Our choices determine how we respond to crisis

           I think that crisis brings out in all of us an exaggeration of the things that we've practiced daily, both the good and the bad.  We become more fully the people we have chosen to be, with all of our good qualities and all of our challenges when things are stressful.  That means that strong people can become stronger, kind and compassionate people become more so, generous people tend to step up, and people who are good under stress show themselves to be capable and hard working. People under stress can live more fully into being the best that they are, especially if they are trusted to do so, expected to step up and become the people they are called to be, meant to be.  Unfortunately, people who have acted out badly in the past to deal with discomfort, people who have not built up the skills to handle challenges can end up acting out in extreme ways their personality issues during times of crisis as well.
            On an individual level, I've watched several people in my life deal with difficult diseases.  In one case, the person tended towards victimization before the illness struck and she embodies that to a much greater degree.  She sees herself being mistreated in every situation and, as the disease progresses, she becomes more helpless, more quick to blame, attack and accuse, and more prone to dwell on previous insults whether they were real or simply perceived.  Another person with the exact same illness is acting the opposite way: continuing to be positive, to have good humor, to be kind and gentle, even as he grieves the limitations that the disease is imposing on him.  It is difficult to watch and see that personal choices throughout one's life about how to be in crisis, how to face challenges, how to walk through difficulties, are manifesting in these exaggerated ways when those with these illnesses have less choice later on about how they will react.  It is hard to not proclaim to the first person, "you could still be choosing differently!  You would be happier if you chose to see how you do have power rather than focusing on the places you don't!" But I know that a lifetime of choosing predominantly to focus on her limitations has engrained in her very being a pattern that will not allow her, now, in this time of decline, to choose a different perspective.  In contrast, the man with the same disease has also had a lifetime habit of looking for the good, seeing the humor in life, and treating others with kindness.  And his lifetime choices are also manifesting in this pattern of response to crisis.
          I've watched this with people "out in the world" as well.  Some people are becoming angrier during this time, more confrontive, more attacking; while others have become kinder, more compassionate, more caring.  My guess is that again, those acting out that hatred and anger were people who chose to respond this way before the crisis.  The crisis has just exaggerated this behavior.  As I take walks around my neighborhood, I've experienced some people being kinder, saying "hello" as we pass, laughing with me about the situation we are currently in.  I've also had people in cars drive by cursing and screaming obscenities for no apparent reason.  This crisis has brought the best out in some, and the worst out in others.  Still, these are choices that people are making.  And every time I do hear someone yelling or being nasty to someone else, I want to say to them, "this day you choose if what you give to the world is kind or hurtful.  Why are you choosing to give harm today instead of something good?"
           This doesn't just happen at an individual level, but in communities as well.  I think about one of the congregations I served in for a time. Every church has its challenges, every church has its problems, and every church has members in it who "act out" behaviors such as gossip, power-mongering, and a desire for drama that can lead to dissentious behavior and even splits in congregations.  In this particular church, when crisis hit, the congregation did an incredible job of banding together, of supporting one another, of caring for one another.  As a congregation, they had practiced kindness, always, regularly.  When crisis hit, then, they did what they knew best how to do, and they still practiced kindness and compassion.  Still, there were a few members who went into negative, destructive behaviors in response to the stress of the crisis.  At first their acting out was extremely upsetting to me.  But what I saw in this congregation utterly and completely amazed me.  Because it was a healthy community, the "acting out" behavior was given no power.  The gossip did not take root and spread into poison.  The dramatic demands for people to "choose sides" did not morph into anything concrete.  The congregation simply did not empower the bad behavior.  As a result, the few truly dissentious people in the community ended up leaving.  This was not reassuring to me.  The usual understanding of systems of behavior suggests that if one person leaves the group structure or family "mobile", that undoubtedly someone else will rise to take their place.  Family systems theory says that if a person who is acting out badly leaves a community, they will be replaced with someone else acting out in a similar way.  But again, in this very healthy congregation, in a crisis situation, that simply did not happen.  I think, again, using systems theory, that the mobile had never made room for this behavior.  The choices of the community were to not empower that behavior at any time, and that choice continued into the crisis situation.  The difficult pieces had never claimed a real place in the mobile.  We worked through the crisis time, therefore, and the church continued to be a loving, caring, supportive place.  The people who left did so feeling that surely their leaving would impact the church in the way they had tried to do so by being problematic when they were part of the community.  But instead, the feeling I got from most of the members was one of relief that those who tried to incite disruption were no longer there to do so.
       As we know, this could have gone the other way.  In communities where unhealthy and problematic behavior has taken hold, has become part of the DNA, has carved out a place for itself in the system mobile, problems can often grow.  When people in a group thrive on being key players in drama, where bullying is rewarded, and choosing polarizing sides becomes the norm; crisis situations provide fertile ground for painful implosion and turmoil.
        Our society right now is under incredible stress.  Nothing is normal, nothing is what it was or as it has been.  And we are seeing different responses to that stress, as individuals, as small communities and in the larger communities of state, country and world.  How we will respond to crisis will vary.  Some will act out with insensitivity, a failure to self-reflect or to learn, violence, anger, and hate.  Others will use this time to deepen as communities, to build networks of support, care and love, to step into new ways of doing things that are more inclusive and kind, to learn and connect with others in different ways.  Each of these must start with the individuals that we are, with the choices that each person in a community makes.  Then, as a community of individuals strives for compassion, forgiveness, understanding and communication, those communities will grow, learn and become what they are called to be.  In places where dissention is exacerbated and fed through behaviors such as gossip, intolerance, and violence of word or deed, communities will be disrupted and may fail or become more entrenched in unhealthy behaviors.  We will have to make some choices about who we choose to be during this time.   And that has to start with each one of us.
             Who will I be this day?  What behaviors do I want to practice in my person that will be habits that may be hard to break in the future?  How do I want to respond to crisis?  And how do I want to choose to interact with those around me when they are upset, acting out of crisis, or misbehaving?  Can I love and support a person without exacerbating their worst behaviors, passing on or even acting out gossip?  Can I care about someone without feeling I have to choose sides?  Can I respond to anger and violence with peace and love?  Can I take a step back from drama and choose to see a bigger picture, a picture that recognizes the stress of this time and chooses to be a grounded voice of peace?  These are questions we will not only have to ask ourselves in the larger context, but perhaps in each moment of every day.  The answers to those questions will determine the future of our communities.  May you have the space within you to listen for the Spirit's guidance in this day.

The role of pastor during crisis, especially when it is personal.

           During this challenging time I have found myself reflecting on what it is to be a pastor going through struggles, hard times, and personal challenges.  When my family was going through our terrible crisis time, almost ten years ago now, I was fortunate to have a really strong friend and colleague network.  I additionally had support people in the form of a counselor and a spiritual director.  I had community and support which were essential and for which I am deeply grateful.
         I was also pastoring a church that was going through some of what we were experiencing as well.  And the balance of self-care while trying to care for the congregation was tricky.  I know the way I handled it worked for many, and for a few it really didn't.  Part of this stems from the various and different understandings of what pastors should be.  For some people pastors should be above, distant, separate.  In this view, they lead from a place solely of strength and separateness.  The image that comes to mind when I think of this view of pastor is of a man in long dark robes standing in the elevated pulpit of a large congregation preaching in a very academic way that never involves the sharing of personal stories.  An opposing image of pastor is that discussed by Henri Nouwen when he talks about the "wounded healer".  In this image, the pastor is very, very real and teaches from his/her own experiences.  This kind of pastor is transparent about what they have experienced, are experiencing, and shares from a very personal place where God has been and is in our lives, starting with where God has shown up in their own lives.  That pastor teaches from the example not of a super-human, but of a real human; one who is on the way, like every other person of faith, and one who wrestles and struggles with God like Jacob, one who is left limping at times, but serves, teaches, and loves from that very human, real, sometimes obviously broken place.
           I choose to be that second kind of pastor.  I strive for transparency and authenticity in all that I do.  Of course, there are cautions here.  We still need to present in such a way that our parishioners do not end up feeling dumped on, imposed upon, that they still feel held and cared for and loved, that we are still able to do our jobs of shepherding and loving our folk.  Most of our time should not be about our own problems.  Most of our work should not center on our own needs.  We still need to take care of our folk and focus on their needs.  Our own sharing should be from that place of teaching, walking with others, showing God's face through struggles.  Our folk should not feel they have to take care of us.  But therein lies the challenge.
         One of the things I say to my parishioners who are struggling with needing help of their own is that "you do us a favor by allowing us to serve you."  It is hard for many of my congregants who have spent a lifetime in service to others to now accept that they sometimes need help.  I think this is especially true for pastors.  How do we allow others to help us in a way that helps them feel they have been of use, that recognizes all of us as equally loved children of God, but does not make our parishioners feel imposed upon or resentful, or that we do not have the space, energy or ability to care for them?  And again, unfortunately, that place will be different for each parishioner.
         During our hardest time, many of my congregants began sharing with me at a deeper level as they saw that I knew what pain really was and as they trusted me more because of it.  I am so grateful for the deepening of those relationships.  In addition, one of the small groups I led at my church was our praise team.  This was an amazing group of very active parishioners, many of them leaders in the church, who came together to sing and lead our weekly praise service.  As part of each weekly rehearsal, we had a devotional time that usually involved reflection and sharing.  We were a very close group, and I participated as well as led, in the reflection and sharing time.  I think for most of the people in that group this was helpful.  I still remain close to the folk in that group, connected to the people in that praise team.  Through that sharing and reflection time together we became a real community of people learning and deepening in our faith journeys together.  They were part of my recovery, and I believe that I was part of theirs as well.
        But this did not work for everyone in the group.  There was one woman who sang with us for a time who left the group.  She reflected to me that she wondered why every pastor they had, had gone through some kind of crisis, and she just wanted to be part of a congregation where the pastor never went through crisis.  In other words, she valued that first kind of pastor, the more distant kind.  We know this because the truth is that none of us get through this life without crisis.  None of us do.  Especially if we love the way pastors are suppose to love, we will experience pain and hurt.  And the image and belief that someone should lead who has never been and will never experience crisis is really a hope that when they do experience crisis, it will not be shared, known or acknowledged in any way by the congregation.  I felt sadness when she left, but I also was hopeful for her that she would eventually find the kind of pastor she clearly needed: one who was less transparent and more "ivory tower" in their style of leadership.
        The balance remains tricky.  I am aware of congregants who have been hurt when their pastor went through an illness and did not allow the congregation to help them.  And I am aware of congregants who do not want to offer care back to the pastor who serves them.  In seminary we were told that we need people outside of our congregation who can really listen and support us, and I find this to be true, even when I am being transparent and real with my own congregation.  When I share personal stories from the pulpit, I try to share what has already been resolved and healed, and I mostly receive gratitude and thanks from the congregation.  But every once in a while someone (usually not a member) will make the comment that "perhaps you are being too open".  Again, different people will want and need different things from their pastors.
        Ultimately, I think we pastors need to evaluate the real reason for the sharing that we do: are we sharing this because we believe it will help others to hear our journeys and our stories, how we walked them and where we found God in the midst of struggle?  Or are we sharing because we are needing help?  And if it is the second, is that help really best sought from our parishioners?  Or would it be better to find that help and support outside of the congregation?  And if we are needing help that the congregation can and wants to give, how do we make sure it does not limit or affect negatively the help that we are striving to give back to them?
         The point of this post?  Maybe it is once again that life is complicated, that pastoring is complicated, and that we are all on this journey together, though in different roles, striving to be the best, to be the most true, and to be the most faithful and loving we can be.  I am grateful to all of you who have allowed me to walk with you in your journeys, and I am grateful that you have walked with me in mine.  I am also grateful for your gentle corrections and encouragements to grow.  I hope that I am as gentle and enrouraging of you.

Times are different

          Lately I've had many days when I feel that I've said everything that I need to say.  Well, not, perhaps to individuals.  There are people I would like to say things to.  There are people I'd like to apologize to, and others I'd like to just catch up with.  There are even a couple folk with whom I'd really like to have a "come to Jesus meeting" - people I'd like to speak truth to, telling them how those I've loved or even I myself have been affected by their actions.  I'd like to have the opportunity to be strong and fix untruths.  I'd like there to be a sense of "wholeness" or closure or reconciliation with a couple folk.  But those are all individuals.
         For some time now when I go to write a new sermon, I've found myself looking to old ones for help to know what to say.  And when I go to write on this blog, I look at old essays I've begun but never finished to try to see if there are any of those beginnings that are now calling to me to finish them.  And now, after a month of limited contact and "shelter in place" I am struggling to write emails to my congregants that boost them, that support them, that offer the love I feel for them each day and the dismay and absence I feel when we cannot be together.  I've said it repeatedly.  And now, there is nothing more, nothing left, nothing new to say.
        For those who know me well, the idea that I may have nothing to say... well, it's new.  I usually have way too many things to write, to think.  I have 150 pages of "sermon ideas" or illustrations for anything I might want to talk about.  I have beginnings of books, beginnings of blog posts, beginnings of emails just waiting to be finished, written, sent.  They were just waiting for me to have space and time.  I have that now.  Well, I have the space even if the time may be a bit illusive.  But when there is space, when there is time set aside for writing, for speaking, for creating, I find that new words do not come easily.  And when I read the words I've written, they sound like empty echoes of words I've spoken before.
         Perhaps creativity is also a victim of this time - at least for me.  For many people crisis encourages art, spurs on new thoughts, new reflections, and new ways of looking at things.  The last time I went through crisis, my writing became prolific, my thoughts were opened and writing was necessary in many ways to process through what was going on.  But maybe in part because I've done so much "crisis writing," this time round I have nothing new.  And maybe that's okay.
        I've encouraged my congregants to be gentle with themselves during this time, recognizing that our reactions to crisis are varied and that we all need time and space in crisis to grieve, to process, to rest and to just BE.  I've reminded them that we will process more slowly and that taking the time to walk through trauma is not only okay, but necessary and important.  So perhaps I need to offer myself that same kind of grace.  I also need to recognize that where I am today may look very different from where I will be tomorrow.
        Grace, offered to others, but also offered towards ourselves, is very important right now.  The world looks different.  So do we.  And that needs to be okay.  God offers great grace.  And we can learn to offer that to one another and ourselves as well.

Preparing for what is to come

Mark 11:1-11,

Mark 14:3-9

             We come once again, as we do every year, to Palm Sunday.  We know the basic message of Palm Sunday: the people expected a military king who would overthrow Roman Tyranny and restore Israel to its former glory.  Instead they were greeted by a humble king, a king of peace rather than violence, a king who called us to work for change in a different way, through the power of love rather than through the power of anger and hate.  The people didn’t understand this, didn’t want this and by the end of the week were so outraged that they killed him.  We know this story and it is important that we remember it.  But today I want to change the focus a little bit and instead talk about where you are, where we are, where the world is today, in light of the Palm Sunday message.

             How has this been for you as a Palm Sunday service?  There are no crowds processing into the church, there have been no large groups shouting “Hosanna!  Hosanna!” and waving their palm fronds.  There is no choir to celebrate this high holy day.  There are five of us in this sanctuary and we are not in a celebratory place in our lives.  We stand apart from one another, distant from each other, keeping space.  We are standing in the unknown, in a place and time of “social distancing”. 

             At the same time, I think the similarities between Palm Sunday and where we were before March of 2020 are striking.  When the people welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem, they had high expectations of one kind.  They had expectations and hopes for that day and frankly for the rest of their lives.  They believed that Jesus would make everything better.  They threw their cloaks on the road before him and shouted “Hosanna!”  or “Lord save us!” and they blessed him and honored him.  They set their hopes on Jesus that he would free them from government tyranny (by the Romans) and that they would then be free.  They expected that he would return Jerusalem to Jewish control, that he would renew their strength and power.  But Jesus wasn’t who they expected.  He was a leader who led by an example of love and grace rather than rage, violence and judgement.  He accepted those that the people rejected and he uplifted those others oppressed.  He focused his attention on the poorest of the poor, and called all of us to the task and the work of treating the least of these like the worthy humans that they are, caring for them, loving them. 

We are given a glimpse of this reality in the second gospel reading for this morning.  Jesus’ kindness and care for the woman who came to honor him with the perfume bottle was upsetting and disturbing to those who wanted him to act in a very different way.  It was upsetting because it was confronting the status quo, but not in the way those around him hoped.  He didn’t confront the Romans, but he did confront Jesus’ own religious leaders.  He didn’t lift up the Israel Elites into a position of even higher status, instead he confronted their leadership by challenging the ways in which they behaved towards their own people.  He confronted their values: throwing out the money changers from the temple, talking to women, Samaritans, those who were sick and damaged.  In the span of a week, the beliefs and hopes of all those who were hearing and seeing Jesus were flipped on their heads.  Their expectations for the future were completely destroyed and their reaction was much more than disappointment.  It was rage.  It was fear.  It was anxiety.  It became a desire for nothing less than his death, his crucifixion. 

             And us?  You and I?  Is this how we expected to spend our Palm Sunday?  Is this how we envisioned we would be at the beginning of Holy Week?  No.  Our expectations and hopes for our own future also looked different.  We were looking forward to time with our families, time with our friends, time to travel, time to gather for parties or festivals or even just to worship together.  We looked forward to eating out, going to the theater, walking together and gathering together for book groups, golf outings and bocce.  We looked forward to weddings, anniversary gatherings and birthdays together.  We were excited about graduations and time with kids or grandkids and theater events.

             We planned, we dreamed, we celebrated as they did on Palm Sunday.  We welcomed in each new day with hope and we looked towards the future with anticipation. 

             But we are no longer in that Palm Sunday place.  We have moved into the rest of Holy Week much more quickly than we would like.  Now things are different.  Things have changed; unexpectedly, quickly, and dramatically.  They continue to change.  What looked like a short time of isolation and social distancing is now increasing in length.  What looked like a potentially low risk and low mortality rate is now looking like a disease that spreads much more quickly and easily and has a much higher mortality rate than we at first believed.  Every day, it seems our disappointment with the current situation deepens, our anticipation of time together is pushed farther into the future, our hopes for a “return to normal” recede further and further away.  For this time, and for who knows how long, all of those things that we looked forward to have been put on hold, have been put into “wait and see” mode. 

I think about my own daughter.  Her birthday was two weeks ago.  And instead of going to see Hamilton (her birthday present from us), she stayed at home (the theater closed the day we were supposed to go).  And instead of the party we had planned for her and her friends at the trampoline place, she stayed at home.  And instead of spending time with her family, she was laid up in bed, sick, with a 102 degree temperature.  With what?  We don’t know.  And again, I realize this is a very small loss.  Whatever she was sick with, it has passed and she is back to being our healthy girl.  But that was her birthday.  One of pain, one of grief, one of fear…  Her anticipatory time of hopes and expectations and celebration was brief. 

For the rest of us, for those of us who really understand the situation and how serious and potentially dangerous it is, it is much more than disappointment that we are facing.  There is also fear.  Fear for our own health, fear for the health of loved ones; fear about the loss of work, for ourselves or our loved ones; fear for a future that is unknown.  We don’t know what is coming, and the fear that we have is real, is there for a reason. 

That combination of disappointment and fear, that combination of rage and anxiety is dangerous for us, because it can lead us to become the Good Friday people searching for someone to blame and lashing out with our anger.  It can cause us to turn 180 degrees from people who are celebrating life to people who are enraged and acting out our fear with violence and unkindness.  But we are always called to something better.  Yes, we need to confront problems, but baying for blood, turning to retaliation and damage of our neighbors is not the same thing as confronting problems in a helpful and positive way.

On NextDoor last week from a person posted that when he went to the local Safeway, he was standing behind a woman in line who turned and yelled “back off!  It’s the law!” He responded with, “Actually, it isn’t the law, but it is a kind thing to do, so I will step back to make you feel more comfortable.”  Apparently the woman who told him to back off became completely outraged, and was screaming obscenities, so the man chose not to engage it, left the line altogether, checked out somewhere else and walked to his car.  Then when he tried to back out of his parking spot, he found that the outraged woman had parked behind him and was still screaming obscenities at him.  Fortunately, he could pull forward out of his spot, but he soon found that this woman was following him home and at every stop sign and light was continuing to curse him out.  Finally, he called the police because he was afraid of this woman’s rage and even more afraid to drive all the way home and have this person learn where he lived.

We do not handle change well.  We do not handle our fears well.  We don’t know what to do with our anxiety or our discomfort.  We don’t know what to do with our disappointments and our grief for what was, what we hoped would be, what we envisioned our lives to be, for our hopes.  And the bigger the disappointment, the fear, the grief, the anxiety, the more we tend to act out, to lash out, to behave badly.   We do not handle humiliation and humbling well.  And yet we are given the example of Jesus, who’s integrity mitigated all humiliation.  He did not fight with violence or resistance against the powers that would destroy him and wanted to destroy him.  He did not turn to hate as a weapon, even against those who hated him.  He allowed them to do what he knew they would do and he kept his integrity, was not persuaded or pushed into becoming anything less that the godly man he was.  He chose to continue to be a person of love and forgiveness, of healing and grace, even when they beat him, even when they killed him, even when they spit on him and destroyed his body.  He knew that love would win, not in the way they expected, and not that day, but that it would win.

In his latest book, Finding Chika: A little Girl, an earthquake and the making of a family (New York: Random House Pub., 2019) Mitch Albom tells the story with this book of the little girl, Chika, who has a brain disease that eventually claims her life.  But before it claims her life, it takes from her, slowly over time, everything that she has: her ability to walk, her ability to talk, her ability to play and laugh and function as others do.  It takes her hair and her body shape and everything that makes Chika Chika.  At one point while Chika was still able to walk but her abilities were beginning to fail, Albom describes a scene where Chika was walking towards a doll and fell, and because she did not have the strength in that moment to get up and walk again, she simply crawled over to the doll and picked it up.  As Albom wrote, “As you played on the floor, accepting the new rules, your toughness far exceeded mine, and gave us comfort, even as we were trying to comfort you.” (page 133)  Chika did not let her impending death rob her of her grace, of her love of life, of her joy.

Martin Luther King Jr similarly took a stand for non-violence against the oppressive systems of power that had robbed African Americans of every shred of their dignity.  He would not allow them to damage his soul by forcing him to resort to violence or hate.  Instead, he chose actions that confronted the systems violence by showing a different way, a way of justice that was direct, but did not strip others of their humanity.  When threatened, MLK and his African American community stood without retaliation and chose something better.  When beaten, they stood, choosing love and grace and forgiveness over violence and rage.  When attacked again and again he chose his soul, and his faith, and his integrity, and was determined that those things would never be taken from him or his people. 

To be clear, we should never choose to tolerate injustice, we should never allow oppression or cruelty.  I am not saying that we should be passive in the face of what is wrong.  What I am saying is that one of the gifts of Palm Sunday is that Jesus demonstrated for us with all of his behaviors during Holy Week, that while people may take your body, that while people may inflict cruelty beyond measure onto your person, that it is up to us whether or not we allow the other to also take our souls.  We choose how we will react.  And while it is likely that no one would blame us for reacting to the disappointments, fears, griefs and angers of today with rage, with hatred, with violence, the choice to be moved into an action of hate in response to our suffering is a decision to give up all of who you are to the situations that would harm you.  That choice is a decision to allow whatever is happening to damage our spirits as well as our bodies.

             As we begin the Palm Sunday journey towards the cross, my invitation to you is to reflect on what makes you you, what are your true core values, and if they are the values Jesus asks you to hold, of Love, of peace, of grace, then how will you hold on to them in the face of this crisis or the next crisis or the one after that?  How will you respond in the face of other’s anger and rage and fear?  How will you react when your body is being threatened and you feel helpless and fearful?  How will you deal with this time of trial?  Will you still choose love?  Faith?  Grace?  My prayer for all of us is that as we walk towards the cross, we may understand the gifts of Jesus’ choices and choose to follow him in love.  For it is in Love that we will find our strength and overcome whatever it is that we are facing.

The Anxiety of a "New Normal".

           I'm not sleeping well.  I'm tense, irritable and moody.  I forget things a lot, normal things, regular things.  For example, I went to start writing today and then couldn't remember why I'd opened my computer in the first place.  I walk around with a general feeling of unease or "dis-ease".  I want to get things done but find that it sometimes takes me three times as long to do half as good a job on things that I used to do with efficiency and confidence.  I find myself feeling a bit lost, wandering around wondering what I'm doing, why, and for how long.
         Does this feel familiar?
         We are all in a state of crisis.  I realize that for some it is a much bigger crisis than for others.  Far too many are looking at financial strain at the least, and for some it is truly financial catastrophe.  Some are extremely ill or worrying about friends or family who are ill.  Some are isolated and alone while others are packed into situations with too many people in a small space.  The situations we face are different, the things that worry us are varied.  But all of us are in a state of crisis.  Things are not the same, for all of us.  And I think it's important for us to name that, because of this, all of us are dealing with many feelings, many fears, and anxiety is a part of that for all of us.  So I just want to name some of that reality that we have in common, that we are all facing during this time.
         1.  We are all grieving.  Life is very different now.  We don't know for how long, but my guess is that some things are changed in a permanent way.  Since we don't know what things are temporary and what things are permanent, we are grieving what was without any real sense of what is coming to replace it.  That grief itself involves many feelings that are uncomfortable: anger, sadness, some denial, depression are just a few of those feelings.
        2.  We are all anxious about what the future looks like.  We rely on certain things being the same.  People tend to have daily rituals, daily behaviors and activities and many of these have changed.  We now have different times to sleep, different times to get up, different ways of meeting with one another (on-line), different ways of getting our work done or looking for new work or preparing for changes in our work lives.  For many of us, the new routines are not yet set.  Our bodies as well as our minds and hearts are needing to adjust to these changes, and that takes time and intentionality.
         3.  We all have some fear.  What we fear may be different, but there is fear for us all.  Will we get sick?  Will our loved ones get sick?  Will some of those we care about die?  Who will care for our children if something happens to us?  Who will care for us?  Will we have work?  Will our communities look the same when we have a chance to come together again?  What will happen to our relationships?  To our jobs?  To our communities?  How will we get food in a safe way?  How will we get enough for our kids to eat?
          There is more, but as I said when I started this post, my mind isn't what it usually is, so I think I'll stop the list of experiences there and move on to what I really wanted to say.  In the midst of all of this, I want to encourage you to seek to stay emotionally and spiritually healthy as well as physical healthy.  Towards that end I want to encourage all of us to try to do at least some of the following each day:
         1.  Breathe.  I know, you may tell me that of course you are breathing.  But I think we need to be more intentional about taking deep breaths.  Breathing helps us to stay healthy physically, but it also calms down our anxiety.  It causes us to pause in our other thinking and to simply BE.  It pulls us out of our fears and anxieties and refocuses our attention on just existing. Intentional breathing reminds us that we are alive, and that each breath is a gift, an expression of grace, not something we should assume is ours.  Notice your breathing, pay attention to your breathing, be grateful for your breaths.  Notice your loved ones' and pets' breathing and be grateful for each breath they are taking.
       2.  Take time to meditate and pray.  For me, prayer is talking to God (or the Divine or the Universe, or "that which is greater than oneself"), to articulate what I am feeling, what I am thinking is a gift.  It not only helps me to release those feelings and thoughts, but sometimes saying them in a prayer allows me greater insight into what those feelings and thoughts actually are.  Meditation is the opposite of prayer for me.  It is listening, rather than talking.  And in that space of listening I often hear the wisdom, the comfort and the care that I am most needing in the moment.  I invite you to find a way to be intentional both about speaking your experience and listening to the wisdom that is out there for us. God is there to hear and to talk, to listen and to love you into each moment.
      3.  Exercise.  Move your body.  Get your heart rate up.  Dance, walk, do yoga... whatever it is that you can do in whatever space you must stay in, to connect with the gift of your body, to step out of your mind for a few minutes and focus on just being physically alive in this world.
      4.  Connect.  We can't touch each other.  We can't visit with each other.  We can't go out to eat or go for a walk.  But we can still connect.  Be intentional about connecting with others.  Call, email, write letters, skype, zoom, or do whatever you can to work hard to stay connected with one another.  Take the opportunity of this time to reach out to someone you haven't connected with in a long time, take this time to work on relationships that might otherwise not have your attention.  Other people can help us to be more realistic in our anxieties, they can balance out our extreme thinking with their own vision and understanding, and they can remind us what is really important to us in this life time.  Other people are there to support us when we are struggling and to give us the opportunity to offer support when they are struggling.  We need each other now more than ever.  Allow yourself to ask for help and to offer help to one another during this difficult time.
       5.  Engage art in some way.  Draw a picture, sing a song, dance in your living room, look at pictures of beautiful art on the internet, read a good book, watch a good movie, write a poem or story, write a song, work on a quilt, engage in creating something outside of and beyond yourself.  Art is healing to our souls, singing opens our spirits, creating brings back purpose and meaning to our lives.
      6.  Take time for gratitude.  Keep a gratitude journal of what has been good each day during this time.  Remember where life has given you gifts.  Look for God and appreciate where God has touched and blessed your life in this moment.
      7.  Rest.  Take naps.  Be intentional about down time even if you are having trouble sleeping.  Let this time allow for some body and mind healing from the frantic-ness of normal life.  Move slowly and let that be okay.
      8.  Be gentle with yourself and with one another.  In all of this, try to remember that this really is a crisis time.  It is taking more energy than normal to function and it is taxing all of us in ways we don't usually experience.  Allow room for errors, allow time for new routines and new ways of doing things to be learned, explored, and tried.  Give yourself a break when you feel overwhelmed and lost.
      9.  Remember, beyond all else, that you are valuable, that you are loved, that you are precious.  Each breath you take is a reminder that you have been loved into being and that you will be loved through and beyond each breath you take.  Take time to remember that even when you are lost, God is there to find you again, and to help you find peace and wholeness.

          As we walk this difficult time together, I want you to know that I am here for you.  I am grateful for YOU.  And we will get through all of this together.  All things pass, and while there is grief that what has come before is different than what now is, we can be reassured that this crisis time, too, will pass.  Breathe through today, look for the good in today, but also look towards tomorrow.  It is just around the corner.

New Times, New Challenges, New Gifts

            I haven't been sleeping well.  I've been worried at many different levels.  My parents are in the highly vulnerable category in terms of facing the pandemic, and they don't isolate easily, which means they've been a bit late in taking what are necessary precautions.  I worry about my congregation, a mostly older congregation of folk who are very active in the world, taking care of their grandchildren, serving the highly vulnerable populations in our community with food, housing, tutoring and other services.  I've been worried about them healthwise, but also, frankly, about their emotional well-being.  They all thrive on community, on their time with each other and out in the world.  Many of them live alone, and I've been deeply concerned about their isolation during this time.  I've worried about our world, how those who don't have as many resources or as easy access to help are faring.  I've worried about the children at the border in cages... will they be abandoned and left to their own fate?  I've been concerned about jobs, businesses, and those that survive month to month which are now having to close for a time.
          More personally, I was worried about getting my daughter home from college.  The restrictions were tightening both at her end and on ours, flights were being canceled, we were being told we had to stay in our houses, and I was concerned that she would be stuck at an airport somewhere without a way to get home and without anyone I knew able to help her.
         I've been concerned about what I've been seeing in terms of behavior:  people's panic leading them into strange behaviors, like the hoarding of resources, and the prevention of others therefore obtaining necessities.  I've also been concerned with seeing extremes in behavior: collecting things like water and subsitute utilities, ignoring the basic facts of the pandemic which indicate that our utilities and water resources have not been and will not be affected in any way.  While passing on false news stories and fake articles found on FB is not a new problem, in terms of the news about this virus, some of the stories that have hit my in-box have been utterly beyond belief, but passed on by well-meaning people who have simply forgotten the importance of checking things out before blindly believing and being a conduit for nonsense.
         I've found myself reading about and reflecting on other pandemics, many of which were so much more wide-spread and fatal than this current one.  Some of the stories I've read have been very disturbing, showing that the worse the disease, the more inhumane people are in response: to the point, in some cases, of even leaving children to suffer on their own because of the fear to one's own life.  I don't understand those stories.  I would rather die than see my children harmed.  And if my children died and I lived?  I'm not sure life would feel worth living at that point.  Obviously we are not acting this way now.  But it has worried me to think that our physical, spiritual and emotional health are so intertwined that when we are hit with a physical calamity, our morals can be tossed out the window in this way.
         I've wondered if we aren't, at some level, preparing for a pandemic that would, in fact, also be much more deadly and rampant.  The plague... black death killed between 1/3 and 1/2 the population, for example.  We are learning, through this one, how to isolate, how to limit exposure and spread, and how to stay connected even while we are apart.  In some ways we are doing a good job, though the grocery stores seem to still be places of mass connection.
        In the midst of this, then, I feel that we are always called to look for God, or the Good, or Love, or what is greater and better than what is worrying us at the moment.  So here are my visions of the good on this day:
        I was able to get my daughter from the airport yesterday and she is home.  I cannot say how grateful I am for this.  I miss her so much that it physically hurts when she is gone.  And to have her home a little early, and for a longer time than expected is a deep gift to me.  Frankly, I rarely have enough time with my children when they are home, and while I am still working (and in many ways working more hours than I did before as I learn new technology and am trying to provide more than usual pastoral care for those whom I no longer see in person), being home has allowed me to at least be in the same place as them for a time.  We are spending more time playing games, reading together, talking more, baking together, catching up on movies we've wanted to see.  And for all of that, I am deeply grateful.  As Eldest and I were driving home from the airport yesterday (5:45PM on a Wednesday, driving East through the Caldecott tunnel without any kind of slowing down at all!!), I was able to look around and see the beauty of these hills, of the green trees and grass during this time, to not be anxiously caught in any kind of traffic or worry about other cars taking unnecessary risks to get where they were going.
       I am so much more aware of the gifts that we normally have of freedom to travel, freedom to congregate, freedom to commune with one another.  These are things that are normally taken for granted by all of us.  Perhaps we will be able to remember, when they return to us, what gifts they really are.
       I understand that as a result of the decreased human activity, there are places where the wildlife is returning, is growing once again where it hasn't grown or been active for a while. For example, dolphins have been found in the canals in Italy!
       I appreciate to a much greater degree the gifts of technology, the ways in which we can stay connected even when we are apart.  This has been especially helpful for those who live alone or are in other ways much more isolated.
       Every day I hear new stories of helpers, good people, living their lives out as models of  love. Our medical people, with their commitments to care despite personal risk are beyond amazing.  But other people, too, are stepping forward.  In my own community, I cannot tell you how many people have called offering help to those who need it: running errands, driving people to appointments, and more.  While my daughter and I were both kept home on our birthdays this year, parishioners came by with balloons and other gifts to drop off, cards and well wishes were sent.  I am aware that while crises can bring out the worst in some people, in other people it instead brings out the best!  I am getting to see the best and that is a gift indeed.
       Finally, in a couple cases, I feel that people are more aware of their mortality now and are working harder to reconcile, make amends, "get their houses in order".  This too is an amazing gift.  No matter what happens during this crisis, taking time to fix relationships, to heal problems, to reevaluate what matters to each of us and to reprioritize - this is an amazing gift that can make all of our lives, for no matter how long we have them to live, fuller, healthier, more whole, centered, and peace-filled.
        I will continue to pray for my communities and for the world.  I will, undoubtedly, continue to worry, too.  But I also am grateful during this time, for the gifts that come despite, and sometimes because of, changing situations and even crises.  Peace to you all this day and every day.   I am grateful for each of you!  Please don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it or to reach out.  We are here for you.

A ramble on crisis, strength, and children.

           Recently, my kids and I were watching one of the many science fiction movies in which a father must choose between going out to save the world or staying at home to care for and raise his kids.  As always in these movies (because there wouldn't be a story if he chose otherwise), the father opts to sacrifice his time with his children in order to save the world, leaving them for years and sometimes life-times, to fulfill his mission.  And we all nod and agree that, of course, that is the right choice.  We don't give it a second thought.  And we see the man as the hero the story makes him out to be.  After all, he gave up so much for the sake of the world.
          So did the kids.  And they had no say about it, no choice about it.  There are victims in these stories, victims whose fates we don't see or acknowledge because, after all, the fate of the world is so much more important than a couple kids.  Right?
          Everytime I see one of these movies I find myself angry.  Why was it that it was only that person, that man, who could save the world?  And why was the cost the kids?  And why do we fail to see that or to care about the kids, except as losses to the hero?  Despite what these movies show us of strong and happy children growing up confident in the knowledge that their dads are heroes and that the kids themselves are loved and just have this little inconvenience, this tiny self-sacrifice that also puts them in the categories of heroes for giving up their dads in exchange for the salvation of the entire world; despite what the movies show us, the reality of kids growing up without a parent is very different.
        Here are just a few of the statistics:  taken from The Fatherless Generation
         

• 63% of youth suicides are from fatherless homes (US Dept. Of Health/Census) – 5 times the average.

• 90% of all homeless and runaway children are from fatherless homes – 32 times the average.

• 85% of all children who show behavior disorders come from fatherless homes – 20 times the average.  (Center for Disease Control)

• 80% of rapists with anger problems come from fatherless homes –14 times the average.  (Justice & Behavior, Vol 14, p. 403-26)

• 71% of all high school dropouts come from fatherless homes – 9 times the average.  (National Principals Association Report)
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• 75% of all adolescent patients in chemical abuse centers come from fatherless homes – 10 times the average.

• 70% of youths in state-operated institutions come from fatherless homes – 9 times the average.  (U.S. Dept. of Justice, Sept. 1988)

• 85% of all youths in prison come from fatherless homes – 20 times the average.  (Fulton Co. Georgia, Texas Dept. of Correction)

       These are just a few of the many statistics based on many studies that show what happens when kids grow up without their fathers, for whatever reason.  While the heroes may have saved the world in one way, what harm have they passed on to the world through creating homes with fatherless children?  What radiating damage was caused by this choice?  

       As I watched this movie with my kids, I made a comment that I felt the choice the dad made was wrong.  I was surprised that my kids all disagreed with me.  They said they felt the dad had made the right choice.  I argued with them that it wasn't fair to the kids.  "Maybe, " was the response.  "But the kids will be stronger because of it."  Really? That's not what the studies show.  They don't show stronger kids, they show broken kids, damaged kids, kids ready to inflict the same pain on the world that the world inflicted on them. "Are you stronger?" I asked my kids who have lived without their father for the last 5 1/2 years.  

      "Yes,"  they all answered, "we are."

       No, they aren't.  That is a myth we tell ourselves so that we can feel better about the fate life has handed us.  That is the story we proclaim to make the tragedies of this life acceptable.  But as the mother who lives with the victims of their particular tragedies, as the one who cares for them and watches them every day, I can tell you about the wounds they carry in great detail.  Since I don't want to betray their confidences or tell their stories, I will name the one that is most obvious: the fortresses my children have built around themselves, thick and strong, are what they identify as personal strength.  But I see those walls for what they are: they are walls made of fear, they are a way to hide from the world, they represent a commitment to refuse to allow others into their inner sanctums so they will not be hurt again.  Those walls do not represent strength, they represent brokenness and fear.  And that truth is painful for all of us, every single day.

       I love our stories, our cultural myths, that say that we grow from trauma, that we grow and become better, stronger people because of the crises we've experienced.  But the truth is that I believe that growth and improvement in reaction to large traumas is rare, an exception that comes with a great deal of commitment, courage and intentional choice to bring good out of pain.  I see those people who grow and become better folk through their traumas, especially the huge ones, as the exception to the rule rather than the norm.  I've been blessed to know some of those people who have taken their traumas and allowed them to make them better people.  But I also know far too many people who have become bitter, or entrenched in their one-dimensional belief systems, or become fearful and angry because of what they have gone through. And even those people who have grown through their traumas still carry scars, still carry trigger points.  I don't know anyone who has gone through a substantial crisis who walks without a limp, who is not damaged in some way. When it comes to children, these traumas are especially difficult to work through.  The very fabric of who each child is becomes changed, becomes resewn, rewoven into a different tapestry.

       My kids are not who they would have been had they not gone through their experiences.  Kids in war torn countries, kids living with poverty, kids growing up in abusive homes or in terrible situations will never be who they would have been otherwise.  No amount of counseling or education or family support can give them back the childhoods that they have lost, or can take away that limp that defines them. These defining childhood stories change way too many kids for the worst, taking away from them a sense of hope or joy or possibility.  That breaks my heart.  

       And while I have always valued the stories of growth and change and strengthening, I wonder what we miss by repeating these stories to ourselves.  Wouldn't it be better to acknowledge the truth that these childhood traumas are severely damaging and that rather than believing good comes out of them, it would be better to work hard to limit those traumas in the first place?

       Life is hard, and we won't be able to stop all trauma.  But perhaps facing the true damage is a better choice than living in a denial bubble that says we are strengthened through the crisis, especially when it comes to our children.  Perhaps this has to start with the stories we tell.  Perhaps the next story I see about a father leaving to save the world will focus instead on the children left behind; on their story.  Or perhaps the next story will focus on the choice the parent (male or female) makes between saving the world and being with his/her kids.  Perhaps in the next story, the parent will choose to stay with the kids and to find someone without small children who can save the world in their place.  And maybe that next person will do a better job anyway.  And the parent who chooses to stay behind will be a hero to the kids for choosing the kids, for choosing to love and care for and raise them.  That is a story I would love to hear.