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.

Rattle the bones

On Sunday our family attended the 150th anniversary celebration worship service of the Second Baptist Church in Elgin, IL. This prominent African-American congregation was started in 1866 by a group of 125 slaves who escaped from Alabama and arrived in Elgin in a boxcar. It's a necessary story; read it here.

Our mostly white congregation, the Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren, and Second Baptist have been sharing the fourth Sunday of January for over 15 years, exchanging choirs and pastors in a cross-town effort at understanding and solidarity. It's not much, but it's a little bit of something that means I already felt mostly at home walking into their sanctuary.

The service was magnificent, a rich celebration of the history of a people and a church, a strong and hopeful declaration of significance in today's world, and an anticipatory expression of a future of faith and civic leadership.


One moment that washed over me and stirred the deepest parts of my soul was a powerful dance presentation by Divine Movement,  a group of young women of the church. Their dance recounted the pain of the slave experience with a tangible rhythm of suppression, suffering, and dehumanization. It ended with a forceful declaration of liberation, healing, and the strength of human dignity. It moved with faith and freedom.

I, a middle-aged white male who has enjoyed every privilege that my birth has afforded me, really have no idea what that dance meant to most people in that room. As I watched, the young women communicated in no uncertain terms the depth of their African-American experience, and those around me in the congregation responded with knowing.


The part of the dance routine that told the story of slave bondage, however, disturbed my soul. My body felt the wrenching of the restraints, the beatings, and the struggle. Or at least I felt what might have been some small sample of that experience. I began to feel the oppressive power, and the will to resist. My body was uncomfortable. Tears were present. My soul was straining to access this narrative even while it was begging to escape it.

So many emotions accompanied those moments, and have lingered with me in the early days of this week. I know they will eventually dissipate for me, and I will be left to conjure them through memory. And this need to recall is one key aspect of what I, a person of privilege, have learned from this experience: For me, the dance imposed itself into my emotions and thoughts, challenging my experience and bringing to light my complicity. It made me uncomfortable. It caused me to think and feel things that I have not thought of or felt before. It challenged, at least in a small way, who I am and what I know to be true in the world. But it is not part of me.

For those young women dancers and the African-American faith community of Second Baptist, however, that dance released some of the deepest parts of their soul and experience as humans. It was more than a reflection on history; it was the lifeflow, the heartbeat of a people, a rare and raw moment in which the flood of this dehumanizing scourge of slavery was released for everyone who was in that room to feel, and claim, and wrestle with. Perhaps the connection is strong because the horrifying narrative continues to be written today.

The statistics are awful for non-dominant culture folks in our country. Mass incarceration, murder by authorities, institutional patterns of exclusion, prejudice, and fear still limit the life possibilities of too many non-white people, and African-Americans in particular. We are racist and perpetuate structured racism.

I know these realities intellectually. I've heard the hard stories of my African-American sisters and brothers. I've looked at the data. I've visited museums and historical sites. I've done some work along the way to be a better steward of my privilege. And I continue to do these things.

But in that dance, in that dance, that dance.......

There are really no words to describe it. I don't get it. I never will.

But I could feel it. It was full of power. It was raw. It heated the marrow and rattled the bones. It was fully human and fully divine. It was heartbreaking and hopeful. It was long in suffering and strong in overcoming. It was resigned to humanity's failed condition and insistent on God's sovereign plan.

There is no room for bigotry, hatred, superiority, racial divisiveness, fear, and murderous ways in Jesus-land. What I felt challenges me to examine my own privilege yet again and to put into action more things that make for justice and healing. I need to do my part. You need to do yours. Together we need to do ours.

Sitting in the sanctuary of Second Baptist Church on that 150th Anniversary Celebration day was a blessing. I am humbly grateful that I could be present, and that I was a part of the congregation which received such powerful truth through Divine Movement.

May the Holy Spirit rattle these middle-aged white male bones some more, and inspire all of us to dance our way to a world of justice and peace.

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.

The myth of "self care"

For decades, well-meaning people have told me to take care of myself. Often it's the common, innocuous parting wish, simply stated "take care." When I am not well, it's offered as a more immediate concern, "take care of yourself," meaning "do what you can to become well again." Other times it has been offered as a philosophical admonition to participate in ongoing activities which signify self care: eat right, exercise, rest, love, participate in life-giving activities, pray, etc.

This latter instruction has actually become a nauseating mantra, popularized I think by the baby boomers, but readily adopted by most generations. Not surprisingly, it has also been adopted by the church.

Perhaps the most frequent refrain that is repeated to pastors is "take care of yourself." The line of thinking goes something like this: you have to be responsible for your own well-being, ALL aspects of your well-being. If you are responsible and take care of yourself, you will be a good pastor; if you don't, most likely you'll end up a burnt out, failed, or fallen pastor.

Same mantra goes for parents. "Take care of yourself" so that you can support your spouse better and be fully present in your children's lives. And it goes for us as employees as well. "Take care of yourself" so that you can be at your best when the pressure is on in the workplace.

I believe this sentiment. We need to have self-responsibility. We need to take action in our own lives to support our own well-being.

But I also don't agree with a word of it. Nothing I do is ever isolated enough to consist solely of self-care. If self care were to be true, I wouldn't be married, wouldn't have kids, couldn't be part of a church, couldn't pursue gainful employment, and couldn't enjoy avocations. Unless of course I'm an entirely narcissistic person, which no-one who ever tells me to practice self care would endorse.

The truth is that I get to make very few choices based exclusively on the need for self care. When I make food choices, because I share meals with my family on a daily basis, they are actually family decisions. When I choose to go for a run, I do so with a keen understanding that this choice will affect the daily rhythm of my family's life. When I say I need rest, someone, somewhere is not getting time or attention that they need equally significantly. If I go on retreat, I am shifting the burden of daily responsibility to others.

As the father of a special needs child, now young adult, the idea of self-care is almost laughable. When I run out of energy to deal with Ben, I can't just "turn him off" and go on a retreat. At best my wife and I can secure a respite caregiver to spend a few hours or even a few days without him, but during that time we'll receive at least 50 phone calls from him and live with the lingering fear that something will go dramatically awry. When it does go awry, there is no choice but to deal with it, irrespective of my need to "take care."

As I said earlier, the church repeats this mantra to its leaders all the time. It's one of the cardinal rules of pastoral ministry and church leadership. "Take care of yourself." What I've seen most often, however, is that the church's needs almost always supercede any effort a leader makes at "self care."

What do I mean? Let me count the ways. Financially. Take care of yourself, but we will pay you only what we can, not what you need. Time. Take the time you need for yourself, but only after you have met our needs, and only until we need something else from you (pastors "on call" during vacation). Family. Make sure your spousal relationship is strong, but don't forget you're married to the church. Don't neglect your children, but don't forget they're in the spotlight right alongside you. Spiritual life. Pray, read scripture, retreat, but mostly when it's convenient for us and in the end for our benefit. Behave. Always maintain composure and professionalism, even though the church will protect people who behave atrociously toward you. Play nicely. You must "take care" so that you can function transformatively in an organization that refuses to deal with its own shortcomings, pathologies, and sin.

I'm sure there are more.

I recently wrote a blog post about care. You can read it here if you haven't already. But it's not self care. It's community care. It's friend care. It's the grace-filled care of God.

We DO need to find better ways to take care, to take care of each other. Instead of a congregation telling it's pastor to use his/her vacation, how about building a strategy with the pastor so that the vacation is actually refreshing. Give them extra money to spend. Make sure there are alternative pastoral coverage people in place. Ask them to turn off their cell phone, and covenant not to leave urgent messages. Plan to complete work that needs to be done while they're away, not just put if off to double the load when they return. Mow their lawn and feed their pets. Stock their refrigerator for when they return.



What ways does your church care for its pastor/s? What other ways can you think of? I know some churches are working hard at shared care already. What can we learn from you?

Like I said, my beef with self care is not intended to get us off the hook for making better choices and following through. But I do think we need to examine how our ideas of self care are embedded in our culture's selfish and self-serving defaults, and how self care is at odds with a Christian perspective on relationships. Rather than a call to abandon self care, there's an opportunity for us to pick up shared care. There are lots of words for these alternatives to self care: compassion, friendship, covenant, mutuality, community, love.


It's a very rare day or hour that I feel capable and privileged enough to practice self care. The rest of the time, the vast majority of the time, I absolutely cannot do it alone. I wish we could stop pretending that we can take care of ourselves. I pray that we will stop putting the pressure on one another to take care of ourselves. Instead, let's take care of one another, extending grace and caring support so that together we might be well.

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.