Working in the shadow of death

I got my new name tag today and it got me thinking... As a hospice chaplain, I am often asked what I do. That's a hard question to answer! What do I do? On the one hand, I can say I sit with people, talk to them, share devotional readings, sing songs and pray. Those are some of the things I do, but that's not what a hospice chaplain does. I'm not there just to do those things, even though I do those things... Do you get what I mean?

The reason I'm finding it hard to explain what chaplaincy work is is that it's not about doing certain things. Sure, the general "flavour" of my visits is spiritually-focused, but what a visit should be like is hard to pin down. Visits can never be scripted! For instance, in one visit the client's family was present and I felt I should be doing more "chaplain stuff," like reading the Bible and singing, but then realised this was not what my client wanted. The visit went badly because I began with the assumption that I knew my client's spiritual needs, rather than listening to what they actually wanted. I'm finding problems also start when visits become performance art, and when spiritual care is equated with religious practice. Religion leads us to do certain things because we believe God always wants us to do them and that we should always do them. Thus spiritual care in the presence of religion becomes more about doing and saying "the right thing," no matter what the other person wants/needs. However, the reality is that spiritual care is messy, sometimes lacking clear pathways and outcomes, yet it is always responsive and will seek to leave the other in peace. The important lesson I am learning is that I am not there to project my own beliefs, needs, and desires onto others.

Maybe the question should be re-phrased to be not so much about what I do, but what I am doing? What am I doing as a hospice chaplain?

This morning I was reflecting on the idea of Holiness. Often the idea of being Holy is equated with purity and perfectionism, but it's actually more related to the idea of being set apart. As a hospice chaplain, I know that I have been set apart to do something special. I sit with the dying and walk with them in their final months, weeks, and even hours of their life in a way that sometimes their most loved ones will never get to do. I work in the shadow of death, and it is a privilege to do this. And as I do this work I am learning that our lives continue to have a purpose and meaning even in the presence of death. This is such a counter-narrative for those who believe personal value and worth are found only in the presence of vitality and health. Instead, working in the shadow of death has shown me that God's love is always present; that connecting with each other begins in silence and listening. I have also learned that this work involves not just the death of another, but also the death of self - Myself! It is learning that the little god on the throne of my life needs to be taken down and replaced with the God whose presence and reality is never defined by religion, but through the spiritual art of showing love to one another.

Is it what we say, or is it what we do?

What are we to make of Jesus' statement in the Gospel of John "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to [God] except through me" (14:6), and then the Apostle's invitation that if one believes in the Lord Jesus then they will be saved (Acts 16:31)? Such statements suggest that access to God is available exclusively through Jesus Christ and no other. This exclusivism has naturally led to exclusion, for if there is only one way then there can be no other ways. Sadly, far too many relationships have been damaged and wars started because people think that they alone have access to God!

I wrestle with this idea of knowing and professing certain truths about God in the context of the work I do as a hospice chaplain, particularly when visiting those with dementia. For if salvation is defined by the act of knowing and professing certain truths then what happens when people are no longer able to say and remember those things? During a visit, I am often repeatedly asked my name because the knowledge of who I am is not retained. I am also forgotten shortly after I leave. Yet the profession of faith that Jesus is the way, truth and life, and that he is Lord, seems to require both a functioning mind and memory. If so, what is the fate of those who have never professed this and no longer have the capacity to do so? Are God's presence and reality unavailable to those who lack the words and memory to understand and speak these (so-called) truths?

Here I am also reminded of my own faith journey. I came back to my faith after 20-years of professed atheism not because I believed certain things were true, but because I needed God in my life again. When I re-committed my life back to God I did not have it all worked out theologically. I came back to my faith because I needed to once again "taste and see that [God] is good" (Psalm 34:8). Since then my life has been positively transformed in ways I cannot begin to describe. Whilst I claimed Jesus as my guide into knowing God, I did not start by professing him to be all that God is. My point here is that my faith journey began not with knowledge, but with a cry of desolation. I sought God, and God heard my cry.

There was a time in my life when I weaponised my faith, alienated people, and did much harm. Yet sitting with people with dementia has brought me to the realisation that salvation is entirely God's work. We are not the way, the truth, and the life. People have rightly become suspicious of those who seek to put barriers around God in the name of truth. Instead, God is known in the silence, and in the good we do for each other:

"Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and praise [God]" (Matthew 5:16)

You lifted me out of the slimy pit

The other day a friend posted this old photo of me on Instagram. It was taken in 2011. In response, I posted this comment: "Holy sh*t, I look depressed as f*ck!" That old photo reminded me of just how much my life would emotionally and mentally spiral out-of-control in the following years. 2011 was also the year my Dad died. In my lowest moments, I contemplated ending it all, something I have told very few people. When I look back on my life I find I have spent many years recovering from some form of loss: losing my faith, a marriage ending, my father dying to name a few and yet, whilst there have been many losses, my whole life story is one of recovery.

My return to faith in 2016 was a cry for help. I cried out to God, a God I had spent twenty years trying to live without. I have since come to frame the story of my faith-recovery in the context of the 12-Step AA tradition. The first step is this: "We admitted we were powerless... that our lives had become unmanageable." Those who enter recovery do so because they have reached rock-bottom. There is nowhere else for them to go but up and out of the pit of despair they are in. Whilst some look down on the idea of using faith as an emotional or spiritual "crutch", in the AA tradition it is essential. We need something "other" and "outside" of ourselves to help us heal. We cannot do it alone. For me, there is no shame associated with admitting that one has got to a place in life where dramatic and radical change is needed. As Albert Einstein once said, "We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them."
The other day I read this:

"I waited patiently for the LORD; [God] turned to me and heard my cry. [God] lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; [God] set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in [God]. Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods. Many, Lord my God, are the wonders you have done, the things you planned for us. None can compare with you; were I to speak and tell of your deeds, they would be too many to declare." (Psalm 40:1-5)

As I write these words it is my 52nd birthday. With no word of a lie, my 51st year was the most fulfiling I have ever have known. I experienced my life in a way I have never known before. I have spent many years trying to find my place and purpose in the world. I believe with the hospice work I am doing I have now found it. My faith provided me with a "rock" on which to rebuild my life. It's hard for me to explain, but God's presence in my life is real and tangible. People might deny God's existence, but the real and visceral effect of having God in my life cannot be denied. It has truly changed me! I am no longer the person sitting in the photo above, for they no longer exist. Instead, that person has been lifted up out of the mud and been given a new song to sing.

As I said, it's difficult to explain but I think these words from Isaiah sum it up best: "I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you. With whom will you compare me or count me as equal?" (Isaiah 46:4-5). Amen!

A story about taking prayer seriously

The other day I felt I was not taking my prayer life seriously. I had been hesitating to actually name specific things in prayer. I tended to prayer in generalisations; bring peace, bless so-and-so and stuff like that. Although we are encouraged by Jesus to "ask for whatever you want in my name" (John15:7), the fact is I often resisted doing this because it would put my prayer life on the line. It puts God on the line. What if a specific prayer is not answered? Then what?

Now I don't believe we should go around testing God with our prayers, but the other day I got a real sense that it was time to be more specific. Ask for whatever you want. Okay! But first, a little context…

I am currently training to be a hospice chaplain. Most of the time I love the work I do, but there is one thing I do not enjoy doing and that is making phone calls. I'll sit with anyone who is dying, but making phonecalls - nope! The problem is, when someone comes onto hospice it is a requirement that within five days we call the primary bereaved (that is the person who will be most affected by the death of the client).

I hate making those phone calls. As an introvert, when I receive a call from someone in the midst of my (often) silent alone time, I find this intrusive and deeply irritating. I also find myself projecting this feeling onto others. Calling someone equals, "I'm bugging you... You find me annoying!!!"  Irrational, yes, but something I really struggle with.

The other day I had someone come onto hospice, which meant - phonecall... urgh! Now I've been working to address my fear of the phone, so I took the bull by the horns and made the call. Emily*, who answered, seemed pleasant enough so I asked if it was a good time to call? It was not, but she said she would call me back later. All good so far... but by the end of the evening, I had received no callback. So the dark clouds of despair began to gather. I got stressed. I began to worry. So-much-so that I had a restlessness night.

Fast-forward to the next morning, and in my devotions, I read these words:

"He stilled the storm to a whisper;

the waves of the sea were hushed.

They were glad when it grew calm,

and he guided them to their desired haven." (Psalm 107:29-30)

The words "stilled, hushed and calm" jumped out at me. God promises that in the midst of our turmoil we will find peace, but what would bring me peace? That phone call. If only they would get in contact with me. I felt it was time to ask for that. I'd had unrest around this call, but I wanted peace. I felt led to ask for peace. I felt led to ask God for Emily to get in touch. So I prayed my prayer and set off to visit my new hospice client.

When I got to the residence there had still been no call, but that was okay because it was early. Maybe they would call later. I hoped they would. I held my phone again, quietly trusting that they would be in touch. Then I stilled my thoughts and committed the visit to God. I felt calm. I had a real sense of peace as I walked into the residence to meet my new client. 

I found my client sitting quietly, so we started to visit. We began to talk about the weather, the birds in the aviary, how much God loves us when suddenly I noticed a woman appear in the doorway of the room. She looked at me, wondering who I was. I stood up and introduced myself; "Hello! I'm the chaplain", to which she replied, "Hello, I'm Emily! I believe I owe you a phone call!"

*Name changed

The miracle of sharing

This morning in my devotions I read the story of the miracle of the feeding of 5,000 people by Jesus. As I read the story I began to think about the child who offered Jesus their five loaves and two fishes. Out of all the thousands of people present, do we dare to imagine that this young child was the only one carrying any food with them? I highly doubt it. This was not a time when people would travel the land lightly upon the assumption that along their way they would come across a kerb-side vendor selling snacks and drinks. No, when people travelled they took food and drink with them. They had to. This was a simple matter of survival. So when I think of this child offering Jesus his food, I don't imagine that this was the only food anyone had.

As I thought about this I began to wonder what Jesus was trying to teach people? I can't believe the record of this event was intended to preserve the idea that we can venture out irresponsibly, without any provisions, and imagine that God will provide for us in the middle of nowhere. That does not resonate at all with any of Jesus' teaching. Instead, I began to think about Luke 4 and the moment Jesus read from Isaiah in the synagogue:

"The Spirit of the Lord is on me,

because he has anointed me

to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners

and recovery of sight for the blind,

to set the oppressed free,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.” (Luke 4:18-19)

The context of this reading is the Jewish Jubilee, which was meant to be a time when debts were forgiven and land was restored to those who originally owned it. It was a correction of injustices, and a redistribution of wealth in order to restore the impoverished. For me, the feeding of the 5,000 makes sense in the context of Jubilee. It also makes sense of the actions of the child and Jesus' commendation of them.

Imagine... Jesus asks the disciples to give the people something to eat - a normal act of hospitality for the time. Their response? How can we (emphasis here on "we"), give them something to eat? They are thinking only of themselves. What does Jesus do? He asks if anyone has food. Of course, they do, but the only person willing to "show their hand" (or share), is a young child who gives Jesus all they have. So Jesus takes the food, gives thanks for it, and then starts to distribute it. What do you think happened next? What is the lesson Jesus is trying to teach those who want to follow him? I imagine it is in the same vein as what he told the rich young ruler: "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me" (Matthew 19:21).

Redistribution, because "unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 18:3)

Complexity and order in the world proves nothing!

The other day I read in my devotions the following: “The intricate physical, chemical, and biological interactions that comprise our world bear the imprint of a sophisticated Designer.” Now you might think that as someone who believes in God I would positively resonate with these words, but I did not. This type of statement annoys me. Copious amounts of words both written and spoken have consistently demonstrated that one cannot conclusively resolve the so-called connection between complexity in the world and a Cosmic Designer (aka God). The basic problem is this: What would a world look like, which does NOT bear the imprint of a cosmic designer? You see, in order to know whether this world has been designed and created by God, we have to compare it to a world which has not been designed. That we cannot do this leaves us with an unsatisfactory circular argument.

However, before any atheist gets too excited we should note that the reverse is also true. To know what a world looks like which has not been designed and created by God, we need to compare it to one that HAS. That we cannot do this also leaves us with an unsatisfactory circular argument. It also begs the question; if an atheist could know and experience a world that has been created by God, then why are they an atheist?

Let me put it another way… When I go to the gas station to fill up my car, I don’t walk into the store and buy 17 gallons of milk and then fill up my gas tank. If I walked around arguing with people on the forecourt that my combustion engine runs on milk bought from the store, they would think I was crazy. I don’t debate the issue of what I need to put into my gas tank in order to to make my car run because the facts are indisputable. Gasoline powers combustion engines, not milk! Yet the facts surrounding the origins of the world are not indisputable. The issue has been long debated and will continue to be so. For instance, the issue of how we get from rocks (inanimate matter) to living things (animate matter) is presumed to have happened, yet is much debated. People say it happened, but do not know how or why. Also, using the principle of observation the known universe does not reveal to us how the things we see around us came into existence. We can't observe anything outside of this realm of existence. Statements about events and causes prior to this world and universe existing are not facts but hypothesis and speculation; beliefs, opinions and theories no matter who speaks them. They are these things because no-one can ever witness any moment before time began outside of this sphere of reality. We ALL live by faith!

I've stopped using the idea of order and complexity in the world as proof of God's existence. I'm tired of the arguments and going round and round in circles. I'm also tired of the anger and vitriol generated. Instead, I focus on the ways God is seen in the lives of others. If you want proof of God's existence then I'll point you to how people are doing good to each other. I'll point you to changed lives. I'll take you into the presence of love (1 John 4:12).

How to pray and what to pray for?

Every day I pray. I pray for many things. I mostly pray for wisdom, knowledge and forgiveness, but sometimes I pray for God to act in a special way in my life and the lives of others. I also have many experiences of prayers being answered, but how and why that happens I cannot explain. The other day I read Paul’s description of prayer as that which involves “petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving” (1 Timothy 2:1). In this list we see that prayer involves petitioning a higher authority (God, as you understand God to be), making personal requests, intervening on behalf of others, and finally thanksgiving. That's a nice concise list, but I struggle with any prayer that involves asking God to intervene in the world and the lives of others without breaking the laws of nature, or contradicting the notion of free will. I have no expectation that in order to answer my prayers God will arrange everything in the world around me and my personal needs and desires. I have heard people pray such prayers, but I can't do that. It's one of the struggles I have with prayer. How can one authentically pray whilst appreciating the difficulty of any prayer being answered? What should I pray for? How should I pray? Can I pray for God to do mighty things in the world and expect an answer, or should I stick to only asking God to make a difference in my life? Sometimes I think that to pray is more about changing me. When I was an atheist I used to say that prayers only work when you do. I still say that. I still think that most of the prayers I pray are about changing me and my attitude to things and people, but then there are those prayers I have prayed which ask for things in the world to be different and then they appear to be answered. I cannot explain that. It is something I just accept and thank God for.

As I write this I recall Paul's words in Romans: “[When] we do not know what we ought to pray for, the Spirit intercedes for us through wordless groans” (Romans 8:26). I guess the thing I struggle with most is the idea that prayers should be rational, logical and lengthy verbal utterances. The truth is, I don't find rational, logical or even lengthy prayers meaningful. Some of the prayers I have seen answered in my life have been far from rational, logical or verbose, so it is comforting to know that sighs, groans and even wordless expressions of concern are valid prayers as far as God is concerned. All this reminds me of Melanie Beattie, who in her book Codependent No-More wrote that some of her favourite prayers are the following: “Help. Please. Don’t. Show me. Guide me. Change me. Are you there? Why’d do you do that? Oh. Thank you." I think she's onto something...

I wonder if at the point I am ready to utter "Oh shit!" in the presence of God, that this is the moment when my ego is out of the way and God is able to do something? Maybe prayer really is just about getting my ego out of the way? I don't know. Prayer is complicated. My prayer life is complicated. I know that often when I pray for something that life changes. I feel connected. I feel heard. Prayer seems to make a difference, even though I don't know how, or why.

No-one is beyond forgiveness and redemption

The other day I read Revelation 21, and as I did I was struck by this description of the foundation of the new city of Jerusalem: "The wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb" (Revelation 21:14). Whether one believes this passage describes a literal city or a symbolic one is not the point. What struck me was the idea that “the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb” have been written on the foundation of a place where “ [God has wiped] every tear from [every eye, and] there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:3-4). As I thought about this place where suffering has ended, I began to realise that one of the twelve apostles is Judas; the one who betrayed him. What an amazing thought, that no-one is beyond God’s reach in terms of forgiveness and redemption.

Now we might suggest that Judas’ name was not the one included here but that it is Matthias, the one appointed to replace him (Acts 1:26). However, I believe the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb refer to the original twelve chosen by Jesus (Matthew 10:2-4). I say this because to suggest otherwise means he made a mistake in choosing Judas, but this is looking at things from a human perspective. I think it’s too easy to focus on Judas’ poor behaviour and consider this as the reason why we should not include him as one who has his name written on the foundation of the new Jerusalem. This is the way I find most people treat those who have made mistakes in life. Our go-to behaviour is to judge and reject; often not giving people a second chance. When I think of my life and the many poor decisions I have made, I find it amazing to think that my life can be used to bring about good things in this world. I keep wanting to keep denying this, but I’m told it actually can (Matthew 5:16). Therefore, just as I have to accept that my life can be useful despite my many failings, I find myself unable to reject and replace Judas. The reality is that no-one deserves to have their name written on the foundations of a new heavenly city, for none of us is perfect. Also, to reject Judas as unworthy puts us in a place where we are judging the decisions of Jesus and questioning God’s ability to restore all things.

I want to stop being so judgmental and to give myself and others a second chance; to believe that no-one, even me, is beyond hope and redemption. I screw up, others screw up, but the hope God gives is that despite the many screw-ups our life can be restored in such a way that we can become part of something new and amazing taking place in the world.

Image source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg

No-one has ever seen God...

Without any shadow of a doubt, my favourite verse in the Bible is this: "No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and [God's] love is made complete in us" (1 John 4:12). I love this verse because of its brutal honesty. No-one has ever seen God! In a day and age where “science” has become the bedrock for truth, this appears to be a reckless thing to say. It also appears to play into the very hands of those who want to deny God’s existence by asking for empirical proof. Unless you show me tangible evidence, some might say, I won’t accept God exists. Normally such evidence is grounded in the scientific method of requiring knowledge to be sense-based. So unless we can touch, taste, see, hear or smell something, it does not exist. Set up like this, "evidence" will always fail to prove the existence of that which lies beyond sensory experience. No wonder the absence of God screams at us in the modern world.

Yet such exacting demands for proof cannot be used to validate the certainty of empirical (or sense-based) knowledge. For instance, how do we prove the certainty of any knowledge we claim to have when logical gaps exist between perception and reality? For instance, are our thoughts being reliably transferred across the synaptic gaps in our brain? Stuff enters our mind via our senses, but how do we know our mind is doing a good job receiving this, sorting it, and then presenting it reliably within our own unique sphere of consciousness? Also, how can we be sure that we are each perceiving the same thing correctly? I cannot enter your sphere of consciousness to check that what you claim to know is the same as what I claim to know, we just presume it to be the case. Yet if knowledge is sense-based, how do we know that any mind is doing a good job processing its sense-based experiences correctly? In reality, we all live in a realm of uncertainty when it comes to knowledge. We cannot be sure that anyone is correctly perceiving anything. Thus the so-called "scientific method" for knowledge fails its own standards for verification, for none of us can claim to experience and know anything with any certainty unless we are unable to touch, taste, see, hear or smell things which reside outside our own sphere of consciousness. That we cannot do this means we are stuck inside the prison of our own mind! Who really knows anything?

"No-one has ever seen God", or for that matter, anything. We should be more honest about that, whether we believe in God's existence, or not. However, we also cannot leave it at that...