No Going Back

 I originally posted this on Facebook on October 5, 2020. 

I keep seeing posts about "getting back" to something that supposedly was "better." Back to an America that was "better." Back to an economy that was "better." Back to a discourse that was "better." Back to .....

The reality is that there is nothing worth going back to. The longing for a return to something that was familiar and that we enjoyed is nostalgia; it doesn't mean it was "better."

The God I serve is a God who calls for a continual unfolding. Things will not ultimately be "better" until God makes it so. And the fact that it has yet to be made so means that nothing that was before is the type of "better" that I want to return to, or am called to return to, or believe in returning to. It doesn't mean it wasn't good; it's just not the ultimate good.

In the meantime, what we must aspire to is a new future in which humanity both intrinsically and extrinsically demonstrates that we recognize the uniquely powerful responsibility that we've been given for one another and for the world which we inhabit.

So far we've done a pretty lousy job with that responsibility. Neither democrat nor republican is the savior we seek. We each must take action toward a more responsible future. We must care for one another and care for our environment. Our care will never be perfect, but we can do better, so much better. We need leaders, too, who care and will empower us to care.

We can start by centering not on ourselves, but on the other.

What will improve the lives of those around me?

What can I do to make life better for someone else?

What is needed from me to care for God's whole creation?

What habits, attitudes, prejudices, insecurities, and fears do I hold that I must confront and repent of in order to serve the well-being of those around me?

Pursue these things. Then perhaps we'll experience those better days that we so long for, not by returning to some nostalgic past but rather by living into our responsible, hopeful future, together.

Tired.

Facebook wanted to know what's on my mind.

At the moment I'm just sitting here being verbally abused by a 25 yo son who has no genetic ability to reason and refuses to do the things he needs to do to be safe and well (you know, like not go outside in a thunderstorm during a severe heat warning).

Lately, though, I'm feeling an exhaustion like no other exhaustion I've ever felt, and not the good kind.

I'm not sharing this for sympathy. It's nothing new. Tired's been piling up for years. It's the daily life we have.

        But here's the thing.

If you think you "know" what other people's experiences are, like white folks knowing black folks' experiences, or single folks knowing parent-with-children folks' experiences, or urban folks knowing rural folks' experiences, or neurotypical parents knowing what it's like to be a special needs parent, or doctors and nurses caring for Covid patients when you're not even a medical professional, or ..... then you aren't really paying attention.

If your m.o. is to evaluate and judge people whose experiences are vastly different than your own based primarily on your own experiences, then you have a lot of growing up to do. If you think that you "know" something about someone's situation but you've never walked a mile in their shoes, let alone taken a stride nearby, then your privilege is definitely showing.

You may dismiss or mock me and my white male privilege for being tired, and I get it. Really I do. Plenty of people have told me to "get some rest," "take care of yourself," or just "suck it up." But before you do, maybe you could come lace on my shoes.

If your experience or ideas require you to invalidate another's, your understanding is wrong. And if your primary way of moving around in the world is with disdain and dismissiveness toward people and movements and principles that you don't even understand, your memes aren't worth the bytes they're lighting up.

 As for me, I am tired.

Tired.

    ... of Covid-19. Tired of people dying.

        ... of threats. Tired of self-righteous saviors.

            ... of incompetent leaders. Tired of politics.

                ... of self-interest. Tired of broken systems that refuse to go.

        

                    ... of being angry. Tired of being scared.

                           ... of my Christian faith being used as a weapon.

                                ... of patronizing do-gooders.

Tired of being tired.

And yet, my exhaustion pales next to how tired those whose very lives are always at risk must be. I can only imagine, and learn, and show compassion, because I will never know. I can contribute to what changes I can, and refuse to leave those who are weary to just make it on their own.

I may be exhausted, but there's still work to do. It will be easier if we do it together, especially in these days with physical distancing and unclear futures.

What's REALLY on my mind, Facebook? All these things, and more.

But right now I'm too tired to write another word.

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.

I AM AFRAID

You know, I really have almost no fear about terrorists from foreign countries. I know the stats on the likelihood of being a victim, and my odds are very slim. For those whose lives have been affected, I know there is a different perspective. When any of us has our life changed by an event, it heightens our awareness of those types of things. And when they hurt we want to protect ourselves and others from them happening again. So I get why some people feel that way about terrorists, but I frankly don't share that fear.

What I fear far more are the hundreds of ways we are terrorizing each other here in the U.S. As the parent of a young adult with special needs, I am far more concerned with the hatred that our POTUS and cronies are fertilizing in my neighbor's heart and home, and when I'm honest and stop being self-vigilant for too long, the hatred being tempted in my own heart, hatred directed at the vulnerable of this world, and toward the powerful, too.

The tone of voice, the combative posture, the self-righteousness disregard of history, law, and reality, and the impulsively repulsive carnage being imposed into real people's lives is unconscionable. The lack of regard for basic human decency and contempt for those things which are beyond their own experience or far-too-limited capacity to comprehend is vile.

I don't actually hold very high expectations for government in general. I have never believed that our politicians are responsible for granting us the kind of life that, as a Jesus follower, I long for and work for. But there are certain standards of decency, postures of humility, perspectives of compassion, and a respect for humanity that I do believe serve as the hallmark for "successful" government.

Here in the U.S. I have always thought that what gave us our place of privilege in the world should be, and to a large extent has been, these things: decency, humility, compassion, humanity. Clearly we've not been perfect, for the conundrums of politics and nations frequently mean our officials are working in muddy waters. Republican administrations and democratic administration alike, I've felt for the most part that we've at least given it the 'ole college try.

I don't feel that way right now. I feel that our most powerful leaders, and many of us ordinary Americans, are instead more interested in proving self-righteousness, exercising unfettered power, satisfying greed, and perpetuating division.

Like many of you, I AM AFRAID, but what I am most afraid of is what we, of what I, am in danger of becoming. As I see it, the danger is not out there; it's in here - in my heart, and my hands, and my voice, and my actions.

Like each of you who've read this far, I love my family: my wife, our three kids, my parents, sister, cousins, you know, the whole deal. A special needs child has a unique place in the heart of a parent, and our son Ben in ours. But I am afraid for him, not because some terrorist hell-bent on destruction will come for us, but because YOU, yes YOU, my friend and neighbor and sister and brother, may fall prey to a heart of hatred.

It was Peter, one of his closest disciples, that denied Jesus three times. So before you say, "Not me," I implore you to stop, take a deep breath, and examine what is being birthed within you. Resistance is one thing; hatred is quite another.

The policies of our government will come and go. From my p.o.v. it's not primarily the policies that are the problem; it's the hardened hearts that are fashioning them, and the hearts, like yours and mine that are being shaped by them. We cannot give in. We. Cannot. Give. In. - to the hateful and dehumanizing forces that are wrestling for control.

I will start by examining what is within me. I will work, so that love will win. And, with God's help, I will not be afraid.

Oh, Say. Can you see?!?

Yesterday I was standing in a gym surrounded by amazing, brave, and loving athletes and their families, ready for a day of basketball.

As we focused our attention on our nation's flag and anthem, I could not ignore the painful irony that this week we will inaugurate a president who shows willful disdain for the very folks who are the best of what these symbols represent.

Also recited in that gym,

the Special Olympics pledge is 

"let me win, 

but if I cannot win let me be brave in the attempt." 

I would love for our son to look at the flag and hear the anthem which calls forth this courageous and honorable endeavor and know that we actually mean it, but instead, what I see and hear is a depraved PEOTUS making fun of the people I love the most, and a cadre of defendants rising in heartbreaking defense.

In spite of all this, we will not surrender hope. 

The love and bravery that filled that gym yesterday will remain undaunted. 

It is love and courage like Jesus - 

big love, 

unconditional acceptance, 

courageous inclusion, 

self-sacrifice, 

quiet power, 

all accompanied by enormous smiles.

There is no coercion. 

There are no threats. 

Bullying is wholly absent. 

Self-aggrandizement is nowhere to be seen. 

Indignant self-righteousness is mute. 

Personal preservation yields to the whole.

Teachers, coaches, volunteers, parents, friends and athletes: 

these are what is good about our world today. 

It is this good which will prevail. 

We are not going away. 

We will not be dismissed. 

We will persevere, with or in spite of or in the face of those who hold structural power.

We will win, and if we cannot win, 

we will be brave. 

Which means in the end we cannot lose the things that really matter.

Oh, say. Can you see? You will.

(originally published as a facebook post on January 15, 2017)

On Kindness

Today an envelope with no return address arrived in our mailbox. This is not unusual since many marketing firms use this tactic to draw you into their message. Typically we toss those envelopes aside and maybe, but only maybe, open them days or weeks later.

But for some reason this one seemed a bit more legit. Maybe it was the full salutation to me, my wife and family that seemed a little more personalized. I opened it.

Wow! Inside was this brief note and some cash. As I read the note out loud to Kim, both of our eyes teared up. An unexpected act of anonymous kindness. What a blessing! Our spirits indeed were lifted.

So now I'm thinking about kindness.

There really is a lot of kindness in the world. This article about Rosa's Pizza Shop, where the hungry and homeless can get a pre-paid pizza slice, is an inspiring example of how one person's kindness gave a store owner an opportunity to serve and generous patrons an opportunity to share. All it took was a post-it note or two or a thousand!

This morning while exiting a local coffee shop, someone held the door open for me and my family. There was a second door; we returned the favor. Kindness.

It seems to me that there are different types of kindness. If we pay attention to those around us we can both recognize those acts and offer them ourselves.

One form of kindness is the incidental form of respect we offer to one another as we interact around daily routines. Holding the door, saying "please" and "thank-you," offering our umbrella, speaking gently to one another, and so on, are the moment-by-moment things of kindness.

A second type of kindness seeks to inject some surprise and goodness into a stranger's life. Perhaps this form of kindness is best exhibited in the drive-through phenomena whereby I pay for the order of the person behind me in line. I likely don't know them, will never meet them, and can only imagine the smile it brings to their face (unless of course I'm lingering to watch in my rearview mirror). The drive-through employee actually gets to witness the confusion-followed-by-smile when the customer realizes that they don't need to pay for their order. Often they choose to pass it on to the next customer.

Another form of kindness is also extended to a stranger, but as an act of charity. This type of kindness is the story of Rosa's Pizza Shop. A gift is given with the expectation that someone in need, someone we do not know but who is coming up short in some aspect of life, will benefit from it.

The kindness we received through the mail today is different still. It is intentional anonymous kindness. This kindness is offered when there is specific knowledge of a need of someone we know and we reach out to help meet that need without letting the recipient know who we are. Today's gift came from someone who is aware that both Kim and I have been unemployed. We are so grateful they blessed us in this way. They chose to do so anonymously, but they did so knowingly and as friends.

Some kindnesses are offered in ways that cultivate deeper friendship. These kindnesses are those which we share openly and directly. When a friend delivers a meal post-surgery, that is a kindness which further strengthens the bonds of friendship. When someone offers to keep your kids so you can get out for a mommy/daddy date, or just get some grocery shopping done in peace, that is kindness that further builds a friendship. When your buddy spends a week on your roof helping you re-shingle, that is kindness that cements a relationship.

What other forms of kindness can you think of?

The rhetoric of today's world is often fear, separation, and hatred. But the rhetoric is not the reality. I suppose it is possible to allow the hard rhetoric of division to suck us in, but I prefer to believe that there is more power through simple acts of kindness.

Where have you witnessed kindness today? What kindness have you received today? How have you been kind today?

Thank you to our intentional, anonymous friends! Indeed our spirits have been lifted. And your simple act of kindness has encouraged me to think about how I, too, can be more kind.

Imagine how beautiful our world will be when everyone is infected by kindness and celebrating acts of generosity!

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.

Where love is

Our son Ben is 21. He is a joy-filled, loving, social young man. His heart is as big as an ocean. He wants to help people. He wants to serve.

For the last two years he has been looking forward to a week-long volunteer workcamp. In 2015 he registered to attend, but the camp was cancelled due to low enrollment. This year he and I and my dad spent a week at Camp Mardela in Maryland, working alongside other participants in this intergenerational activity to get the camp ready for its summer ministry to kids.

Three generations working together

Ben was in his glory. He helped us split wood.

Ben and his grandpa!

He raked leaves.

Ben loves to rake leaves!

He helped clear trails, paint buildings, and deep clean the kitchen. He participated in food preparation and cleanup. He prayed for a meal and read scripture for devotions one evening.

And Ben did what he does best: he made new friends. Ben is more than just outgoing. He is socially uninhibited, a trait consistent with his genetic makeup known as Williams Syndrome.

Ben also got tired and somewhat ornery. By Friday afternoon, the fifth full day of the camp, his self-control was out the window, and my relatively small attempt at setting healthy limits and redirecting Ben quickly devolved into an angry tirade by our usually joy-filled Ben.

Ben's outbursts are not unprecedented. Because the area affected by his genetic deletion typically provides self-regulation, he doesn't have all the tools he needs to use good judgement, make logical decisions, and connect behavior to consequences, especially future outcomes. When he encounters such a situation, sometimes his frustration boils over, and it's not pretty. While not frequent, such violent scenes repeat with periodic regularity.

When his anger peaks, Ben reveals a very colorful and hurtful vocabulary, no doubt picked up in high school hallways. He becomes physically aggressive, kicking, punching, scratching, and throwing anything he can get his hands on. He is strong and persistent. These are scary moments.

As Ben's parent, these tirades can be extremely disconcerting and threatening. The amount of energy required to stick with Ben through one of these instances is immense. On the last day of a physically strenuous workcamp, my energy was already depleted. Since we were at a camp, my strategy to deal with Ben's rising anger was to get him outside and move safely away from him until he could escalate to his breaking point and ultimately return to what typically follows - a contrite, compassionate young man.

There were six other youth ages 13-17 attending the workcamp, five from one youth group and the youngest from another church. At the beginning of the week I had briefly introduced them to Ben's tendencies and spoke about Williams Syndrome. They were friendly and welcoming to Ben, and Ben has never met a human being he didn't want to be friends with!

I was unprepared, however, for the level of maturity and caring from these young people. I know good kids; my wife and I have a teenage son and daughter in addition to Ben. But I also know that kids can be unpredictable. These kids were both those things: good and unpredictable.

As Ben sat alone at a picnic table working through his anger, first one, then another, and then finally the whole group of youth gathered around him and "loved on" him.

I was overcome by tears. These amazing youth surrounded Ben with patient support and caring. In those ten or so beautiful minutes, they demonstrated everything anyone ever needs to know about Christ-like love and compassion. Their simple act of friendship lifted Ben, and broke me.

This is what welcome looks like. This is inclusion. These are simple acts of kindness done toward the least of these. This moment is a human triumph. Here there are no "special needs," only a friend in need.

Thanks, kids, for relieving a weary dad, and for being a friend to Ben! Thanks for sharing the love.

Maybe the rest of us can go and do likewise.