I recently celebrated my 7th anniversary with my current congregation. As I look back I am surprised that I am celebrating such a milestone, while at the same time it doesn’t feel quite that long…strange.
Just after my arrival I met a man who was diagnosed with cancer. We have shared quite a journey together over the past seven years. He is back in hospital and learned recently that his cancer has spread to muscle. For the past few years he, his wife and I have fallen into specific roles…his wife cries, I get angry and he accepts whatever is thrown at him.
A bit more than a year ago I asked if he wanted to discuss his celebration of life. He politely but firmly told me that he wasn’t ready. And I accepted that, telling him I would be ready whenever he is. Last Sunday when he was readmitted to hospital he told his family that he wanted to talk to me, that it was time to have this conversation. So I headed up, notebook in hand, to have, what we both knew, would be a difficult conversation.
He is a father and grandfather. He is a devoted member of a local service club. He is a tireless worker for the Church and is more on fire for the Lord than anyone I have ever seen. Whenever I am shaking my fist in anger he takes my hand and tells me, “it is what it is”. such wise words.
Today we celebrated communion around his hospital bed, with each of his daughters and his beloved wife. It was a very emotional experience, as this is the first time we have all shared communion. I was taken aback at the sacredness of this hospital room. Portable xray machines and staff coming in and out of the room did not deter what we were gathering to do. There was a tremendous respect from the medical personnel who were tending to his room-mate.
We joined hands in prayer, offering prayers and praises to God, giving thanks for the joys and bounty of this life and asking for peace as my friend and parishioner reaches the end of his life. I found myself saying words that we were all thinking but otherwise afraid to say aloud. A sacred hush filled the room as we finished the Lord’s prayer, and each one of us had tears in our eyes.
At times like this I am reminded of the sacred journeys that we take as members of the body of Christ. I am always astounded at the weight of the sacred when we stand together in the presence of our Creator. We have shared so many moments of joy together, and many moments of loss. Eventually we will have these moments only as memories, but I suspect these memories will be sacred.
When I was posted to this parish I was given only one instruction: love them. And I have. This family has taken me into their own and welcomed me. My parishioner was particularly wonderful when my father was dying and I was so very angry. He sat and listened to me as I ranted and raved that it “wasn’t fair” that my father should have to suffer. He gently and lovingly took my hand and said “it is what it is” with a shrug and a smile. He wasn’t ignoring my feelings, rather he was reminding me that there are many things over which we have no control. And he was right.
I shared with him today that he has taught me so much about patience and grace. He has taught me about understanding and acceptance, whether I like the outcome or not. As he begins his sacred journey back to his Creator, I am reminded of the incredible gift we are given as clergy. We are taken into people’s homes, their lives and their souls, as members of the family.
I expect to have many more hospital visits with my parishioner. Each and every one will be treated as a sacred moment in time, as it will never be repeated. And eventually the visits will end. My heart will break when the time comes that he returns home to God. It will hurt as much as it did when my own Dad died. And I know that God will give me the strength and the Holy Spirit will give me the peace I will need to say what needs to be said. And to comfort those who need comfort.
When we can silence ourselves, in the midst of crazy busy-ness, then and only then can we turn to hear, to truly hear the voice of the one who loves us the most. It is only when we truly surrender our power that we can feel God’s love surrounding us. There are some things that we are not meant to know. We may not like it; I know I surely don’t; but we must learn to live in that tension.
Another lesson I learned from my parishioner. In his wise words “it is what it is”. Thanks be to God.
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