his formal education (though he never stopped learning) in Madison Wisconsin, and later went on to teach at Annapolis (briefly) and then to Upsala College, in New Jersey, where he and my mother built a life together. Along the way they raised five children, including me, who came into the family through adoption.

It was not a prosperous life, but a rich one, as the family grew, and they shared what they had with all those around them, serving the community, church and college. In addition, my parents guided their children as they too travelled the winding road to adulthood, and even took me on as an addition…just when they were starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel of parenthood.

I remember the summer of 71, as my dad was getting the house ready to host my sister’s wedding. He was painting the outside of the big house in East Orange. I remember how we wore a pair of shorts that might once have been dress pants, black socks and an old pair of his “church” shoes (they would go from church, to work, to weekends, to work-shoes). I wanted to help him paint, but was probably getting in the way more than anything else. Being a kind man, he did let me hold the bottom of the ladder, and carry (closed) cans of paint, which was a good way to keep me busy and occupied.

I was glad to be able to help, and happy to spend time with my father, who I looked up to more than anyone ever. I was also impressed with how quickly and expertly he accomplished the task of painting the big house.

To me, it seemed that there was nothing he could not do well.

What I didn’t know is that this was around the time he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I did not find out about this diagnosis until sometime later…and when that happened, I was assured that this illness would take a long time to really have any effect on him, he would still be my father for some time to come.

Problem is that time does go by…

Between the illness and my father’s age, as he was already approaching 60 when I learned of his illness, it seemed to me that he faded quickly.

My father was always strong, active and involved, and while the desire remained, his body continued to let him down, so that by the time I was a teenager, I was doing much of the work around the house so he would not have to…including painting the big house again, which I did just before my sister and brother in-law celebrated their eighth anniversary.

Of course, I did a lot of this work under his direction and my mother’s supervision…it’s how I learned the value of doing the job right the first time.

My father managed to continue teaching until I was in my last year of college, when he finally retired and my parents sold the big house in East Orange and moved down to the southern regions….of New Jersey. There, they would be close to my oldest brother and situated right in between the rest of us, as I had a brothers in Maryland and New Jersey, and sister who lived on Staten Island, where I would soon relocate.

My parents bought a nice little house in a retirement community in Mount Laurel, joined a new church, made new friends, and enjoyed a growing number of grandchildren…but still my father faded.

Parkinson’s is a nasty disease, and it took its sweet time doing its nasty business as I watched my father leave this world is stages. First it slowed him down physically, making his movement stiff and difficult, and then it began to rob him of other things he loved. Like teaching, reading, learning about new things.

In time, the disease and the medications used to fight it even began to rob him of who he was as he began to hallucinate, and then forget things as he lost track of what was real and caused by his illness.

I remember one time, when I joined him in playing with a puzzle that only he could see, and he would tell me of people and things going on around him that were not there.

This was incredibly difficult to watch, as he fell deeper into this illness he seemed further away, and he also he became agitated by his visions and would need to be calmed down.

This what happened on the afternoon my wife (at the time) and I came for a visit. My wife (at the time) and my mother went out to shop and have lunch, as a way of giving her a break from care-giving. This gave me the opportunity to spend time with my father, and help take care of him.

During that afternoon, we went back to the Philippines. My father kept telling me he needed to go, and go right now! He even commanded me to get the car, it was important that he go to see his commanders. He kept saying “I’m a Second Lieutenant, I am responsible!” I told him that he had done his duty and done it well, that he could relax now, there was nothing more to be done. This seemed to calm him for a while…until it began again.

Finally, he told me “You don’t know what I have done!” The way he said this, gave me a chill, as he sounded guilty, as if what he did was something awful. I could not imagine him ever doing anything that terrible…ever. I know that most of us have done things we were not proud of, but could not see my father being guilty of anything more than the most minor of mistakes. Yet here he was, racked with guilt! Although I did my best to calm him, to be reassuring, I too was shaken to see this good man so overcome…and it made me sad to see him that way over whatever wrong his illness was manufacturing.

It was not long after, that it got to the point where my mother could not manage him any longer, even with the help she got from my brother (who lived a few minutes away) and the rest of us. We wavered between a full-time aide and a nursing home, unsure of how to proceed…until the decision was taken from us.

My father was hospitalized once again, and from there he went to a facility, which is where I last saw him.

It was on a rainy Friday, the Third of July, 1992.

When I saw him a week before, he was on oxygen, having trouble staying awake and not making much sense. I wonder if he even knew where he was, or who we were. So, when I returned on that Friday, I was not hopeful; however, I was pleasantly surprised to see him sitting up in bed, smiling and talking! I was there with two of my brothers, my sister and my mother, and he knew us all. He asked us how we were, we asked about him, and it was almost as if he wasn’t so terribly ill.

For a brief time, he was himself again.

Unfortunately, his lucidity did not last long, it was as if he surfaced just enough to tell us good bye. As that afternoon moved towards evening he drifted off, falling back down into his illness. I remember looking out of his window to see a couple of squirrels playing on the lawn, and I turned back to see him sleeping. As far as I know, he never came that far back again, although I know he perked up a little when my other brother came to visit the next morning.

That was one of the first times that I saw something that would become familiar to me. Although I did not know what it was then, I have seen it many times since, while working as a hospital chaplain, it is a look that some people get when they see death approaching. It’s hard to describe this look, other than it’s a look of serenity, as if they are accepting the fact that life is coming to an end…that they are okay this.

It is as if they are relieved that their struggle is over.

When I saw this look on his face, I had the feeling that this would be my last visit, so I was sure to let him know that it was okay for him to leave us…to move on.

This brings us back to that next day, standing there in the Wagner college parking lot, trying to see the tall ships through the fog. I had just come back from a 12-step meeting, where the speaker had talked about losing his own father, ten years before, also on July 4th…no coincidences.

He had talked about his regret for never making amends with his father, and this made me glad that I had this opportunity. I was able to have that talk with my father, while he could still understand what I was saying, about a year before he died. During this conversation, I thanked him for choosing to be my father, and apologized for the sorrow I had caused. I also promised that I would never call anyone else “father”.

A promise I have kept, despite meeting my biological father a few years later.

I came home from the meeting, expecting to find out that my father had passed, but there was still no news. I was too antsy to just sit and wait, so I went out to try and see the tall ships, but was frustrated by the fog.

It was not long after I walked back up the hill to my apartment that I got the call. I remember standing there in the kitchen and looking out through the screen, into the college football field behind the house, watching as the weak sunshine tried to make an impression, listening as I was told he had slipped away peacefully that morning as my mother held his hand.

Of course, I wanted to take action, get in the car and drive down to South Jersey to be with my family…but my mother asked me to wait. She told me there was nothing for me to do, as it was a Saturday and a holiday, all I could do is give her more to worry about. I was frustrated, but I understood.

It was like when I wanted to help my father paint the house, and the best thing I could do was to stay out of the way.

However, I could not just sit still, as if nothing had happened…I had to do something!

I turned to my wife, who suggested we go to another meeting. This was a good choice, so we went and I raised my hand and shared my loss, and got the support I needed. After, we decided to go to the movies. We arrived at the theatre to see Lethal Weapon 3, only to find a bunch of folks who had been at the !2-step meeting, and we all sat and watched the movie together!

For a little while, I was able to put my grief aside as I enjoyed the movie and the company of my wife and my friends. When the movie ended, we all went out to eat, and I remember how good it felt to know I was not alone. To be surrounded by support when I needed it the most!

After the diner, we wound up at yet another meeting, where I got more support, more strength, things I needed for the dreadful days to come, days of making arrangements, visitations, and the funeral.

Looking back now, I am glad that I had that day to rest, to recharge and prepare, as the full strength of the loss had not hit me yet. Waiting gave me an opportunity for pause.

It also gave me the chance to write a tribute to my father, typed out late that evening, on my word-processer, which was more like a typewriter with a screen. I was glad to be able to read it at his service, but I’m sad that this piece has been lost to time.

However, I do remember one part of it: the fact that my father did not care that much about money, that his wealth was deeper, it was in the love he shared with his family, and in the kindness and compassion that he showed others throughout his life.

His true wealth was in the richness of a life well lived and in all the lessons he left us, for he truly was a teacher…and as with any great educator, his lessons have lived on with all those touched by his life and example.

It is fitting that my father died on the Fourth of July, as the pastor said during his service: “It was his Independence Day from his illness.” An illness that held him back, and took so much from him, but it was the mercy of God’s love that finally set him free. The same Grace that my father had so easily shared with all those around him throughout his life.

This Grace has stayed with us, and has even had the chance to impact the lives of those who never knew him, as his love and compassion has inspired the same in all those who’s lives he touched.

It Stays With Us

May 24, 2020 – the seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:6-14

The Ascension of Jesus

In today’s reading from Acts we have a contradiction: We know that Christ is still alive and active in the world, yet, we are told of his Ascension into the heavens…

How can both be true?

Either Christ is still here with us, or has ascended to the Father and will come again in glory, right?

Perhaps, both CAN be true…

When the disciples ask Jesus if his ascension means that the Day of the Lord is at hand, he tells them, that it is not, not yet any way.

This day had been foretold by the prophets, as the time when all the barriers between ourselves and God would be removed, and the Kingdom of God would be right here…where we are!

On that day, God’s act of creation would be completed!

So, while Jesus tells the disciples that the Day of the Lord had not yet arrived, he does task the disciples, and each of us, with sharing the good news of God’s love “…to the ends of the earth.”

He calls them to be Christ in the world, to help bring about the Day of the Lord, to make the Kingdom a reality in our midst!

To share all that he taught them.

After all, Jesus was a teacher, and like any good teacher, his lessons never end, we continue to learn from him…every day.

And good teaching stays with us.

My father taught Math and Computer Science at Upsala in East Orange, NJ, this meant that I grew up as a ‘campus brat’, with life revolving around the school…and I am proud to say that I am also a graduate of the college.

It was in existence for just over 100 years, and touched many lives, producing a few authors, athletes and actors.

Along with the rest of us, who went into a variety of professions, from doctors to business people and even quite a few ministers, and…of course, teachers.

Unfortunately, the school closed about 25 years ago, with half of the campus replaced by a development, and the classroom buildings turned into a public High School.

However, even though the school itself has closed, it’s teachings have stayed with us…

And in many ways, it lives on through all of us who get together to share what he learned there, and this is not only the many teachers who graduated to teach others, but also the rest of us, who took this knowledge into our own professions.

Upsala’s legacy also lives on in the many friendships and families founded on campus, and in the stories we share, both in person and on Social Media…and through sharing these stories many new people learn about this place that was so important to all of us.

Each of us carries the story of Upsala with us…meaning that it is still with us, even though has now become a part of history.

Stories can bind us together, breaking down barriers of misunderstanding and disagreement, and can call us to reconciliation and healing in the midst of our brokenness bringing us to common ground.

Because stories teach us about each other, and about the world we share…

Whether they are stories about a school, or if they are stories about Jesus.

These stories keep memory and learning alive.

And where we find this common ground, we have a basis for growth…a starting point for moving forward, for our own ascension to making our world a better place.

This brings us closer to the time the disciples were asking Jesus about, the Day of the Lord.

In order to move us forward towards that day, we need each other’s help, which is why we are called to invite others to join us, just as Matthias was called to join the disciples, replacing the tragic Judas.

Through this, we are reminded that all of us who follow Jesus are disciples…it is not an exclusive club, but a family. We can all carry the light of the Gospel, and the more who carry this light, the brighter it shines!

Although Jesus has ascended, Christ is still with us, through the disciples, who were tasked to carry out his ministry in the world…

And we are all disciples.

Through each of us, Christ is right here in our world, and always will be.

Just as the alumni of Upsala have keeping the stories and teaching of that school alive, although it has closed.

Christ is alive when we offer each other support through the long uncertain days, when we wear a mask, and take other precautions to protect ourselves, our loved ones, and those around us…even if it is inconvenient, even if we don’t like it.

We act as Christ when we treat others with respect and compassion…even those we disagree with, or don’t necessarily like.

We are being Christ in our world when we seek reconciliation, where others foment discord, when we build partnerships that can offer us all support in the face of commons foes, not just the virus, but also ignorance and fear.

When we shine the light of God’s gracious love into all the dark places where hate can fester…we are making Christ known, right where we are, and the Kingdom comes closer to being a reality in our world.

So yes, Jesus can be ascended and seated on the right hand of God, and Christ can be right here with us, all at the same time!

This is because we are all in the same place, the risen Christ is not far off in the heavens, but in our midst…for wherever we are together, whenever we are working to help each other, and when we are gathered in praise and worship (even if Socially Distant) God is with us.

When God is with us, Christ is alive, and the Kingdom is within our grasp!

 

 

Which Way?

John 10:1-10; May 3, 2020

Jesus the Good Shepherd

 

These days, it is hard to know what direction to take in our lives…

We are sheltering in place to keep ourselves and others safe, because it is the right thing to do!

However, even those of us who are most committed to Social Distancing, can find ourselves questioning…

“Is quarantining ourselves is really worth it?”

“Is it really helping?”

Like others, we may find ourselves wondering if the ‘cure’ is worse than the disease.

Many have been put out of work, and are struggling financially, relationships have suffered, both from too much distancing, or too little.

Educations have been disrupted, sports, concerts and family gatherings cancelled or postponed…including weddings and funerals.

Times when we most need to be together, to get a good hug, a warm hand…and we are advised to stay at least six feet apart.

We have many ways that we can connect remotely, through the internet and phone, but it is not the same, and in many ways we feel as if we are farther apart than ever before.

We wonder if it is okay to go to the store to buy food, clothes or other necessities?

When do we wear a mask?

Is it alright to go to the park, the lake, for a run, hike or bike ride?

Or just to walk the dog.

Can we go and visit a friend who is down, offer comfort to those who mourn? How do we take care of people who are sick, with virus or any other disease?

Are we doing enough?

And we can find ourselves asking “What will come next?”

It is easy to feel confused and a bit lost now, because it is so hard to know what to do.

Right now, we are truly in need of some guidance…but where will we find it?

We can look to today’s Gospel, when Jesus tells us that he is the good shepherd!

A shepherd leads the flock, feeds them, and cares for them…even when they do not want to be cared for, even when they want to go their own way.

As OUR good shepherd we can look to Jesus for guidance…to live in the answer of the old question: “What would Jesus do?”

We can do as Jesus taught us, by showing compassion, consideration, and care, for others.

We are following Jesus when we sacrifice our own comfort and convenience in order to keep others safe and protected.

When we act selflessly, putting the needs of others ahead of our own.

When we support those who are feeling brunt of this quarantine, through the kindness of a phone call or a text, connecting via Zoom or Skype…to help all of us feel less ‘isolated’.

When we offer comfort to those struggling, with money trouble, Depression, Addiction, or illness…even the virus, when we do all these things, we are following the lead of our good shepherd.

It is not always easy to follow Jesus, but then, his journey was not an easy one…but he is our best teacher and guide.

When we move forward despite our questions and doubts, and seek to do the next right thing…even if we are not sure what that is.

When we seek to unite rather than divide…

We can help each other find our way to healing, not just from the virus, but from all the ills and injustices that this pandemic has brought to the surface…where they can be treated.

For when we follow our good shepherd, we are acting as Christ in the world, sharing his message of hope…

The message of the Gospel, the message that God’s love is for all people, and is meant to be shared. This message has the power to reconcile and restore us.

And our world is very much in need of Christ’s message of hope, we are need of some good shepherding, because this health crisis has also become an economic and political struggle.

Causing us to become further divided at a time when we need to come together to face our common foe!

Yet, all is not lost, because while this pandemic can break us, it can also give us the opportunity face the faults that keep us apart, allowing us to move forward more connected and unified than ever before.

With our good shepherd leading the way, we too can become shepherds.

Amen

Easter Time

Easter Sunday – April 12, 2020

Matthew 28:1-10 

It was late fall when a company email was sent out, announcing a “Town-hall” meeting, that we were all supposed to attend.

The time given for the meeting was mis-typed as “Easter Time”, and while I thought it was slightly amusing, it got me thinking…that maybe it wasn’t all that wrong.

For in a very real way, it is always Easter time!

No matter the season of year, even during Advent or Lent…it is still Easter time.

No matter what is going on the world: feast, famine, war, injustice or celebration…

Even during a Pandemic, it is Easter time!

Whatever we are going through, wherever we are, it is always Easter time, because we are living in the light of the resurrection!

Christ has risen, and there nothing that can change this, no way for us to lose that light, for this gift was given to us freely… and this gives us a reason for hope, even when it may feel as if hope is out of reach!

Hope that we really need right now, because it has been a long Lent…

These last six weeks has felt more like six months, and our lives are in a far different place than they were on Ash Wednesday.

Now at last, it is Easter, and this morning’s Gospel has us standing in the garden with Mary, as the dawn is about to break…

Waiting for the miracle…waiting for the light of dawn.

Waiting for Easter.

When I was in seminary, I spent a summer as a Chaplain at Presbyterian Hospital in Philadelphia. Part of my duties required that I stay on-call one night a week, in case one of the patients or staff needed support during the night.

On one of these nights, I had just settled into the “On-call” room and was drifting off to sleep, when the beeper (it was 1994) went off!

I had been called to one of the units to help a patient who was dying of AIDS.

When I arrived, the nurse told me that the patient’s family had been called, but were three buses and several hours away, and may not arrive before dawn.

Unfortunately, the nurse was afraid that the man would not last that long, and asked me to stay with him, so that he wouldn’t be alone.

This was the first time I had been asked to spend time with someone as they died, and I was nervous, not only because he had AIDS and I had to take precautions, but also because I was not sure what I would say, or if I could help him.

But I put on a mask and gloves and was about to walk into the room, when the nurse asked me “Do you speak Spanish?”

I do not speak Spanish, and he did not speak English, but we found ways to communicate with each other during that long night.

And I quickly forgot about being anxious.

He understood that I was there to help him, knew the Lord’s prayer, and enjoyed it when I read him some of the Psalms…in any language, they offer comfort.

However, we spent most of that night just waiting…

When we had nothing to say to each other, I would put my hand on his shoulder and we’d look at each other in the silence, something I am not used to, but learned to accept.

While waiting, I found myself looking out to the hallway, hoping I would wee his family arriving, but it remained empty. I also looked out of the window at the night sky, beyond the Philadelphia skyline and seeking out the light of day…but the night lingered.

But, fortunately, so did my patient. I was afraid he would not survive long enough to see his family, but he stayed with us.

Then, after hours of waiting…the sky finally began to brighten.

I looked down at the man, who smiled and nodded at me, and at that moment the room was filled with people!

His family had arrived on time!

As they surrounded his hospital bed, as I stepped back, to give them time with their loved one.

However, before I left, we gathered in prayer and as we did the first rays of the Sun broke over the horizon, and the room was filled with light!

Dawn had come, my patient was surrounded by his loved ones, and would not be dying alone!

It was Easter time!

It is always Easter time…

Even during the longest nights…when fear threatens our faith, when we think the dawn may never come.

In many ways we are in the midst of our own long night, as we continue to keep Socially Distant. During this time the light of Easter can seem far away, especially since we are not able to go to church for worship, have egg hunts with our kids, or dinner with family and friends.

And we find ourselves separated from the people, places, and traditions that we love.

We are isolating, but for a good reason, to keep each other safe…as an act of care, and love.

Yet, being Socially Distant does not mean that we are alone.

We are still connected because we are all living in the light of the risen Christ, the light that broke over the garden that morning.

And this light binds us together…to the promise of new life given to us on that quiet morning.

When we are striving to help each other, showing compassion for those in need, and taking care of ourselves…

We are all living in Easter time…

When we offer comfort to those who are afraid, support to those who need help just getting the basic necessities and when we act selflessly, to ensure that we all have enough to get by…

When we think of others before ourselves…

It is Easter time, and this is what gives us hope…even during our long nights.

Hope that is found in knowing that nothing can separate us from God’s great love.

Hope in knowing that we are surrounded by that love, just as my patient was…when he was surrounded by his family as the Sun rose.

When we are supporting each other through these difficult days…

On this Easter Sunday, we are all waiting a miracle, waiting for the light of dawn to wash over us…

Yet, even though we still have a way to go until we get to the other side of our trial…it is good to remember that the miracle we are waiting for, has been with ever since that first Easter morning.

And as followers of Christ, we are called to do as Mary did, and share the news.

Where that news is shared, the darkness fades, and hope spreads out across the land.

So, go and tell the world, that the risen Christ is in our midst!

That it is always Easter time!

“Lazarus Come Out!”

March 29, 2020

John 11:1-45; The Death of Lazarus

 

I have often wondered what it must have been like…

For Lazarus.

What it must have been like to be so sick, laying in his bed and hoping to see Jesus, not only because he was a friend, but also because Lazarus knew that Jesus…who had become known for healing others, may also be able to save him from this illness.

But still Jesus did not come, and Lazarus faded…

His sisters, Mary and Martha, were caring for him, spending their days in his sick room, praying for his recovery, and then, perhaps, for his comfort.

They too were hoping for Jesus to come and help, but were also disappointed.

We can only wonder what it must have been like for Lazarus, as he finally lost the battle with his illness, the light of this world slowly growing more distant until hope of healing was out of reach.

And still Jesus had not come to help.

We don’t have to imagine how Martha felt when Jesus finally arrived, but was far too late to help.

We can almost hear it in her voice when she tells him “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died…”

But Jesus had his reasons for the delay, as he told his disciples a few days earlier “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory”.

Still and all, the loss of his friend did not feel good for him either.

This is why the Gospel tells us that “Jesus wept” at the loss of his friend.

In this moment, we can find ourselves weeping with him.

Then, we are also made a part of the joy experienced when Jesus called “Lazarus come out!” and the man staggered from the darkness of death and back into the light.

However, we have to wonder what it was like for Lazarus to return, to come back from the dead and its mysteries?

We wonder what those four days in the darkness were like, and what it did to him.

Many people who are in Recovery from Addiction to drugs or alcohol will say that they know what it is like to be in Hell, because that is where they addictions took them.

Finding Sobriety can be like coming back to life, returning from the dead and walking back into the light.

Yet this journey is not an easy one, because recovery does not bring us back to where we were, but takes us to a new place, and we have to learn a whole new way to live!

Perhaps Lazarus could have understood this.

After he was raised, his old life was out of reach, it no longer existed for him…

He had to find a new way to live his life.

The change must have been immediate, as how do you come back from the dead and not have even those you are closest to treat you differently?

And there was more, as the next chapter of John tells us that the same people who would soon be nailing Jesus to the cross also wanted to kill Lazarus.

They wanted to make sure he stayed this time, so that proof of Jesus’ miracle was not just walking around for all to see, so Lazarus ran away.

Jesus had given him a great gift, and he did not want it to be taken away from him so quickly.

According to one tradition, Lazarus fled to Cyprus, where he eventually met with the Apostle Paul, who appointed him Bishop in the newly formed church, responsible for sharing the good news of God’s love, as given through Christ…

A message he knew well, having received it in person from Jesus, as he was called back to life.

Yet, the trauma of his death and return must have weighed heavily on Lazarus…

Today, he would probably be diagnosed with PTSD…because, why not?

Being brought back from the day has got to be traumatic!

Tradition also tells us that after he came back, Lazarus seldom smiled or laughed. Instead, he remained taciturn, withdrawn and serious.

But he also became known for his piety, devotion to shepherding the church, and to helping all those in need. It was believed that this new life of service was inspired by what he had seen while in the land of the dead for those four days.

Trauma is something that many of us can relate to.

Most of us have known sorrow and suffering that has changed who we are, or has changed the lives of those we love…and now we are sharing another time of trial…together!

What all of us are going through will change our lives, because we can never go back to where we were before the virus hit, we are different people, just like a person in recovery from addiction…

Just like Lazarus.

While I do not believe that it is ever God’s Will for us to suffer, as Jesus pointed out, sometimes suffering can help bring out the best in us.

How we face this trauma can show the world what it means to be followers of Christ, to truly walk in his footsteps.

These times can make us stronger people, stronger in faith, and stronger in love and compassion for each other. Facing these challenges can also lead us to find reconciliation at a time when it seems as if many have been trying to pull us father apart.

We can find unity in having gone through a common trial, one that transcends all of our differences: politics, religion or race.

And we need to rely upon each other to get through this, and then to move beyond the virus and into a new life, because we can never go back…but that is okay, because when Jesus raised up Lazarus, he did not call upon him to back to his old life, but to a new one…a true gift of love.

The same new life promised to all of us in his resurrection on Easter morning, when Jesus himself stepped out of the darkness and into the light of a new day.

This promise was given to all of us on that early morning, as Christ came to change the world with the good news of God’s love for all people…a message we are all called to share together.

We share this message by caring for each other, and supporting each other, for wherever this message is shared, we inspire hope in each other.

Hope, that is sorely needed…not only today, in the midst of this crisis, but for the world that we will be moving into…together.

For this too shall pass…and we will all find recovery as we are all called back into the light to proclaim that God’s love still shines brightly!

 

A depiction of St. Lazarus

We Thirst

March 15, 2020; The 3^rd Sunday in Lent

John 4:5-42: Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well.

There’s an old reggae song that goes like this:

“You never miss your water, till your well runs dry /Tell me, tell me, whatcha gonna do when your well runs dry?”

Today, we may all be feeling a bit like our wells have run dry…

Not only are many of the grocery store shelves empty, but we too may be feeling kind of empty, and more than a little afraid.

Most of us have never seen days like this, the last major pandemic to go through the area happened 102 years ago, in 1918, and while we may have heard stories from grandparents or great grandparents, no one alive today has first-hand experience to share with us.

These strange days have left many of us feeling thirsty…

In need of some comfort, some support…

Thirsty for hope, something to hold on to.

In our Gospel today, we find a thirsty Jesus asking for help from an unusual source: a Samaritan woman, who had also come to get a drink.

Now, Samaritans and Jews were not supposed to get along, they treated each other with suspicion and only talked to each other when absolutely necessary.

Sharing a drink of water, would have been unheard of…because they were from such different groups, with a tradition of animosity.

The Jews considered Samaritans unclean, and would avoid them whenever possible…

But here is Jesus, asking a Samaritan woman for a drink of water, asking her for help!

Jesus was thirsty, and that thirst was greater than any prejudice he was told that he was supposed to harbor towards this woman.

The woman was also thirsty, not just for water, but for meaning and for hope!

The hope that can be found in the water of eternal life which Jesus promised her!

Today, we may be feeling just a bit afraid…and we are thirsty for comfort and reassurance, as we are facing much uncertainty…

And we are kept on edge with each announcement, report, social media posting, and news broadcast.

We are told to practice social distancing, to stay home, wash our hands, and not to touch each other, or even our own faces!

It is understandable that we would want to withdraw, to take all we can for ourselves and our families and hide behind closed doors until this danger has passed.

We are at a crucial moment: when we can widen the divisions between us, making this every person for themselves…

Or we can seek to follow the example of Jesus, and of the woman at the well.

Today, instead of putting up walls, we can put aside those things that keep us divided, and reach out to help each other with compassion and hope.

We can offer each other support, because we are all in this together…and because this is what Jesus calls us to do.

But, how do we offer each other care and support while ‘social distancing’?

How do we quench this thirst for comfort and hope if we cannot get together share these gifts?

If we cannot join for worship and fellowship?

In 1918 when events were cancelled and church services suspended, the people still had a strong sense of community…

If a house was under quarantine, neighbors would leave food and letters on doorsteps, hold conversations though closed doors or windows, and other similar acts of kindness.

Today, we can do many of these same things, but we have something that our ancestors did not have during the last great pandemic, we have the ability to text, skype and Instagram, to IM, and to stay connected in ways they would have never dreamed of…

We can also be more considerate of others, by not taking more for ourselves than needed, by getting supplies for the older folks who may be reluctant or unable to get out to search the sparse shelves for themselves.

We can slack our great thirst for hope, for the water of life, by sharing the unconditional love of God, through showing compassion for each other.

Today, we may be feeling frustrated and afraid…uncertain about what comes next.

We may even be feeling alone and lost…

But in today’s Gospel, we are told that we are never alone, and never so lost that God’s love cannot find us…

For God’s love is with us whenever we share the water offered by Jesus to the woman and the well, and given to each of us in the Resurrection!

This water gives us hope when all seems bleak, it sustains us as we grow weary as we face the trials of life: the strife and discord that can divide us, worries about money, work, family, relationships, addiction and of course…disease.

And where this water is shared, there is reconciliation, as our brokenness begins to heal, and we remember that we are all part of the family of God…

Being part of God’s family means that we are all invited to drink from the well of hope that will never run dry.

Hope that can calm our fears and quench the deepest thirst.

Amen

The Storm This Time

It was coming for us, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

We watched on the news and the Weather Channel as it wound its way ever closer, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. We knew it was going to be a major storm, but no one knew how bad it was going to be. Every expert had a prediction, but the only thing they could agree upon was that it was going to be a direct hit, and there was nothing we could do about it!

And, as if often the case, this uncertainty bred panic!

Many headed to the supermarkets to clear them out of bread, milk and eggs. People also stocked up on batteries, bottled water, toilet paper and paper towels. Some set up generators and others armed themselves, afraid that life after the hurricane would become dangerous!

Most of us did what we could, to limit the potential for damage, cleaning up our yards, putting away loose items, cutting down dead branches, and securing our windows and doors…and praying that we would make it through the storm okay.

When it hit, Hurricane Sandy was bad, the winds whipped through the streets, the rain came down in torrents. Trees came down, basements flooded, and we were without power for a few days, but it could have been worse! Some lost power for weeks, and people at the Jersey Shore lost homes, and others lost their lives.

After the storm, something amazing happened: we all pulled together to help each other recover from the disaster.

Sometimes this help was simple, like donating to a charity or helping a neighbor clean their yard, or cut up a fallen tree. Meals were shared, as were generators, and people came together to repair rooves, windows and walls.

After the storm, the panic was forgotten, and we did what we do best: come together in the face of a crisis, putting aside our differences, to ensure that we are all lifted up from the debris, able to move forward into whatever comes next.

 In faith that no matter what trials we face, we never have to face them alone.

We can weather the current storm in the same way, not by panicking, but by coming together to support and care for each other…to see each other through the storm, no matter how bad it may be.

Moving Out

 

January 25, 1997 was a rainy Saturday.

I had already made the arrangements. I had signed the lease and got an approval to move in a week early (and pay an extra week of rent); I had talked to a lawyer about what steps I needed to take, and about what I had to do in order to keep my daughter with me, and then had the difficult conversation with my wife…she did not put up much of an argument, I think she knew it was for the best.

It was a difficult decision, but things had run their course, and now we were doing nothing but running into brick walls.

She even helped me to pack and pick out new stuff for the apartment, dishes, pots, pans, cleaning supplies, even sheets and towels, all that I would need to start a new life. I was grateful that she did not make it more difficult, but also a little disappointed that she did not try harder to keep me…keep us, at home.

But then, we had been trying for so long…and we both knew we were done, there was no moving forward together.

I got the keys the night before the big move, and took over a few boxes, the TV, VCR and some pillows and blankets. Then, I picked up my daughter, got some McDonald’s and we spent the first night watching movies and sleeping on the floor of the new place. This way, I could truthfully say that when I moved, I took my daughter with me.

The actual move went well. I brought my daughter back to her mother, and had two friends to help out, and there was not a lot of stuff…the biggest thing being an old bookcase. It was a challenge getting that up the narrow staircase to the second floor, and it did get scuffed, we made it. Most of the rest of the items were just ‘smalls’. Still, it took a few hours, and I was grateful…the best part of the move was taking my friends out to lunch at Pizza Como when it was all over.

That evening, I went home to the apartment alone, my daughter stayed with her mother. I remember how good it felt to be all moved in, and to away from the stress that my marriage and home had become. I sat in my big easy chair, left the TV off and just listened to the sounds from the other apartments in the house. Downstairs, I could hear kids laughing, from upstairs, I could hear music, and from the other side of the wall, the sound of a TV. These were the sounds of people living their lives, and I was grateful for them…and for the peace.

The next day, I went to buy a new bed for my daughter (and had to retrieve the mattress from 422 when it blew off of the Subaru…it was covered in plastic), went home, set it up, continued to unpack and that evening, I picked up my daughter, and we were finally home!

After a dinner of chicken strips and potatoes (the first of many), another movie, and a story, I put her bed. As I was exhausted in every way, I went soon after. Our rooms were connected, so when I got into bed, I must have woken her up, and when I turned out the light, she asked if she could come in and sleep with me (she was two). I assured her that I was only a few feet away, and explained that I spent $200 for the bed, and that was why I wanted her to sleep in it. She seemed fine with that, we said “Good Night” and both tried to sleep…in the midst of so much change.

We lived in that apartment for more than six years. These were not all easy times, especially in the beginning, when we were adjusting to so much, but I did the best I could at the time. I had a lot to learn about being a parent…and some of those lessons were learned by making mistakes.

However, along with the difficult days, there were many good times. We had access to a huge yard, and spent hours and hours playing there, from make-believe with her toy animals, to soccer practice. We turned the small living-room into a fort for a few weeks, and her room became a playroom where Barbies cavorted with lions, tigers, bears and dogs!

And we had a play-kitchen where we dined on plastic peas and rubber cockroaches.

It was a place where I relearned the joy of playing, and where we both grew up. When we left to move into our own, much bigger, house, there was some sadness for me, but it was time to move on…just like it was time for that marriage to end.

Since then, life has continued to move forward, and has had some serious lows, but also some amazing highs (no pun intended); and a whole lot of the day to day ordinary.

While I like my house, I will always have a soft-spot for our old apartment, which got us started off on our new life. I have become grateful for that ordinary, that my daughter and I are still a family, that I have found a relationship that works, and that I have even made amends with my ex-wife…because all that resentment proved to be too heavy to carry around, and certainly too heavy to keep moving with me.

Flipped

I was Sober for a change…that’s important to note.

It had been at least two weeks since I had a drink or illegal drug, because I had been very sick. In fact, I had spent ten days in the hospital, and only got home a few days earlier, just in time for Christmas.

It was December 29^th 1982, and the joy of being home from the hospital, along with the ‘magic’ of Christmas, had faded. I was already becoming bored. Due to my illness I could not drink, there was no pot to smoke, and while I was a student at Upsala College, right down the street, most of my friends had headed home for the Holidays.

Fortunately, my sister and her kids had come over, which broke up the boredom; however, she was having car trouble and was worried about making it back home to Staten Island, so our father volunteered to go with her in case the car broke down, and asked me to follow in the Toyota, so I could give him a ride home. I was happy to have something to do and jumped at the chance.

My two nieces, who were 8 and 6 wanted to ride with me, so I made sure they were safely secured in the back seat, with their seat-belts before we left.

As her car was questionable, and her mechanic was on the Staten Island side of the bridge, my sister decided to take the local route, through Bayonne and across the bridge. There were lights on almost every corner and I was having trouble keeping up with her dying Volvo. I usually drive pretty fast, but I had my nieces in the car…and it is pretty difficult to drive fast on the streets of Bayonne…even without all those traffic lights.

I remember making a comment about the importance of not having an accident while trying to keep up, but before long we got to the bridge, and we were right behind the Volvo…all was going to be fine, we were almost to our destination.

As we got onto the bridge, I was going around 40 or 45 (though the limit was about 35), but I was keeping up with traffic. I distinctly remember passing the Police car, reminding myself to be careful, as I did not want a ticket. Then, I ignored my own warning…knowing there was a toll on the other end of the bridge, I took my eyes off the road for a moment, as I reached over to the passenger seat to get my wallet.

When I did, my hand must have slipped on the wheel, because when I looked up, we were heading straight toward the high divider! I turned the wheel sharply but still caught the edge and the car when up the divider and turned on its side! Before I knew what was going on, I looked out of the passenger window and could see only asphalt going by…and I knew that this could not be right!

At that point, all I wanted was to get the car back up on its wheels, I thought this would fix everything, and so I turned the wheel, although I knew that it was useless, none of the tires were touching the ground as this point…but somehow, it worked and the car righted itself and I was able to turn on my signal and pull over to the shoulder.

Note that all this happened in heavy traffic, but we did not hit any other cars!

Once we were stopped, I released the death-grip I had on the wheel, put on the emergency brake and turned around to check on my nieces…above all else, I prayed that they were not hurt!

My older niece was hysterical and crying, but said she wasn’t hurt…to be honest, I felt the same way, bordering on shock! My younger niece, who was about 6, was laughing and asked me “Can we do that again?”

I looked out of the windshield and saw that the Volvo had stopped a few yards ahead and my father and sister were running towards us. However, before they reached the car, there was a knock on my side window, it was a cop!

I rolled my window down and he asked if we were all okay, and I told I thought we were, he saw that the girls were in the back with seat-belts on, and just then my sister appeared and began checking on them. Once it was clear that we were okay…just shaken up, the cop told me that he was impressed that I had gotten such distance and altitude out of the Toyota, and asked “How did you get it back up on the road?”

I honestly answered, “I don’t know, I just kept turning the wheel and that worked!”

By then, other cops had arrived, and the officer I was talking to asked me how fast I was going. I told him about 45, and he said “No, the speed limit is 35, you were going 35, right?” I did not get it at first, and wanted to be honest but he insisted, and I got it just in time to confirm “Yes, I was going 35!” just as another cop showed up to hear it!

My thinking is that he was not anxious to give me a speeding ticket, or to see me get any charges, considering that I did not hit anyone else, the girls were belted and safe, and I was clearly sober.

Although it had been on its side, sliding along the on-ramp to the Bayonne bridge, my father (I was done driving for the day) was able to drive the Toyota off the bridge and to my sister’s mechanic a few blocks away. From there we got a flatbed to take my father, myself and the wounded Toyota back to New Jersey, where we met up with my mother.

I was terrified that she would be mad at me…I mean really mad, she had a temper, and this time, it would have been justified. When we got out of the truck, I approached her with caution, telling her how sorry I was (that was not a lie) and I braced for whatever punishment I would receive, but instead she hugged me, telling me she was just glad that we were all okay, and that “…sheet metal can be replaced, but we could not!”

Later, she said that it was probably too soon for me to be driving again after being so sick, but I never bought it, I knew that I had been distracted by the kids and worrying about paying the toll, but in the long-run, I had to admit that it really was just an accident, and I learned to forgive myself.

And, the Toyota was eventually fixed, and eventually, I bought it off of my parents and drove it until the Summer of ’87, when once more it wound up on its side…this time it was parked in front of my apartment on Staten Island (having moved down the street from my sister, when I worked on Wall Street), and another driver backed into it, ending its valiant life!

As for my nieces, they are now adults with families of their own, and doing just fine; although, my older niece did flip over a Ford Aerostar when she was a teen, but maybe the experience in the Toyota helped her, as she and her passengers survived that crash with no problems.

Funny how life comes around like that…from time to time.

 

A depiction of the crash I drew shortly after the event.

The Small Packages

 

It was the small packages that bothered me the most…

I’ve become familiar with death, and have learned to accept it.

As a part-time Hospital Chaplain, I have been with people who were dying, sitting with them as their lives faded away, talking with them, sharing jokes and stories, making sure that they were not alone as they faded.

Saying prayers as their breathing became labored, and holding their hands as they exhaled for the last time…

As I watched the life leave their bodies, it was as if they deflated, and I knew that they had moved on.

I have spent time with families in waiting rooms and chapels as they prepared for loss, and stood with them at the bedside when the lights had been lowered, and shared a prayer, or simply listened as they began to mourn. I have also made arrangements and performed funerals, for both friends and strangers…and in the end, I said the final words over the grave as I poured the sand “In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection…”

I have also stood with a priest (in training) as he said the Last Rites for the first time by without another Man of the Cloth, and helped him with his anxiety.

As a Patient Transporter a a big hospital, I have watched as bodies were prepared to be taken from the room and have even made the trip to the morgue myself.

We always went as a team, as we had to move the body on to a transport cart and then cover it with a sheet before carefully taking it to the basement, avoiding all public areas.

The morgue was not like the ones you see on TV, there were no banks of stainless-steel vaults where the body could be stored and then rolled out dramatically for identification or examination. That would not be practical for a busy morgue, sadly, there would not be enough room.

Instead, the morgue was a large refrigerated room, with shelves along the walls, and filled with row upon row of dull metal carts, while some empty, most were occupied by a body, zipped into a thin, white plastic bag.

The room was lit by banks of florescent lights, institutional, without warmth or hope.

I got used to being in the company of death…at least for the most part. I have come to see that it really is a part of life, and nothing to fear. I have never seen any one who was screaming and sobbing at the end, they all moved on peacefully…most asleep or unconscious, although some were praying, looking at loved ones or simply smiling, and there was one man, who told me he was an Atheist, and “…didn’t need no preacher” when he met me, but was calling out to Jesus when the end came.

After all I have seen and experienced, I can’t believe that death is the end…although I do not know what comes next.

However, this is not to say that I never find death painful…or unfair, as I mourn those I have lost, and feel sorrow for those who have died due to addiction, accidents, illness or violence.

And felt injustice at those who have died too young…

This is what bothered me the most about those trips to the morgue, about the small packages.

They were placed on the shelves the lined the walls of the room, in neat little bundles. At first glance, it was hard to tell what they were. I had to ask, and when I learned the truth, it made me incredibly sad.

Children are not supposed to die.

Our children should be playing in the Sun, laughing at cartoons, complaining about school work and vegetables, and sleeping in soft beds, not held hostage to the evils of this world, or laid out on a cold steel shelf, in a room beyond hope.

They are supposed to wrapped in love, enveloped by the warmth of family and all those who care for them, but sadly, we know that this is not true for every child. Many face challenges and trials that are not of their own making. They have faced violence, abuse, disease and poverty…neglect and loneliness.

The world is not always fair to the innocent, nor does it always deal justly with the guilty, leaving most of us simply shaking our heads.

Looking at those small packages, laying in that institutional room, was evidence of just how unfair the world can be.

They also brought back some of my earliest memories…from before I became who I am, maybe even before I knew my parents.

Those are memories of being on a cold ward, filled with metal cribs, of toys pushed through the bars, of being alone, of being cared for by the doctors and nurses who sought to recover children who had been on the verge of being lost.

Of looking up every time a door opened, to see if there was a familiar face…come to take me home, wherever that may be.

Those small packages also reminded me of how fortunate I am, to have been given the life I have…

Because I know that I too could have been wrapped up in one of those small packages, were it not for the Grace of God, and the intervention of the compassionate.

And this reminds me to practice compassion in all that I do.