A recent conversation brought up the idea of reality checks. Reality checks are those things, people, or events that bring me to realize that there are things I am not seeing, not acknowledging, not taking into account as I make my daily decisions.
I am fairly good at noticing things what other people are avoiding noticing in their own behavior or beliefs. I can spot someone else's denial or self-deception at ten to twenty paces.
But my own? Not so much.
Like when I am given as a gift by the Men's Group at the church a little book called "Meditations for Men Who Do Too Much." Sure, it was well intentioned, even if it was off base. It was off base, right?
Recently I woke the Mrs. and asked her to drive me to the local ER. I was having chest pain, worse than any bouts of reflux I had ever had, and all the usual remedies for heartburn weren't working.
After a night's stay in the hospital, with a follow-up stress test, and some other stuff, my ticker is just fine. The problem was/is gastritis. Too much acid in the stomach. A problem that can lead to reflux and esophageal spasms, which mimic heart attacks, as the heart and this part of the esophagus use the same nerve cluster for pain.
(Before all the messages come in, yes I know that a reflux attack this time does not mean that next time isn't heart problems. They share the same nerves after all. This is why I went for the stress test and the follow-up doctor's appointment.)
All of this, and some pestering by family members who know my family's heart history, have been a massive reality check for me.
I know that I have a stressful job, between pastoring and chaplaincy, and that a baby on the way (see here for more on that topic) does not lower the stress. My blind spot was my lack of adding enough appropriate coping behaviors.
Some things I have started doing include:
1. Saying "no." I have recently been asked to hold an office of leadership within the Association (a regional body within the United Church of Christ), to chair a committee within the association on which I serve, as well as several other things. All of these positions are important. I have something to offer in each of these positions. I am not saying I am the best person for each of these, but I could do some good in them. Instead, I have declined. My plate is full. There are enough things of importance to which I have agreed. To spread myself any thinner would require me to lose focus on what I am already doing.
2. Getting people I trust to help hold me accountable. Some of these folks are already people I have been in conversation with. But I am now ready to hear them when they speak of rest, sabbath, exercise, etc.
3. Practicing what I preach. This is perhaps the hardest: admitting that I have been doing a poor job at those things I counsel others to do. So when I preach on keeping the Sabbath, I need to go back and reread the sermon and not merely be a speaker or hearer of the word, but a doer as well.
4. Prayer. I pray all the time. I have a list of people I pray for. I have times of leading prayer just about every time the church gathers. But do I listen? Do I cultivate the silence I so easily commend to others? The answer is no. Now it is time to work on it.
Throughout all of this, I am thankful to those who love me enough to continue knocking upon my hard head until I finally answer. I am thankful that my ER reality check was not as serious as it could have been.
What remains is to do the work of doing less work. If I figure that out, I will let you know.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
A Change in Thinking
I have loved preaching ever since I started. Researching, meditating, writing, teaching, storytelling, connecting with a congregation, and all the other pieces of preaching are things I truly enjoy.
I am coming to realize that my preaching has changed over the past few years.
When I first started, I wanted to give people a message, and have them receive it the way I intended it. I wanted control over the message I was preaching. I would work hard to craft a well-turned phrase, and try to deliver it "just so" to move people to see things how I see them.
Now I am more interested in inspiring people. I am letting go of the futile effort to insure that the message is received as transmitted, and trying more to deliver something that will spark the faithful imagination and creativity of those who hear.
Where this is leading, I cannot tell yet. But it is enjoyable to see a difference in how I am walking this journey.
I am coming to realize that my preaching has changed over the past few years.
When I first started, I wanted to give people a message, and have them receive it the way I intended it. I wanted control over the message I was preaching. I would work hard to craft a well-turned phrase, and try to deliver it "just so" to move people to see things how I see them.
Now I am more interested in inspiring people. I am letting go of the futile effort to insure that the message is received as transmitted, and trying more to deliver something that will spark the faithful imagination and creativity of those who hear.
Where this is leading, I cannot tell yet. But it is enjoyable to see a difference in how I am walking this journey.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Quoting Uncle Walt
Found amidst the Interwebs, thanks to Wedgewood Baptist Church in Charlotte, NC:
We are, all of us, children of the biblical text. We have been conceived and birthed, generated and summoned, given life, by this text and none other. This text keeps having its say among us, by translation and interpretation, by commentary and proclamation, by study and enactment. We must always again, always afresh in every circumstance, come to terms with it.
We spend our life struggling with this text, sometimes struggling for the text, sometimes struggling against the text. The text always has its say among us; it will not go away. Its voice is a haunting one, sounding promises, uttering commands, voicing stories, proclaiming oracles, ejaculating pain, authoring hope. The voice of the text haunts us because we know very well it is a human text filled with endless critical problems—and yet we hear in
it the very voice of God: majestic sovereignty, awesome holiness, passionate grace, weakness made strong.
Because of this text, which will not go away or finally keep silent, we live haunted lives, filled with yearnings for what is not in hand, promises not yet filled, commands not yet obeyed, desires not yet granted, neighbors not yet loved. The old text becomes new text; old story becomes new song. For all those reasons, in gratitude and awe and fresh resolve, we celebrate the new, revised translation, made freshly aware by it that we are indeed haunted children of this haunting text.
And because the text will not go away or be silent, we are destined to be endlessly haunted, uneasy, restless, and on the way.
-Walter Brueggemann
We are, all of us, children of the biblical text. We have been conceived and birthed, generated and summoned, given life, by this text and none other. This text keeps having its say among us, by translation and interpretation, by commentary and proclamation, by study and enactment. We must always again, always afresh in every circumstance, come to terms with it.
We spend our life struggling with this text, sometimes struggling for the text, sometimes struggling against the text. The text always has its say among us; it will not go away. Its voice is a haunting one, sounding promises, uttering commands, voicing stories, proclaiming oracles, ejaculating pain, authoring hope. The voice of the text haunts us because we know very well it is a human text filled with endless critical problems—and yet we hear in
it the very voice of God: majestic sovereignty, awesome holiness, passionate grace, weakness made strong.
Because of this text, which will not go away or finally keep silent, we live haunted lives, filled with yearnings for what is not in hand, promises not yet filled, commands not yet obeyed, desires not yet granted, neighbors not yet loved. The old text becomes new text; old story becomes new song. For all those reasons, in gratitude and awe and fresh resolve, we celebrate the new, revised translation, made freshly aware by it that we are indeed haunted children of this haunting text.
And because the text will not go away or be silent, we are destined to be endlessly haunted, uneasy, restless, and on the way.
-Walter Brueggemann
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Advent moments
Mary Oliver is a poet who has won national awards as well as my own admiration. At one point I had heard she had passed away, and was greatly saddened by the news, but now discover that such news was premature and "greatly exagerated," as Mark Twain would say. My relief is bested only by my gratitude.
In a recent collection, called Red Bird, Oliver writes the following
I think she has much of the state of our current situation well in hand. Similarly, Luke had the situation well in hand when he wrote in his Gospel
And it is into this Empire, then and now, that Christ comes at Christmas, with a message and a life beyond that which empire can handle.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
In a recent collection, called Red Bird, Oliver writes the following
Of The Empire
We will be known as a culture that feared death
and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity
for the few and cared little for the penury of the
many. We will be known as a culture that taught
and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke
little if at all about the quality of life for
people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All
the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a
commodity. And they will say that this structure
was held together politically, which it was, and
they will say also that our politics was no more
than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of
the heart, and that the heart, in those days,
was small, and hard, and full of meanness.
In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria.
And it is into this Empire, then and now, that Christ comes at Christmas, with a message and a life beyond that which empire can handle.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Health Care as a Commodity?
It occurred to me during a recent discussion around the currently debated health care reforms, that underlying the current debates are assumptions that rarely see the light of day.
On the one hand, arguments for current means of health care provision look at health care, in the form of insurance and access to facilities/medication, as a commodity. Like all commodities, it is to be valued according to the market, as mediated by insurance companies, legislation, and other factors. It is to be used by those who can afford it, who will hoard it if possible.
This commodity is sometimes in the form of an employee benefit. Like the use of the company car, if one loses one's job due to illness, or if one's employer can no longer afford it, one must do without or pay for one's own.
Those who cannot afford either insurance or out-of-pocket health care have few nets in place to catch them. One of the big ones is the local Emergency Room, which is required to assess and stabilize, though not necessarily treat, serious medical conditions. For hospitals which are required to offer treatment, usually a county hospital ER is required. The use of an ER as a primary health care provider often means putting off getting timely care, and runs up the cost to the hospital and to the taxpayer through otherwise nonrecoverable expenditures.
Under the commodity model, there is only so much to go around, so providing for more means less for me.
There is another assumption at work within the discussions of those seeking reform. Adequate basic health care is not a commodity but a fundamental human right. As a recent Facebook meme put it:
No one should have to die because they cannot afford health care. No one should go broke because they got sick.
Here is where the underlying assumptions clash. The commodity idea is intimately linked to capitalism, which in our time expresses itself in rapacious acquisition, rabid individualism and sees limits upon the available amount of any given commodity out there. So attempts to move beyond current models get labeled socialism and the specter of rationing is invoked. The human rights view of health care is intimately linked to community based thinking and a view of being one's brother's keeper which flies in the face of the ideals of individual achievement and control of commodities.
So the question for us in our time, is health care a commodity or a basic human right? Similar questions are also being asked of related areas, such as clean water, clean air?
In the U.S., much of the church has overly allied itself with capitalism. It often seeks to offer better ways for people to cope with the pressures of achieving individually, and strategies for more personal acquisition. Preaching on God's commandments are often limited to those which deal with individual sins, and we have a particular fondness of focusing on sex, usually someone else's.
However, we find that when the prophets speak to Israel for "three sins and for four," quite often they are being condemned for idolatry. This idolatry is intimately linked to not caring for the poor, the widow, the orphan, the foreigner in their midst. Such prophetic oracles, so often quoted around end of the world ideas, speak far more plainly and openly about taking care of those in need.
Jesus spoke of the purpose of following him as the love of God and the love of neighbor, acted out in concrete ways and with real bread, real care, and real relationships.
The apostles took caring for people as a matter of life and death in ways that the church has never been able to muster the guts to replicate since.
I believe if we are to be faithful as Christians, then health care has to be much more than a commodity to be used by those who can afford it and hoarded against those who cannot.
Unless we want to be Egypt, Babylon, or Rome. And by my reading of the Bible, those empires don't fare too well.
On the one hand, arguments for current means of health care provision look at health care, in the form of insurance and access to facilities/medication, as a commodity. Like all commodities, it is to be valued according to the market, as mediated by insurance companies, legislation, and other factors. It is to be used by those who can afford it, who will hoard it if possible.
This commodity is sometimes in the form of an employee benefit. Like the use of the company car, if one loses one's job due to illness, or if one's employer can no longer afford it, one must do without or pay for one's own.
Those who cannot afford either insurance or out-of-pocket health care have few nets in place to catch them. One of the big ones is the local Emergency Room, which is required to assess and stabilize, though not necessarily treat, serious medical conditions. For hospitals which are required to offer treatment, usually a county hospital ER is required. The use of an ER as a primary health care provider often means putting off getting timely care, and runs up the cost to the hospital and to the taxpayer through otherwise nonrecoverable expenditures.
Under the commodity model, there is only so much to go around, so providing for more means less for me.
There is another assumption at work within the discussions of those seeking reform. Adequate basic health care is not a commodity but a fundamental human right. As a recent Facebook meme put it:
No one should have to die because they cannot afford health care. No one should go broke because they got sick.
Here is where the underlying assumptions clash. The commodity idea is intimately linked to capitalism, which in our time expresses itself in rapacious acquisition, rabid individualism and sees limits upon the available amount of any given commodity out there. So attempts to move beyond current models get labeled socialism and the specter of rationing is invoked. The human rights view of health care is intimately linked to community based thinking and a view of being one's brother's keeper which flies in the face of the ideals of individual achievement and control of commodities.
So the question for us in our time, is health care a commodity or a basic human right? Similar questions are also being asked of related areas, such as clean water, clean air?
In the U.S., much of the church has overly allied itself with capitalism. It often seeks to offer better ways for people to cope with the pressures of achieving individually, and strategies for more personal acquisition. Preaching on God's commandments are often limited to those which deal with individual sins, and we have a particular fondness of focusing on sex, usually someone else's.
However, we find that when the prophets speak to Israel for "three sins and for four," quite often they are being condemned for idolatry. This idolatry is intimately linked to not caring for the poor, the widow, the orphan, the foreigner in their midst. Such prophetic oracles, so often quoted around end of the world ideas, speak far more plainly and openly about taking care of those in need.
Jesus spoke of the purpose of following him as the love of God and the love of neighbor, acted out in concrete ways and with real bread, real care, and real relationships.
The apostles took caring for people as a matter of life and death in ways that the church has never been able to muster the guts to replicate since.
I believe if we are to be faithful as Christians, then health care has to be much more than a commodity to be used by those who can afford it and hoarded against those who cannot.
Unless we want to be Egypt, Babylon, or Rome. And by my reading of the Bible, those empires don't fare too well.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Borrowed Words: Donald's Worries
I am borrowing from the church newsletter article written by my successor at a previous church. Then again, she borrowed from Erma Bombeck. Who in turn was borrowing from a young boy named Donald who was worried about school. So I don't feel too bad about borrowing.
How often do those who have no church background or a different background than ours feel like this?
How often do we assume we are supposed to bleed quietly, not let anyone know our hurt, our pain, our brokenness?
How often do we assume no one will know our name?
Donald's worries about the start of school are all too real for way too many people who need a kind and gentle welcome into church.
My name is Donald, and I don't know anything. I have new underwear, a loose tooth, and I didn't sleep last night because I'm worried. What if the bell rings and a man yells, "Where do you belong" and I don't know? What if the trays in the cafeteria are too tall for me to reach? What if my loose tooth comes out when we have our heads down and supposed to be quiet? Am I supposed to bleed quietly? What if I splash water on my name tag and my name disappears and no one knows who I am?How often do we feel this way in church?
How often do those who have no church background or a different background than ours feel like this?
How often do we assume we are supposed to bleed quietly, not let anyone know our hurt, our pain, our brokenness?
How often do we assume no one will know our name?
Donald's worries about the start of school are all too real for way too many people who need a kind and gentle welcome into church.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Uneven Steps
It seems strangely right that the bed and breakfast has such uneven floors and stairways. It is an old building, which has surely settled over many years. And we are taking new steps into strange and uncertain territory as we listen to Brueggemann extol the radical interpretive moves made in Deuteronomy, and so in our faith and preaching, so having uneven steps just makes sense.
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