Heart holes

Two weeks ago I found out that I have a hole in my heart. It's just a tiny hole, or at least the doctor thinks so. Tomorrow's test will be more conclusive. There's no reason that I should have known earlier, although it's been there since shortly after I was born, when the foramen ovale didn't close as expected.

One out of four people have this PFO, although only some know it's there. Mine was discovered when I went to the emergency room to explore symptoms resembling a heart attack and stroke. Blessedly there was no heart attack and no evidence of a significant stroke, but an echocardiogram done with bubbles revealed this heart defect.

When a PFO is present, there is a risk of stroke. Clots can travel through and to areas of the heart and brain that otherwise would not be allowed. These clots can obviously cause problems. 

I am glad that the problem was discovered prior to a major episode. Now it can be monitored and/or repaired as required. 

Not everyone is so lucky with their ailments. I'm thinking of my niece Marica. I'm thinking of my Aunt Joyce. I'm thinking of former colleague and friend Mary Jo. I'm thinking of Uncle Dick and Evy. And Dudley. And Mark. And so many others who had some type of "hole" that wasn't diagnosed or couldn't be treated effectively enough.

Actually, this is the second time I've discovered a hole in my heart. A few years back, without knowing what it was, I experienced heart-hole symptoms. Unfortunately there was no e.r. to go to for that particular hole. It wasn't treatable with an aspirin a day, and there was no "button" or "umbrella" procedure to close it permanently. 

My attempts to self-medicate weren't sufficient, either. In fact, they were harmful. 

In her book "Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy," Anne Lamott talks about how we "fold" ourselves in order to show achievement, to protect those around us, and to shield ourselves. "We got creased in those places such a long time ago that it seems hopeless to begin the great unfolding now. Our integrity got broken. ... Big parts of us got broken, parts of our hearts, minds, and beings." (pp. 46-47)

When I read these words this week, I was reminded of the hole in my heart which had been forming for many years of my life, and which only around 2012 began to show through my folds. It emerged as an existential crisis, an identity crisis, a professional crisis, a spiritual crisis and a marriage crisis. Some might categorize it as a mid-life crisis. The process was painful and rough for me and many others around me. I definitely didn't handle it all well, but perhaps that's exactly what uncreasing the folds reveals: that anyone can have a hole that isn't easily closed. 

"I want to unfold. I don't want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie." These words from Rainer Marie Rilke, which Lamott quotes, resonate deeply with me now. Much of my life had been a lie, not in the willful, agnostic sense, but rather in the obedient, suffering sense. In the end, however, I found what I needed for the resulting hole to heal. And I learned that life without folds leaves one vulnerable, and some may take advantage of that vulnerability, but in the end it's the only way to live.

Hearts and holes are on my mind this week as my Church of the Brethren sisters and brothers gather in Grand Rapids, MI for the Annual Conference. This ecclesial body had a lot to do with my first hole. I went to many conferences with my heart hole hidden away in a fold.

I think there are a lot of heart holes converging on the convention center and Amway Grand Hotel this week. Some folks are well aware of their holes, where they originated, how they've been (mis)treated. Other folks are living with so many folds that they have no idea whether or not there's a hole, or how big it might be. Some might suspect a hole, but don't really want to know.

Collectively, I sense a big hole in the heart of the body right now. Again, some see it clearly, others not at all, and some simply ignore it. 

There are two approaches to heart holes (trust me, I've experienced them both!). One approach, ignoring it and concealing it, made it much worse. If it had been a biological hole, it would have killed me. Since it was an emotional and spiritual hole, when it finally showed up there were no physically fatal consequences, although there were some incredibly agonizing and difficult steps toward healing. 

The second approach, like with my PFO, shows that when we know something's not quite right, good pursuit of symptoms can lead to significant discoveries. Those discoveries then lead to a thorough exploration, and the information gathered from the exploration will determine active steps to live better with or correct the problem.

Something is not right with us Brethren. There is dis-ease among us. No matter our theological ideology or our political -ism, we feel it. There is a hole in our heart, and has been for quite a long time now. We've tried covering it up. We've tried folding it in. We've tried any number of "treatments." And yet it's still there. 

I wish I knew what the solution was. If it were as easy as writing the 'correct' position paper on any number of topics, I suspect it would be cured by now. But it's not. If energetic blended worship could fix it, we'd be all better. If an adequate amount of ice cream and toppings were all it takes, our consumption would have cured us. But none of this has happened.

The symptoms are still prevalent. Leader attrition. Pastoral burnout. Fighting. Mission abandonment. Distracting folds. Non-essential activity. Judgement. Fear. Self-righteousness. Division. Power play. 

The cure for a broken heart is pretty elusive. The pain from a broken heart is incredibly hard to share, both to offer and to receive. The fix for a degenerating condition perpetuated by poor habits and years of folding is terribly uncomfortable to confront. 

There is a liturgical element that might help us here. Confession may be the most powerful healing practice we have. (and the most under valued one) Confession is the act of unfolding, of exposing the heart holes, and facing our lies. In the openness between us and God, in the fullness of Christ's community, the healing begins. 

If we Brethren have a hole in our heart, as I suspect we do, it's time to acknowledge the symptoms, press out the folds, and begin healing. What would happen if in place of new statements or stronger speeches or better insight sessions or substituting leaders or more lively worship we would enter a season of confession? Not just a few minutes, or even a few hours, but a season. Days. Months. Years even? Of course the Annual Conference program and agenda are already determined for this week, but what if.....???

Tonight I am praying for heart holes and their healing. For my own heart holes, both of them. For the heart holes of friends I know well. For your heart holes, even though I may not know you personally. For the Church of the Brethren's heart hole, as elusive and hidden as it may be. 

My prayers resound with confession, that precious act of faith which declares that there is hope in the face of the unfolding. Hope is known by many names: Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. 

Mostly, though, we know it as Love, the kind of love that heals heart holes. 

I would be weeping

Today, for the second day of a three day party marathon, we celebrated our son Ben's 22nd birthday. As an adult with Williams Syndrome, a genetic deletion that makes many aspects of daily living a challenge, Ben can at times stretch his father's patience and stamina.

But Ben is a beautiful human being. He is the friendliest guy you'll ever meet. His smile is amazing. His empathy is deep. His ability to remember you is nearly unmatched. He sees you as a friend, instantly and forever. He is a lover of people. 

I am so proud of Ben: all he has accomplished in his 22 years, the hearts he has softened, what he has learned, how he has grown, the dreams he has for his life.


As I've scrolled through headlines today, I have been struck by a pretty simple question: How do the parents of our current political leaders see their children, these white men in power, making decisions to further disenfranchise the poor, to obscure the rights of so many people, to dictate life choices for women and LGBTQ friends, to recklessly destroy our environment, to pursue wealth at the expense of others, to threaten our world through state-sanctioned bullying, and to disregard the health needs of millions of Americans.

If these were my sons, I would be weeping.

As a father I am humbled to have an eldest son (and two other kids as well) that understands the most important aspects of life: to love, to share, to look out for one another, to smile, to remember, to befriend, to care.

I would be weeping; but when I see my child, all I can do is smile.

Our Counseling Culture: Saving us or ruining us?

I had been seeing a really awesome counselor for over a year. He helped me work through a bunch of pretty intense and painful things. But then I left my job, and my insurance changed, thus ending my bi-weekly visits. A few months out and I've been reflecting on the role of a counselor in my life, and the role of counselors in our society. Here I'll wonder out loud:

Is our counseling culture saving us or ruining us?

Saving us: why we need these companions on the way

1.  Counselors help us work through some really tough stuff. They may not have seen and heard it all before, but they've seen and heard enough to sit there and take anything we can dish out. Deep grief? There beside you. Burning anger? Got it. Huge questions? Go ahead. Weighty depression? Understood. These trained professionals won't shy away when our going gets rough. In fact, they'll lean in and help us find a way through it, as much as they can.

2.  Counselors are safe. We know that when we share something with a counselor it won't come back to haunt us. It won't be shown sympathy today and then used as ammunition tomorrow. They won't collect our stories and then broadcast them to others. They're not a part of the gossip network. We can say what we need to say, and they will protect it.

3.  Counselors are, as stated in point #1, professionals. At least the ones that I'm talking about are. They are trained and continually monitored to ensure that they are doing good and not causing harm. There is not a lot of room with a professional for "good intentions." They have particular knowledge about how to listen and support their clients, and then know when they're in over their head and need to suggest different help for us.

4.  Counselors keep the focus on us. They make sure that we're doing work on the things that we can work on. Ourselves. There's no dodging our own crap, or ignoring our own goodness. We're constantly redirected to the next level of self-understanding, whether it's encouraging or hard.

5.  Counselors want us to get "better." They really do. I believe they have our best interests in mind. The counselors that I have known have an inherent belief that humans are good, and that even when broken, damaged, or failed, our human calling is to health and well-being. That health looks different for each of us, but our counselor never gives up on us.

Ruining us: why we should think more critically about our companions

1.  By saying that counselors are our "only" safe space, we are failing to cultivate the types of vulnerability required for intimate relationships. Why can't, and shouldn't, we have friendships that are equally safe? What does it take to have friends and communities of people that allow for such vulnerability? Why we are satisfied with and/or resigned to professionalizing our spaces of vulnerability?

2.  If we depend too much on our counselor, then we become lazy. We can get away with not asking ourselves the questions because we expect the counselor to ask the questions. We can stop thinking on our own because our professional will think for us. Yes, it can happen.

3. Counselors keep the focus on us. Here the downside is that we are reinforced in our already-present narcissism. The problems are about me. The struggle is about me. The solutions are about me. But very few if any things are ever so exclusively about me. Of course good counselors help us understand our systems, but they're always our systems.

4.  Counselors rely on our sickness to maintain their financial wellness. This reality is not meant to imply that counselors would keep a client on in ways that are not necessary, or that counselors are money-grubbers. At this point professionalism (and insurance companies!) step up for some checks and balances. But admit it: there is a whole, huge, economic system built on people's pain and fragility. Should our suffering and struggles be an industry?


5.  Counselors provide an excuse to divest from others. When confronted with the anguish and struggle of those around us, we can get away from it by asking, "have you seen a counselor? Maybe you should." Too often I hear this statement as code for "I don't want to deal with you and your stuff" or "I just don't have the time." Come back after you've worked it out with your counselor, and I'll see if I can work you back into my life.


I don't really believe that counseling and counselors are saving us or ruining us. I do know that mine has been a tremendous help to me, and I know lots of people who swear by their counselor. I also know a few people that I think should go see a counselor. In the end I support that counselors can and do play an important role in mental health.

But I also earnestly wonder what the impact is for our culture when it relies so heavily on professionals to help us address our emotional condition.

Maybe I'll ask my counselor. I just got approval from my insurance provider to go see him again.

Perceived enemies

"When things get bad, you create a perceived enemy, 

especially when there is already resounding endorsement from all quarters. 

The myth grows greater than the reality. 

All human beings do it -- personally and politically." 

 from The Music Room by Namita Devidayal, p 106

Things must be bad. We have created so many enemies.

Not only have we created enemies, but we have turned our perception into a palpable vitriol, expressions of suspicion and hatred that rub across our skin like sandpaper and work their way into our soul like grains of sand. But those grains of sand do not turn to pearls. They become festering wounds, infected sores within ourselves, and between us. They become symptomatic of the harsh landscape of which we are a part.

To combat those sores, to fight the pain, to overthrow the "enemy," we turn to the powers we hold and unleash them.


When my wife was being treated for her severely infected gall bladder, the doctors pushed large amounts of strong antibiotics into her system. Through i.v.s and pills, they sought to overwhelm the infection with a violent force that would drive it out of her body, or kill it off. The problem is, however, that like in chemotherapy, the aggressive fight against infection can also damage the good cells and actually compromise the immune system. That is indiscriminate power.

We see such power unleashed every day in our world. Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, Michael Smith, Lorne Ahrens, Michael Krol, Patrick Zamarripa, and Brent Thompson.

Where have we gone so wrong? I wish I knew. I am tired of hearing that my black brothers are being gunned down. I am tired of hearing that police officers are being picked off while they serve to protect. I am tired of Chicago celebrating that we had "fewer" murders and "less" gun-related violence on this 4th of July weekend. I am tired of the toll of wars and bearing the weight, small as it is for me personally, of the rumor of wars.





But this movement in which a myth grows greater than the reality...... This movement is one I understand. It happens in my head, so it's not hard to imagine that it happens in much larger ways in the world. I am a worrier, so things often become realities in my thoughts even though they are far less (or far more) substantial in concrete life.





We perpetuate and feed these myths, but why? I wish I knew.

Actually, what I really wish I knew was how to stop them.

I wish I knew how to stop the myth that there are no structural barriers to racial equality.

I wish I knew how to stop the myth that to advance the cause of justice for one person or group of people is necessarily to dismiss, demean or devalue another.

I wish I knew how to stop the myth that power exercised by blunt force will produce sustainable peace.

I wish I knew how to stop the myth that everyone should be able to do "it" on their own, to realize that great American dream, to pull themselves up by their bootstraps.

I wish I knew how to stop the myth that white people are superior to people with darker skin tones.

I wish......

          .........so many things.....

But wishing, no matter how bright the star, will not get me, will not get us, anywhere.

I wasn't a fan of the show "Myth Busters" the way many people were, but I do appreciate the effort to take things that are commonly thought to be true and actually test them. I am, however, a big fan of snopes,com and wish more social media users would take 30 seconds to check their stories before perpetuating them.

In fact, it's a simple place to start when we want to move beyond wishing. Start by asking questions.

Ask things like "is this factually true?" "How is it that I consider my sources trustworthy?" "What is an alternate point of view?" "What is the energy behind this point of view?" "What am I afraid of?" "What am I hoping for?" "What would the other in this situation say? Better yet, what do you say, victim, perpetrator, bystander?"

Ask things like "I wonder what it feels like to be _______ (in that position, or those shoes)?" "How am I feeling, and where did those feeling come from?" "Could I be wrong?" "What does it mean if I'm right?" "What more can/must I learn?" "What is my power, and how can I utilize it responsibly?"

By asking questions we challenge the endorsement of an unreality pointing toward the necessity of an enemy.

The myth we're living with these days is that things are getting bad, that enemies are lurking around every corner. Maybe instead of jumping on the bandwagon we might ask some questions and consider the inquiry of others.

Gus and me - photo by Samuel Sarpiya

Today I visited an amazing outreach in Rockford, IL. You can read about it here. The mobile lab was parked half a block behind a house in which there was a shooting last night. One of the kids in the lab saw it happen. And yet there he was today, working and playing games on the computer.

What is the myth? What is the reality? What are the questions?

For those of us who are Christians, getting beyond the myth has a definite God element to it. The reality we seek to uncover beneath the myths we have fostered has particular characteristics. They include things like compassion, reconciliation, justice, love, joy, sacrifice, and service.

What are the myths? What are the questions?

God, help us to see a different reality,

Personally. Politically.

Maybe, just maybe....

Last evening my lovely wife had her gall bladder removed. After four days of pain and an equal number of sleepless nights, it became clear that her discomfort wasn't simply a recurrence of acid reflux. An early Thursday morning trip to urgent care proved inconclusive and unhelpful, as the diagnosis was noncommittal and there was confusion about insurance coverage (a whole other post!).

After suffering through another pain-filled morning, an afternoon visit to her outstanding primary care physician ended with a drive over to the E.R. to further explore the cause of her symptoms. Twelve hours after beginning her journey of seeking relief, she entered the O.R. with an excellent surgeon, one who had helped her two previous times. The result was the successful removal of a greatly enlarged and infected gall bladder and very large stone.

This morning, the first of her recovery, she is already feeling the improvement. From her previous seven surgical experiences, we know that Kim is a quick healer with a high tolerance for the pain that comes with that re-growth process.

It is pretty easy for me to support the pain of healing; it was brutal to see her in the pain of illness, especially when the cause was yet to be pinpointed.

We all are faced with accompanying someone on their journey of pain. Pain is a part of life. Physical, emotional, spiritual, relational pain sometimes seem to seek us out and taunt us. Sometimes we can move around pain, acting blissfully unaware of it, or pretending that we are unaffected by it. Bearing one another's pain is hard. Just hard. So we only do it as much as we absolutely have to.

There is a lot of pain in the world today. I won't run down any lists, but you've already started making your own in your head. This pain soaks deep into our soul and psyche, and it also sits like an oily skin on the surface of our lives. The pain is private and public, personal and communal. It is a real and unavoidable element of life.

Some of you will know more acutely how hard pain is to deal with. Those of you with chronic health conditions suffer in ways that those of us who are healthier cannot understand. Those of you who struggle financially experience pain in ways that those of us with more resources don't. Those of you with broken relationships and deep loneliness know pain in a way that those of us with strong friendships and intimate companionship don't. Those of you who are discounted and ostracized just because of who you are (skin tone, sexuality, age, gender, education, economics, etc......) know a pain that guys like me who sit comfortably in all the privileged categories will never know.

But just because we don't know firsthand the pain doesn't mean we can ignore it. Our privilege does not give us the luxury of brushing aside the pain and suffering of those around us. Kim's agony made me uncomfortable, but I was not going to walk away. I could not take it from her. I could not feel it with her. I could not understand what pain of 10 on the 10 scale meant for her.

But I also could not avoid it, and I would not avoid her. All I could do was stay at her side, hold her hand, advocate for her care, tuck in her sheet, pray for her, and assure her that I would remain right there at her side.


This posture toward pain is not obligation, duty, or a strategy. It is compassion.

Our world is in pain. We know it in our families. We live it in our church. We fear it in our politics. It is right beside us each and every day, seemingly ready to overtake us. Often we can't fix it. Mostly we don't understand it. Usually we try to avoid it.

But maybe, just maybe, we could start by meeting the pain with more compassion. And then maybe, just maybe, we'd wake up on a Friday morning with a different kind of pain, the pain that tells us we're finally starting to heal.