Year Four - The Final Countdown

I've been thinking about writing this post for about a month now, and finally figured it was a good time to get it out of my head and onto the page.  I've officially been in my final year at CTS for over a week now, and let it be known, I most definitely feel like a senior.  I find motivation a little hard to come by. I'm not as excited or energetic like the new class of students on campus.  While their excitement and energy is contagious, I also find it exhausting.  I find myself more business oriented, trying to be efficient and effective, and when you do that, sometimes relationship building gets left on the side road. There probably is a perfectly good explanation as to why I feel this way: I'm still recovering from CPE this summer, I'm adjusting back to being on campus after nine months away, or maybe it's because I still sometimes surprise myself thinking I am still a student.  

Let's rewind three years.

First of all, when I came out to Decatur, Georgia for seminary, I honest to goodness thought I would be here for three years, graduate before I turned thirty, and return home to my amazing family, wonderful boyfriend, adoring cat, and find a church in the Great State of Texas doing Youth Ministry and preaching every once in a while. In fact, I made myself freak out less about being five states away by repeating this mantra on a regular basis during my first semester when I was balancing learning Hebrew and remembering how to write papers after a five year break from college.  

I remember driving out to Atlanta.  I'd spent the night in Tyler, Texas with my grandparents, and as I was having breakfast with my Peepa, I couldn't help but just get weepy.  Peepa prayed with me and told me how proud he was I was going to be a preacher. I remember I tried to correct him in saying I would be a minister of sorts, and he just gave me a look (any of my family will remember that look Peepa gave).  It meant, "be quiet, I'm right." He walked me to my over-loaded car, gave me a hug and shared a story of what it was like for him when he left home for the war.  I think I cried all the way from Tyler through the entire state of Louisiana and possibly stopped only in Vicksburg, MS.  Then, I cried some more when I saw a sign for Dallas, Georgia (really?!?!?!)

I wouldn't say I came to seminary kicking and screaming, but I came with a heavy heart.  I left behind all I knew of my life in Texas - my friends, my family, my job, and yes, my bed!  I often found myself looking up at the sky shaking  my head, kind of stuck in this, "I know I should be here, but why is it so hard???"

Well, if you have known me at all in the past three years, you might know the cat died.

Rest in Peace, Charlie.




The relationship with the boyfriend ended, and I added another degree and will graduate at the beautiful age of thirty (which I turn in a few weeks). The family is still amazing and continues to grow - I've gone from one nephew and one niece to two of each, with another nephew on the way this fall!  By the grace of God, I've been able to be present when they've been born, and I have to say, being an Auntie is one of THE BEST things ever. 

Nephew #1 - I look so young!

Niece #1

Nephew #2!

Niece #2!

While I've sometimes struggled with being at CTS, I have never doubted my being here.  I knew Columbia was where God was calling me from the moment I stepped on the campus - EVEN before I applied to be a M.Div seminarian (just like in 1999 as a high school freshman I knew Austin College would be the one.)  Oh, how I've been homesick (shout out to the siblings & parents & family & friends who answer my calls when I feel weepy), but the the growth I've experienced here has been life changing.  

Taken sometime during Fall during my first year out here in GA.

  I've fallen in love with Atlanta (for the most part) and have come to appreciate the history of the city, the diverse cultures represented, and all FOUR seasons that happen here.  The food's not bad either. I've had family and friends come out and visit me here, and been able to share with them this city that now has a special place in my heart.  

Dish duty at Camp Buc for an All Church Retreat

 I've interned in inner-city churches, one vibrantly healthy and growing, the other one rapidly declining and figuring out it's role in the church, the city, and their own community. I've learned a bit about grant writing, joined a Gospel Choir, mastered the Hebrew and the Greek, and made some friends who I hope will be around for the rest of my life.  

I've even sung karaoke with a real life hard rock band.  

 I've loved how close Atlanta is to quite a few other places - I've done Mardi Gras in Mobile, Winter in Florida, Spring Break in Myrtle Beach, and spent a summer in North Carolina.  Ok, I've fallen for the state of North Carolina too...and not just the part called "Montreat" (though being 3 hours away is AWESOME.) 

From my summer at UPC in Chapel Hill, NC

 I've traveled more than I would have ever imagined - including a trip across the pond to study at Cambridge.  

Some of the lovely ladies I met at Westminster. 

I STUDIED AT CAMBRIDGE. 

 (Sometimes I don't even believe that happened...)

I mean...I met Rowan Williams...in person...

In the past three years, I've passed all my Ordination Exams. I've spent hours in classrooms listening to professors whom I admire, reflecting on readings, and responding alongside my classmates. I've done more group projects than I ever thought I would in graduate school. 

I've spent even more hours reading, then re-reading essays, chapters, sermons, scripture, and even books.  (This doesn't surprise me, I know graduate school included reading.  I just didn't quite understand how foreign some of the reading would be for me.  Thank heavens for Shirley Guthrie.)

I've worked on my spirituality. I've practiced silence, explored prayer, and found myself continually humbled at how and where God shows up.  Gratitude has taken on an entirely new meaning.  And somewhere along the way of the journey, I stopped looking up at the sky asking "why me, O God?", and started looking saying, "I'll go where you send me."  I came out here with quite clear expectations for myself, and in the way it often happens, those expectations have changed, and I don't mourn that. There's an image from StoryPeople, by Brian Andreas, called Falling into Place, and it sums up where I stand quite perfectly:

As much as I would love to return to Texas upon graduating on 5-16-15, I'm open to where God sends me.  I've mastered the Skyping, the flying home, and even the driving home (Thank you Audible!).  I remember when my parents came to visit me in North Carolina and my mom said, "keep going to neat places so we can always come and visit."  In a weird way (and she probably didn't know it), it was a permission I hadn't asked for or thought I needed, to go where I am called.  I guess I see it more as a blessing these days.

So I will take on this Senior Year.  I will pray for a positive spirit.  I'll try not to be a negative nelly in group projects.  I will try to allow myself to share in the excitement and energy of our new students.  I will remember that there are ways to be efficient and effective while maintaining relationships and building up our community. I know my God has called me out - called me to serve a broken world - called me to work towards healing and reconciliation - called me to think creatively and teach the ancient words in ways that all children of God can understand. As I begin this year and prepare for transitioning out of seminary into the church, it won't be the beginning of my ministry, but a continuation.

 It's going to be scary. There will probably be much uncertainty.  It might be hard.  I bet it will be exhausting.

But, I'm ready.

I've got some good people holding me in prayer. I've got some good people to reach out to and ask for help, ask for guidance, ask for a good laugh, or maybe, a good cry.

I know that as I move towards #fivesixteenfifteen (CTS graduation date), there's still much to learn and much to do. So with a willing heart, I'll try and give it my all. 

Listening

Part of our CPE experience included a day of learning about poetry as medicine. We took an entire day to read poetry together, as well as write poetry.  I'm an avid poetry person, but I was a bit daunted by a day of this.  It turned out to be quite an experience of growth and healing, not just for me, but for my peers.  It was a delight to hear how we all took a theme, such as listening, and created a variety of works of words.  We were given a certain amount of time (about 15 minutes for this one!) and a theme, and then shared our poems together after. I've been meaning to share some of my poems here, and finally have gotten around to it!  So, here's one poem I wrote in regards to listening, specifically when I'm going into a patient's room. If you'd like to learn more about poetic medicine, here's a website that talks about it. 

Ears?

Check.

Open? Attentive?

Perked up like Rover’s in anticipation

to the door creaking open,

hearing more than the door

and knowing what is heard?

Double check.

Eyes?

Check.

Alert?  Bright?

Taking in all things

with a sense of wonder and mystery?

Looking past objects

and into the deep unknown

like baby’s first encounter with the

musical mobile hanging above the bed?

Double check.

Mouth?

Check.

Slightly open, not pursed?

Ready to respond reassuringly?

To make affirming,

appropriate sounds of empathy?

As your grandma used to do when

you shared your day’s adventures

at bath time?

Double check.

Shoulders?

Check.

Loose and low?

Relaxed and resolved?

Avoiding the desire to look like

the high school offensive lineman

as he haunches up to defend the ball

no matter what,

protecting all he encompasses?

Double check.

Hands?

Check.

Calm? No twitching?

Ready to respond

with the slightest of touches

that carry more weight

than you’ll ever know?

Double check.

Heart?

Heart?

You there…?

Oh – good. Check.

Ready for what could be a doozy?

Ready to be made vulnerable

like the limbs of a tree that feel

both beauty in the seasons and

loss in the changing of them?

Ready to be worn on the sleeve

and exposed to the elements?

Double check.

Good.

All systems go –

Ready to engage.

Who knows what you'll encounter?

A beloved land that seemed distant could soon be home within you.

Charting: Factual vs. Fictitious

 For anyone who has ever had the privilege to be exposed to a medical charting system, this post might seem familiar.  This post isn't really about my chart notes being factual or fictitious, it's more about walking that fine line of what is needed to be said and what wants to be said.  Like most hospitals/doctor's office/etc, this hospital uses a note-taking system that allows for everyone who interacts with patient to document it. 

 

The system here is named...

 

wait for it...

 

 

 It is, of course, epic.

 

 Everyone uses it.

 

Doctors, x-ray technicians, nurses, OT, PT, and yes, even Chaplains.

 

Especially Chaplains.  Our use of the epic system varies quite differently than our medical peers.  Instead of doing medical assessments, we do spiritual assessments.  (It's not as intense as it sounds, I promise.)  Praise the Lord, our charting requirements are much simpler than our cohorts.  (We were able to knock out our system training in under two hours.) 

 

I find the charting sometimes quite hard to do.  When I was in pre-surgery, and I visited on average 10-15 patients each morning, and most of them before 7:00am.  I didn't chart until an hour (or sometimes 4 hours) later, and developed a note system to helped me remember everyone I'd met with. It involved many colors of pens, dots and dashes, and random one word reminders, that anyone else looking at it would say, "What?", but I look, and go, "ahh, yes".

 

Then, when it's time, I would come back to an office, sit down, and try to chart our visit. 

And that's where the trouble starts. 

While I could easily copy and paste a note for everyone I've visited, I just can't do it.  I feel like if anyone, I'm the one person, who in charting, should put a little piece of the patient in the chart - and not the details of age or sex or medical issues - but a bit of who they truly are - a loving mother, an anxious spouse, or hilarious grandma. 

 

This might be my English degree sneaking in, too.  Charting is very impersonal, all said from 3rd person perspective.  I, of course, find myself writing sentences that could be the beginning sentences of a soon-to-be-smashing-hit novel. (emphasis on "could be")

 For example, this is what could be considered a general note used for a patient:

  

Met with patient and family; introduced them to Chaplain Services. Patient expressed he was a little anxious, but felt supported by friends and family. Offered pastoral support. Will continue to provide support and follow up as needed.

 

Here is what I wish I could say:

 

Walked into the patient's room, and patient looked up nervously, as if anticipating yet another person walking in to take something from him - his blood, his temperature, or his signature. Yet as I introduced myself, relief flashed across his face.  I walked farther into his room where his friend greeted me with a genuine smile, one that touched all the corners of your heart and just oozed kindness and warmth.  Addressing the patient, I went through the "pre-surgery" routine, which often times felt like a one-woman-stand-up comic relief type of show.  I informed him there were people here at UTSW who wouldn't ask for anything from him, but would offer what they could for him - a kind smile, a prayer spoken, or the opportunity to kick someone out of the room.  Patient expressed how much it meant to have his friends and family along side him in the room where he felt over exposed and how their presence made him feel normal.  Patient had a great laugh and you can tell this is a group of friends and family who tell each other they are loved.  It was an unexpected blessing to visit with them on this early summer morning; a reminder of our God at work in what may seem a mundane morning, but sacred all the same

Here's another example.  Something like this gets charted:

  

Met with patient and visitor; introduced them to Chaplain Services. Patient expressed no needs at this time; will continue to follow up and provide support as needed.

 

And here is what I wished I could say.

 

Walked into patient's room, and the sense of inconvenience of the entire sitution was speaking louder than the bright yellow gown draped around the patient's shoulders. I introduced myself to the patient who exclaimed within the first few seconds confirmed she was "fine" and needed no assistence from Chaplain Services.  Eye-contact was somehow avoided the entire time I spent with the patient and visitor, as was the mention of the reason for the patient's visit.  I wanted to share with the patient she was not alone in having her life interrupted or inconvenienced by the aggresive monster named Cancer. I wanted to let her know that it was ok if she was not fine.  But I put my wants away and let the patient know Chaplain Services was available at her disposal, and left her room. 

 

I wouldn't say it's an internal battle, but sometimes it's hard to truly capture what happened in the moments I spent with a patient in their chart. I know there is a good reason to remain objective within the charts, but it still feels like we're treating an object, and not a person.  And that's where the little Chaplain notes can make a difference.  I can make a comment that this patient gets much meaning out of being called grandma, or that this patient's from out of town, but has a strong support system here in town.  Do the doctors or nurses or therapisits read any of these notes?

 

Maybe. I mean, I hope so.  And I hope it offers something to the story of this patient.  I hope it gives the doctor/nurse/caretaker pause, maybe a reminder for some that this is a beloved grandfather.   

Or that it clues them in that this patient has no strong support systems to share in the grief of a terminal diagnosis. 

 

There ARE many health professionals who treat patients as more than just a Medical Reference Number or new diagnosis.  But Chaplains can sometimes fall in a weird gap of meeting patient's needs.  We often have met with family and somehow have acquired little nuggets of knowledge that maybe no one else had thought of. This is not because the others don't care, but when I meet with a patient, I don't have any medical jargon going on in my head - I am there, face to face, with the patient.  Or the family as the case might be. 

Sometimes I laugh with families as they remember funny jokes. Sometimes I pray, sometimes I listen to a prayer, and sometimes I leave with a blessing. Sometimes I just walk people to the right set of elevators. Sometimes I listen to patient's share their journey to this time and place.  Sometimes I direct people to the best cup of coffee in the hospital. Sometimes I weep with families as they walk through the shadow of the valley.  Sometimes I give hugs and talk about alligators with a 7 year old who has a dad dying of brain cancer.

All of these "sometimes" are important, and some seem monumental.
 All are a part of a patient's journey here at the hospital.

And when I'm done, I come back to the office and condense the visit into a succinct, somewhat impersonal but always factual chart note.

And then I hope the empathy felt, the emotions noticed, and the little peices of information gleaned prove to be represented well within the note.


 

 

 

 

Musings on Pre-Surgery

I just finished my month on Pre-Surgery rotation.  For the month of July, I joined the special people who show up to UT Southwestern OR's at the crack of dawn.  Or maybe before the crack.  My alarm has been set for 4:30am since July 1st, and my bed time has been consistently 9:00pm, sometimes earlier!  Arriving at the hospital so early is equal parts creepy and peaceful.  It's quiet and I found myself really enjoying the time alone in the Chaplain's office area to center and focus myself.  It's creepy in that there's no one in our area at 5:30am, so every noise seems a bit misplaced.  During my time on pre-surgery, I've learned a few things about myself and about pre-surgery that I thought I would share. 

Learned Things About Pre-Surgery:

• It takes special people to work this early shift.  While it sort of is like working a night shift, it also isn't, because you leave work with plenty of daytime, normally around 2:00 or 3:00 pm.  The nurses I worked with were a lovely balance of perky and calming - something that is most definitely needed for many surgery patients so early in the morning. 

• Surgery is all about vulnerability. I wouldn't say all patients are necessarily willing to have surgery, but most don't just end up laying half exposed in our beds just for a giggle. To walk into a place where you willingly know you're going to be knocked out and cut open is a bit surreal and sometimes, scary.  People respond to this vulnerability and anxiety in a variety of ways, covering the entire range of human emotions. 

• Medical School Interns are HILARIOUS at 6:00 in the morning.  Especially on July 1st, their first day at the hospital. 

• Always check to make sure the patient's room number matches the name of the patient. ALWAYS.

• Sometimes a doctor will start a surgery a few hours early.  Sometimes a doctor will start a surgery a few hours late.  Flexibility is key. 

• The Unit Clerk is a key person to know on the surgery unit.  Seriously.  THEY KNOW EVERYTHING. 

Things I Learned About Myself on Pre-Surgery:

• I can be a morning bird.  I can be a night owl.  I cannot be both.  Especially on the same day. I turn into something quite wicked.   

• I can do anything for 30 days. Such as waking up for a shift at 4:30 in the morning. 

• I love people.  People are wonderful.  I thrive around people.  They bring me energy and life.  But, sometimes, after meeting with 15 families in the span of an hour, and then everyone else within another hour, I meet my people max by 10:00 am.  I have to go and put myself in isolation just to regroup and center myself.  

• I love stories.  I love hearing people's stories.  One of my favorite aspects of Pre-Surgery round is being able to hear patient's stories.  It doesn't happen every time, but when it does, man oh man is it special. 

• The foam in/foam out procedure KILLS my hands.  I have to wash my hands every other foam, and even then, my hands start to remind me how much they dislike the foaming.  

• Chaplains are the one person people can kick out of a room. And that's ok. If people can feel an ounce of control or power by asking my out, that is perfectly fine.  I make sure to leave them with a blessing, if not in the room, as I step outside and hand sanitize.

• Knowledge is power, but when it comes to pre-surgery, ignorance is bliss.  Especially in regards to the medical procedures being done to patients.  There is something in letting the patient's tell me what is going on with them.  I play a bit dumb (but really, I don't understand half of what the medical stuff is) and let them articulate what's happening.  This saves me from having to google a medical term, which I have found often does not end well. 

• I google more medical terms than I want to admit. And then I spend some time convinced I have that/will get it etc. 

• Laughter is medicine.  Humor can break down barriers and walls and transform a space, a face, and many a morning.  I love laughter.

• I need about 30 minutes after I wake up to just wake up.  This often involves my coffee and some Morning Edition from NPR. By the grace of God, I have about a 30 minute commute where both of these things are addressed. 

• Not the last thing I've learned, but maybe the best reminder I've remembered on Pre-Surgery - the Spirit works in wonderful and mysterious ways.  I never know how God's gonna use me when I walk into a room with a time limit maxed at about 5 minutes, but I know God is at work within me. It's another part of that wonderful, mysterious, and sometimes confusing way that God calls us into God's ministry.  And within all that mystery and within that 5 minutes, I know it is enough, and I am enough.  

Praise be to God!

"What do you do?" Part II

OK.  So there's been a bit of some time in between part one and part two, but all for the sake of learning!  A typical day in my life of a Chaplain at a hospital is quite varied, as I suggested in the other post. 

Here's what my day is often quite full of:

Me being awkward. 

Me having lots and lots of feelings.  

I can't emphasize the feelings business.  Praise the Lord that we have plenty of time and willing hearts and ears to hear about said emotions. 

If you change phone to pager, this is an accurate statement of what happens more often than I would like. Who would have thought all those times in the early 90's when I was jealous of my mom's pager, I would be getting one! My heart does weird palpitations when the pager goes off, and sometimes, I do go to bed praying the pager won't go off.  But it does.  And when it does, you do what you need to do to make sure the needs of the patient/family/staff are met.  It's good problem solving/triaging skills.

 

We write quite a bit.  Between charting for our patients, copious amounts of email communication, and writing a verbatim, there are so many words.  SO. MANY. WORDS.  And I normally love words.  But, I'm just kind of overwhelmed with all the words.  The talking, the writing, the reading, the talking some more, and then writing some more.  It's not always hard per se, it just often seems overwhelming. 

I pray a lot. THIS IS NOT A BAD THING.  Just an observation.  And it's often "off the cuff whatever is in your head and heart" kind of prayer.  Sometimes after I pray, I'm not a 100% sure exactly what I have said.  I ask patients if there is anything I can pray for specifically, and my heart just melts sometimes with responses.  Some mornings I feel the Spirit ever so present and at work.  And even on the mornings I don't "feel" it, I know the Spirit is at work in ways I can't imagine. 

(I would change this image to say, "Can I pray with you?", I'm more of a "with" person than a "for".)

 

More often than not, I get rejected when I walk into a room or ask if they would like a prayer.  I don't take it personally (for the most part).  I just realize I am one piece of the many pieces that make up a bigger puzzle picture.  In our CPE group, we use the image of planting seeds.  In this way, it is much like working in youth ministry.  You plant seeds and aren't ever really sure how they will take root and grow.  Sometimes you're blessed to see fruition come of ministry, but often times you just continue praying and holding them in your heart. It's a humble reminder that it's not about you, and God works in wondrous and mysterious ways, ways I will often never get to see. 

 

I hold hands more than I ever imagined.  This is one of the most powerful things I do at work.  Holding hands with a stranger takes some vulnerability on both parts.  I can relate with many patients in needing a hand to hold.  Most of the touch they receive here at the hospital is not at their request - it's blood being drawn, poking and prodding, and can be quite invasive.  While we all want healing of our bodies, it often does come at a cost.  I see patients who yearn for wholeness in their bodies yet tremble at the thought of another needle, another exam, another surgery, or another test.  I often joke in pre-surgery with patients that Chaplains are the one group of people at the hospital who will ask nothing of them - not even a signature!  To be responsive and accepting of the simple touch of a hand, the patient has the power to decide what they want - a power that often has been taken away while in the hospital. 

(Sometimes when joining hands with people, it can get a little awkward.)


Chaplains do many things. We help with Advance Directive and Medical Power of Attorney paperwork. We help with Decedent care paperwork.  We greet families in waiting rooms, we grab extra blankets for cold patients, we offer prayer or we sometimes offer jokes.  We meet patients where they need to be met, and we do it in the name of the One who calls us. 

When I enter a room, I pray that God will allow me to love this child as God loves them - unconditionally, with compassion, and remembering that they indeed are part of God's good creation.

 

The other day I decided I felt a bit like Patch Adams (without swimming pools of spaghetti). For the most part, I have the luxury of time to sit with patients and hear their stories.  In fact, that is one of my favorite parts of the job - hearing people's stories - honoring them and allowing them a safe space to share. 

 

So, I hope you feel you have a bit more insight into what exactly I do here at the hospital.  Every day is different, bringing new challenges and new blessings into my life.  It can be chaotic and tiring, but too can be calm and comforting.  Some days are uglier and smellier than I would like, but than some days the beauty and wonder of life are ever present.

All I can ask of each day is that God uses me as God's instrument.

 

 

"What Do You Do?" Part I

I've just started my 4th week as a Chaplain Intern at the lovely UT Southwestern Hospitals.  These weeks have been jam packed full in a way I've never experienced. I've been musing over just where to begin in writing about these experiences, and decided to start with some of the basics.  A question that has been asked both by myself and by others throughout this journey so far has been, "So, what do you do, exactly?" 

 I've asked this question to our mentor chaplains, often with stars in my eyes as I look up to them in awe and wonder. 

I seriously look like this at the "real" chaplains. 

Since being "on the floor" and being "on call", I find I get asked this multiple times a day, by patients, patient's families, and yes, even hospital staff.

There, too, have been times when friends or family ask me exactly what this internship is...what do I do every day?

Well, I finally feel like after three weeks, I can kind-of-sort-of-possibly-in-a-not-so-detailed way tell you what we do.

IN THE BEGINNING...

When we first started on June 2nd, we (the chaplain interns) were basically sponges, absorbing everything in training.  It kind of reminded me of my first week at seminary where I wrote EVERYTHING down and then realized I'd have to look up the definition of EVERYTHING and felt incredibly lost and overwhelmed.  

Everyday I went home those first couple of days I felt a bit like a robot (or how I imagine a robot would feel...).  I could function, but wasn't sure my head was connected to the rest of my body.  And I was so super de duper tired, and all we were doing was absorbing.

Who says learning isn't exhausting??

This was a recurring thought, almost daily hourly every minute.

The good part about this internship is that it isn't intentional in being overwhelming, but that is part of working in a hospital.  Ask any nurse, doctor, hospital staff, or administrator about working in a hospital setting - there is ALWAYS something new to learn, or to do, someone to talk with, or some form of paperwork.


Lot's of paperwork probably.


 In fact, I can guarantee there will always be paperwork. 

So, what do we, Chaplain Interns, do?



This is what we did the first week:

I am not kidding.

 All around the hospital.

We followed like good little ducklings, occasionally getting scattered by something - a page - or a first visit, by ourselves(!), or just overwhelmed.  We were introduced to so many faces and places.  We toured the hospital almost daily and still got lost.  We coordinated calendars.  We asked millions of questions.  (Ok, at least like 20 questions.) We went places that are not for the faint of heart.  We interns sat together at lunch and got to know one another.  We did just about everything together.

We followed our mentors like this:

Ok.

 I followed my mentor like this.  It was like having your giant security blanket with you at all times and not being a "real" chaplain.


Well, that ended real fast.


My mentor sent me into some rooms for some cold calls.

ALONE.

And we were told, for all intents and purposes, we are the "real" chaplains.

(That was day three, by the way.)

Since then, I've daily continued to learn exactly what we as chaplains do here at UT Southwestern Hospitals.
I say "daily" because what we do differs from day to day.
While our instructions might be the same, the patients differ.

 The situations differ.

The timing differs.

Our feelings change.

It is an ongoing journey, day to day.

So, stay tuned.

There's more to what we do.

All Things in Common

ALL THINGS IN COMMON

  42 They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.  43 Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. 44 All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45 they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46 Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts,47 praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.   – ACTS 2:42-47

A Canadian, Fin, Swiss, American, Frenchman and some Germans walk into a room and sit down together.

No, this is not the beginning of an awful joke, but an actual thing that happened to me just over a month ago. 

Before I knew I would be preaching on this text, I was invited to study and reflect on it with a group of complete strangers, about 5,000 miles away from here at the Taize community, 3 ½ hours outside of Paris, France.  I was the American of that group mentioned, and the diverse group was my Bible study group for the time I spent at Taize.  Our smaller group was the “older young adult group” out of the sixty or so adults participating in the Bible study.

For those who aren’t familiar with the Taize community, let me share a very brief statement describing the community from their own website:

“From its beginning the community has been inspired by two aims: to live in communion with God through prayer and to be a leaven of peace and trust in the midst of the human family. A stay at Taizé is an opportunity to seek communion with God in prayer, singing, silence and reflection. Experiencing a simple life shared with others reminds us that daily life is the place where Christ is waiting for us.”

A bit of a broad statement, but I think it does explain in a “kind of sort of way” what exactly Taize embodies.  My bible study group that week was composed of people who had years of experiences at Taize, as youth, as young adults, and now, as “older young adults”.  When those of us who were first timers would ask for them to explain what Taize meant to them, the answer was this:

{Exasperated sound and eyes looking up to the heavens and waving of the hands}

For many – time at Taize isn’t something easily articulated.  It truly is something experienced – some of us might liken it to a week spent at Mo-Ranch, Montreat, Ghost Ranch, or even General Assembly.

But there we were – a group thrown together for the week just because Brother Andreas asked who wanted to be considered the “older young adults”.  Bible study came mid-morning in our days.  We began our mornings with worship, followed by breakfast, then with Brother Andreas leading us in a lecture of sorts on a text and theme. We were then asked to reflect on our own and later came together with our group for sharing and reflection.  My group was about as random and as diverse as you could get – language, careers, schooling, family life, and more. Some were Protestant, some were Catholic, and some were just believers.  

When Brother Andreas introduced this text as our scripture lesson on day five, my first impression was a bit of eye rolling and a “hrmph” type noise of the semi-ridiculous images that came into my mind.  I mean, doesn’t this sound a bit too good to be true?  Devoted people who break bread and pray, full of awe by the wonders and signs? People who have “all things in common” and sell all they have to give to the poor?  These people spend all their time together and are glad and generous, and have goodwill of all the people.

Does that mean they don’t ever think those thoughts I sometimes think towards people, you know – the thoughts that normally creep in when I’m in a rush and have lost my patience and no one around me seems to notice that – those thoughts? And come on, really – they have “all things in common”?  Even on my seminary campus this statement is a stretch to say!  We actually celebrate more what is different about us!

This image given in Acts of the early church – of these early believers-it doesn’t look exactly like what is happening in my church, or my life. 

Yes, I break bread, and prayer is a daily part of my life. And there are times I am filled with awe but I’m not sure if I’d say it is because of “wonders and signs”…and as much as I love all God’s children in this world, some days I feel at my limit of loving!

I also cling to my worldly possessions; yes, I donate on regular basis things I’m no longer using, but I still have a closet full of clothes, and some tubs full of crafting tools, and more books than I have time to read!  And looking at the numbers of church growth right now isn’t something I do on a regular basis due to the steady decline.

What are we supposed to be looking for in this passage from Acts?  Is it meant to be a report card of sorts to hold yourself or church accountable to, like I just did, and feel a tinge of guilt? 

I wonder.

I’m grateful for the reminder from Beverly Gaventa, Distinguished Professor of New Testament at Baylor University, that this community of believers didn’t always live up to this ideal presented (Gaventa 2003).   What is stressed in this passage isn’t what or what not the individual is doing, but what the community embodies – worship – fellowship – prayer – breaking bread – being together.  Maybe it isn’t so much they “have all things in common” but are explaining their sharing of “all things in common”. 

One theologian reminds us that this book of Acts is an open ended story – because it continues today in our own churches.   (Willimon 2010)

I read this with a sigh of relief, and too with a bit of humbleness.  I am relieved that this idealized burgeoning church isn’t a report card check list for my ministry or church. 

This is an active community.  This church community is IN fellowship – not only in the temple, but in their homes.  They break bread together and gather at the table. And we know things happen at the table.  When a community eats together, it is a mark of unity, solidarity, and deep friendship – a “visible sign that breaks down social barriers”.  When this community blesses and breaks bread together, the table is transformed into a holy place – and eating becomes a sacred activity.  The Spirit is alive and well and at work through the teachings, through their fellowship, through the breaking of bread, and finally, through their prayers.  This is a community of believers who are embodying gospel centered living.

In addition to the relief, I mostly am humbled.  It seems in my first reading I completely ignored what this text speaks to – I made it about myself and my own interpretation of the church community, and less about the community itself.  This is a vision of a community committed to mutual support – as Timothy B. Hare says, “a group gathered in one heart and one soul”.  It isn’t about what I bring into the community (!), but it is about how the community is “empowered by the Spirit to inspire radical and hopeful change in the lives of others” (Hare 2010).   This community has repented, been baptized, and they have received the gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38) and now they are responding to the divine work of the Spirit. 

Awe and wonder.  Devotion to teaching, fellowship and prayers.  Breaking bread with glad and generous hearts. People responding to the divine work of the Spirit. People, empowered by the Holy Spirit, who are able to inspire radical and hopeful change.  People who respond.

There is a man who so fully believed in this radical and hopeful change that could come from a community that spoke of God’s love that he worked to build such a community.  He found it essential to “create a community with men determined to give their whole life, and who would always try to understand one another and be reconciled, a community where kindness of heart and simplicity would be at the centre of everything”. 

It is a community where many stand in awe and wonder.  It is a community devoted to the apostle’s teachings, to fellowship, and to prayers.  It is a community where bread is broken often and in abundance, with many glad and generous hearts.  It is a community that strives to be a presence of love among all the people of the world, those present in bodies and those present in spirit.

It is a community about 5000 miles away in the French countryside, established by Brother Roger.  It is a community that many believers, questioners, and wonderers can journey to and witness the Spirit at work.  It is a community where a Canadian, Fin, Swiss, American, Frenchman and some Germans can be a community devoted enough, or at least curious enough, to spend time in worship and fellowship.  It is a community where ancient words are spoken with new life, where the breaking of bread breaks down boundaries, and where church becomes a tangible, visible expression of the work of the Spirit.

My week of worshiping in the wilderness with my group of new friends in Taize shed some light on this text. Much like those early believers in the book of Acts, there we were sitting and listening to teachings and fellowship, participating in the breaking of bread and prayers.  Our teachings came not only from the brothers and scripture, but also from each other.

  Our bread was “gingerbread” from the Taize kitchen, or chocolate from our home countries, with cups of coffee from Brother Clicks – the vending coffee machine.  This bountiful feast was for all and shared with glad and generous hearts. There was a humbling awareness of God’s presence in the midst of human mortality – in shared stories of sorrow and pain but peace in the silence and prayers that followed. 

Have you seen this? 

Have you stood in awe because of wonders and signs being done?  Have you seen such devotion to teaching, fellowship, or prayers? Have you been a part of a community such as this?  

This response is not limited to this beginning church in Acts, or a community in the French countryside, but for the ever changing and dynamic church that continues today. 

I see this church, this community at work today – in HANDS for Cambodia, a non-profit organization dedicated to providing health care, health education, clean water, and community development to those in need in Cambodia.  Addressing not only the physical and mental health but also the spiritual health of the people they serve, this community works to transform killing fields into living fields. I’ve been privileged to watch this group develop, and I can tell you, this is a community that is inspiring radical and hopeful change and responding to their being claimed by God through their baptism.

 I see this church alive and thriving especially on bus rides back from a place called Mo-Ranch.  On busses full of sweaty, exhausted, and sometimes smelly middle schoolers who cannot help but grin giant grins when reflecting on a week of worship, fellowship, teachings, breaking of bread and prayers with other youth their age. And you can bet there is awe and wonder during those weeks, found at Vespers on the tennis courts looking at the stars, or by sponsors witnessing a sharing of all things in common  - from a box of Oreo’s to hugs.  These memories I have of the bus rides back embody for me this blossoming church, this community where something that can’t quite be articulated has taken root and is changing not only those where it has been planted, but those around them.

This passage from Acts invites us to continue to nurture what has taken root, not only within us, but among us, as a community of disciples of Christ.  We’re called to live out this community and bear witness to this community. This community will call us into a room full of strangers, but we’ll leave knowing we are loved, claimed, and called. 

Praise be to God.

Bibliography

Gaventa, Beverly Roberts. The Acts of the Apostles. Nashville: Abingdon, 2003.

Hare, Timothy B. "Acts 2:42-47 - Homiletical Perspective." In Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide, by Barbara Brown Taylor and David Bartlett, 424-429. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010.

Willimon, William H. Acts: Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preachin. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010.