He took the body down from the cross and wrapped it in fine cloth. Then he put it in a tomb that had been cut out of solid rock and had never been used. ~ Luke 25:53 In my junior year in college, a close friend of mine died from a rare form of cancer. Suzie and I were "those friends" who loved to laugh, go out to eat, and enjoy concerts together. I remember one concert where I dressed up in a black and white zoot suit. Suzie wore a beautiful black and white polka dot dress and a pill-box hat, with white gloves, to attend a Manhattan Transfer concert at the Indiana University Auditorium. We laughed and danced, posed for pictures, and didn't want the night to end. She had undergone successful surgery where doctors at IU had already opened her chest, removed the tumor that reached from her lungs to her heart. She was proud of the scar that started just at the base of her neck. She would point it out, and tell everyone, "and they filmed the whole surgery. I'm famous."
I wasn't there the day that she died. When she woke up and called her mother, telling her that she "couldn't breathe," and they rushed her to the IU Medical Center in Indianapolis. Her mother telling me her last words, "We have to learn to walk on our tippy-toes," while laughing. Only Suzie would leave this world with child-like instructions. She died about five am and her mother called me at 6 am. I was scheduled to be at work at 7:30 am, and I got up and got dressed. I remember pulling out of my driveway, looking at the sky, thinking of the words her mother had shared with me, and the tears flowed as the radio played James Taylor's "Fire and Rain." "Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone. Susanne the plans they made put an end to you..." I had to pull my car over to the side of the road. I couldn't breathe. The grief overwhelmed me and by the time I arrived to work my eyes were swollen from the tears and I could hardly talk. I just couldn't imagine that this day would not include her. I wouldn't hear her voice, laughter, or feel her hand holding mine ever again. The Saturday following Good Friday, I try to look at the sky and think of her words now. I've lived thirty-five of those Saturdays since Suzie discovered heaven. I can still encounter those emotions, and recall the words of Taylor's song as I see her in my mind. It makes me wonder if Jesus' mother remembered the words she sang the day she was told that she would "bear a child." The Biblical celebration that we all call, "Mary's Song," must have had another version for the day after he died. I am drawn to ask her, "How are you doing today?" We all fail so miserably at times to know what to say when someone has died. While Jesus would be the first to repeat that this was all, "God's plan," it simply doesn't work when we have lost someone that we love dearly, and frankly, only Jesus is the one who should ever be allowed to use these words. We never know the plans that God has for us. Only God does. Granted we assist the journey with our own decisions and choices, but ultimately, as I share with so many of my hospice families when they ask, "How much longer," do I ever say anything other than, "Only God knows." I often remind people that if they don't know what to say to a person who has just lost someone, then don't say anything at all. We forget that silence is the strongest form of communication, and holding someone's hand, or just sitting with someone, can be more healing than words that a person later asks, "Why did you say that?" The day for the disciples had to have been filled with so many, "What if's?" "What if we had just locked the door so that Judas couldn't have left?" "What it we had only listened and asked more questions?" "What if we had refused to get that colt?" It was too late. Jesus was dead, and now laying in a tomb. It was the Sabbath, and people rested. You have to wonder about those who were in the crowd? Were they remorseful for allowing themselves to be manipulated to cry out for the crucifixion of Jesus, rather than allowing for one who had killed another person to be put to death? Did they think of Jesus' mother, who watched as her son was barbarically nailed to a wooden cross and placed on display? Did they think of their words? I call the families of my hospice patients within a day or two after the person has died, if I wasn't present for the person's death. So many times those conversations can be filled with moments of silence. Opening up the time for the family member to share how they are feeling, or simply to allow them to know that someone was still present to listen. I have no idea of what I would even begin to say to Mary, or to John who is now tasked with caring for her. Anywhere she will go, unlike Peter who denied knowing him, she will be known as "that man's mother." The day after Good Friday, I always think of Suzie, but also of her parents who are now both deceased. Of those who mourn, and of my own losses. I can't even begin to think of tomorrow, because the pain is present, and in many ways I want to hold onto it because it reminds me that I still "feel something," about the experience. It's a day that is necessary for the church. A day where altars are empty. Where a "Hallelujah" is not spoken, and the eucharist rests. It's a day that we should be reminded that we don't always have the words to say, and that it is, "Okay." Where we are allowed to have tears without reason, and simply to be numb to the world, especially during the times of isolation that we are now being asked to live in because of this "virus." Instead of filling our day with "things," we are being invited to enter into a deeper place. A place where the love of God exists. A place where we rest and reflect. A place where God simply holds us in God's grip. G. Todd Williams (c) 2020
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"Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani?" I was a seminarian the summer that I spent several nights riding with the Chaplain for the police department in Louisville, Kentucky. My first night I remember driving down familiar streets that suddenly looked different in the shadows of street lights and darkened doorsteps.
On one particular night two men had gotten into a fight on a street corner, and one had killed the other. As we responded to the scene, the radio in the car noted a "crowd had gathered," and that there were many people trying to get inside the crime scene. The crime scene, a sectioned-off corner of the street, marked by yellow tape, just about half the size of a basketball court. Police, both inside and outside the area held people away. One of the woman, the mother of the victim, was being held by five other people. Her cries echoed through the neighborhood as it emerged from deep in her spirit. No one would let her near her "baby," as the investigation was ongoing. It was the first time I saw a man dead in the street. I would like to think that it was the only time, but our society is not like that. People publicly die, and we all have seen their pictures. It was late August, and the air was thick with humidity. In the light from a flashlight I could make out the man's face, non-expressive, already swollen from an earlier fight. This man had known pain. The chaplain and I tried to talk with the mother of the man. A younger brother of the victim asked, "Can't you just let my mom in for a moment?" I listened as the chaplain shared of "protocol," and "crime scene." My heart sank, and I realized that she would not be permitted. I looked, watched, and silently prayed. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was imagining a world that was different. A world where this man, who was still a boy in many ways, would be playing with friends, and his mother, laughing and telling others about the joy she had. I watched as they placed the body in a bag in front of the crowd, lift him onto a stretcher, and then allowed his mother to come to her son one last time. She fell onto the bag that now contained her son's body and she wept, screaming, and asking God, "Why did you let this happen?" There is not a Good Friday that I don't encounter this man and his mother. I read of the broken, bleeding body of Jesus on display, and I can see, smell and feel that night. On a hillside known as Golgotha, Calvary, or simply, "The Skull," as people watched, cried, and yelled at a man who was dying, Jesus was on display. Jesus, used his final breaths to ensure that his mother would be cared for. She was not much older than her son, and she watched, perhaps remembering the moment the angel first approached her and said, "Fear not." In the darkness of a barn, she first saw her child, and now in the midday sun, she watched him struggling to live. I can hear her words in the voice of the woman from the streets of Louisville years ago. "Let me touch him." I can hear the words, "Why have you forsaken me?" in the same tone as the mother asking God, "Why did you let this happen?" I hear these words echo in my mind as I have now been with countless people as they encounter final words and final breaths. Death has become my daily journey as a hospice chaplain. For me, I have heard these words far more than only on the one day out of the year that the church finds the ability to ask them boldly. We hold our breath after we utter these words. The liturgist quickly moves forward, just as we do, looking towards Easter morning when the tomb is empty and we announce, "He is risen!" It is not the first time that texts ask the question. The Psalmist shares, "My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest." (Psalm 22:2) Jesus cries out, "Why have you forsaken me?" A mother cries out, "Why did you let this happen?" A doctor must decide who gets a ventilator in the hallway of a crowded hospital full of COVID patients, "God, where are you?" We struggle to understand how we are faithful when God is silent. The images of these days have haunted humanity throughout history. Jesus cries out that, "It is finished," and dies. He dies. Years ago I sat with a family in the ER of the hospital where I was a chaplain. A young resident at the hospital enters the room and begins to tell the family all the things that they did to help their father live, and he tells of the team's failure . He finishes, and turns away. The man's daughter turns and looks at me and says, "So what did he just say?" I tell her, "Your dad has died." Death and dying itself is never spoken of in the church, except on this day. Lazarus is raised from the dead. Moses goes off and God buries him. We simply do not talk about the single event that every one of us will experience in our life. We all have been born, and we will all die. It is a harsh reality, and I have often thought that this is why we have such difficulty with death and dying. Our faith communities fail us, and comments like, "Part of God's plan," and "Heaven needed another angel," do not serve us well. I encounter families who have tried every last single "experimental treatment," only to find that their loved one is still going to die. The moment we take our first breath, we are one breath closer to our own death. I have often wondered to what depth Jesus understood his journey? To comprehend that one single life is lived in order to be the sacrifice for all humanity is hard for any of us. Jesus tells the disciples, "I will only be with you for a short time longer." Today is the day that we remember that Jesus died. It is the day that we are given permission to ask, "My God, why have you forsaken us?" To open our eyes and understand our own mortality. To look at the world and understand that we are violent. That the world is not perfect, and that mother's and sons, fathers and daughters, brothers and sisters, and friends, will all encounter the moment when this life, "Is finished." Today is the day we need to remember that we are in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 As soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him. So Jesus told him, "What you are about to do, do quickly." ~ John 13:27 Years ago a friend that I had entrusted in so much turned out to be someone that would inflict great pain and woundedness. I knew from his past relationships with people that he could "be like this," but I aired on the what I was experiencing first-hand, and hoped that I would not go the path that many people had, but unfortunately... it proved to be a bad choice on my part.
We only know of the initial "follow me" requests among the first disciples. Judas is often thought of as the "mysterious disciple," who enters biblical history as the one disciple who betrays Jesus with a kiss for thirty pieces of silver. Jesus informs him at dinner, "What you are about to do, do it quickly." Almost an order to do it before he changes his mind, thus putting all the plans into motion. I can remember through seminary struggling with the notion that Judas was part of "God's plan," in order for Jesus to be crucified. I can remember being present with a family who had just lost their daughter to cancer, and a relative walking out of the room and saying, "Well you know it is just part of God's plan." The idea of betrayal and woundedness, in some way associated with God, is something we all struggle to understand. The friend that I was referring to earlier was a proclaimed Christian, and we had even attended church together. His prayers were humble and I always felt that his actions were sincere. Jesus knew. Jesus insisted that he do what he needed to do in order that the "Son of Man" might be glorified. In order for the resurrection there had to be a death and the tomb experience. In many ways I realize that the death had to be public. The man who had ridden into the city on a colt, that was welcomed by the people, had to be crucified in a place and way that all might see. To watch, and to know, that he was put to death. "What you are about to do," is the face to face encounter with betrayal, and it begins with everyone sitting around a table. I can remember the next day after I discovered what my friend had done and how hurt I was. I struggled to understand how I could have "trusted" someone like him. I just remember the phone call I had with him, and how he openly shared with me why he had done what he had, and him telling me how I "knew" he was like this. I can only imagine what went through the mind of Jesus. The touch of the lips of Judas on his cheek, and then the "look" that must have followed. The immediate draw of a sword from Peter, as he then strikes a blow, and then Jesus healing the man who was injured. The complexity of the situation is compounded by the thought that somehow this is all "part of God's plan." For me, Maundy Thursday is filled with so many emotions, that then are met with the words of Jesus the next day as he hangs on a cross dying. In many ways, the details lead us to our own wounds, where we have been hurt by others. To see Jesus in the darkness of the garden betrayed by a kiss. Then as things escalate, the images make Jesus look all too human, and we recognize our own selves. The human condition is filled with moments where we meet Maundy Thursday. There are these moments throughout our lives that teach us, and change us. Today is just one of those days where we meet Jesus, and can walk with him in our humanity. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 "At least there is hope for a tree: If it is cut down, it will sprout again, and its new shoots will not fail. Its roots may grow old in the ground, and its stump die in the soil, yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth shoots like a plant." Job 14:7-9 Over the last few weeks, I have been spending more time in the evening watching sunsets, and the stars emerge in the darkness. In a city where we encounter "Ozone Warnings," almost daily, the time that we are being told to "remain home," is allowing the earth to recover a bit.
I think that these encounters are making each of us aware of the crucial importance of our relationship with nature. As long as we relate to the trees, the rivers, the mountains, the fields, and the oceans as properties to be manipulated by us according to our real or perceived needs, nature remains opaque and does not reveal to us its true being. If we only relate to the forest as nothing more than the potential chair, or the open field as the site of the next high-rise building, we then fail to recognize the real value of the earth. I use the word "opaque," because when we fail to see nature as anything other than property to be used, it becomes "opaque," or in our society as pollution. Over the past few weeks we have seen river canals become clear, views from space of the planet have become clearer and ozone layers have become cleaner. If there is anything that this time of isolation is teaching us, is that we do have a relationship with nature. Our urgent and difficult task is to accept the truth that nature is not primarily a property to be used or possessed, but a gift from God to be received with gratitude. When the earth was created, God announced that, "It is good." If there is something that our current experience is teaching us is that we need to give thanks for rivers, oceans, fields and mountains that offer to us, not just their beauty, but also a place for us to live. I hope that as we continue moving forward that the opaqueness continues to become more transparent and reveal to us their real meaning. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 I will sing of your steadfast love, O Lord, forever. Psalm 89:1 There wasn't a dedicated team to come and clean up the palms and cloaks that had been thrown before the colt who carried it's first rider just the day before. Everywhere you looked, people were still wandering, and as they gathered, the questions had to continue to circulate, "What did we just see?"
Outside the city, a few of the disciples gathered, and somewhere off in the distance, a colt was eating grass and resting. I've often wondered what was going through the mind of Jesus about now. While scripture doesn't mention the presence of Satan, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't in the shadows, waiting for the "Son of Man," to consider the offer of being able to rule over these people. "It would be so easy for you to change all of this," he whispers to Jesus. I am reminded of the times where my own pride and ego have overwhelmed the choice to do the "right thing." Jesus has not marched, but rode into town. Not on a horse designed for battle, but on something that would resemble an animal from a petting zoo. A colt. Jesus must have towered over the creature as it maneuvered through the crowd that pressed in, yelling "Hosanna! Hosanna!" This scene is the ultimate implications of the mystery of the incarnation! Where is God? God is where the streets are lined with people who are weak, vulnerable, small and dependent. God is where the poor are, the hungry, those with disabilities, the mentally ill, the elderly and the powerless. How can we know God when our focus is elsewhere? If there is one thing that this Palm Sunday taught me as I shared with our church virtually, is that I realize more each day that our faithfulness will depend on our willingness to be present where there is brokenness, loneliness and human need. One thing that we are all learning about the church at this point, is that the church will always have a future. It just may look a little different. We can continue to search for ways to live and grow in belief, even during this time. We can also learn to find new ways we can support each other. I realize that the only way for us to stay well in the midst of a world that is telling us to stay home, is to stay close to the incarnation of God, Jesus, who arrived on a colt, vulnerable in a crowd of people. We are to find ways to invite the incarnation into our lives, and in our hearts. Often we forget that the incarnation of God, the Christ child, and Jesus the man, is within us. When we discover this, no matter where we find ourselves, we can truly cry out, "Hosanna!" God is with us, "Emmanuel!" Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 “May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.”
A cold, damp morning here along the Gulf. It rained throughout most of the evening, and there is still a chilled breeze stirring. As I watched a mourning dove attempting to maneuver around one of our bird feeders, I noticed that she would continue to eye the birdseed that was still just inches away.
She finally surrendered the cause and flew off, only then to be replaced by a squirrel who knocked seed to the ground where the dove easily could celebrate success. Nature is interesting to watch, and I'm especially grateful for these moments during this time that is filled with so many uncertainties. As we prepare for Palm Sunday tomorrow, we are passing out palms in a "drive thru," fashion at our church this morning for an hour, and then will leave some by the front door for those who might want to come by to pick one up. Our doors will remain closed tomorrow, but yet, we will gather through virtual means and wave our palms in unison, as we continue to keep our eyes fixed on the memories of us gathering together in our little church, children laughing as they waved their palms last year, and the sound of music as we proclaimed, "Hosanna!" The dove this morning reminds me that we are learning to adapt our spiritual life for something that still brings us closer to the Divine. Like the desert fathers and mothers of early Christianity, we have entered into places of solitude, and now are being asked to join one another in spirit. Our eyes can still remain on Jesus, as he enters the city. We can always raise our hands in praise, our palms in celebration, watch and see as he enters the gates of our hearts. I am reminded that we are being invited to pray. To keep our eyes on the Divine. The incarnation of Divine Love, and the expression of God's infinite compassion. Jesus is the visible manifestation of God's holiness. Jesus is all beauty, goodness, gentleness, forgiveness and mercy. We are being reminded that outside of Jesus, we struggle to be found. We are being invited to no longer look elsewhere. Jesus speaks the words of eternal life, reminds us that he is both food and drink, the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Jesus is the Light that we need when we are faced with darkness, the lamp on the lampstand, and the house on the hilltop. We remain focused on the Holy One, Beautiful One, Glorious One, who is also our Redeemer, Guide, Consoler, Comforter, Hope, Joy and our Peace. May our eyes never grow dim as we look to You. Wherever we may be on our journey, let us not lose sight of Your hand, as you reach out to us to guide our next step. Let us keep our eyes on You as You keep us in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 “The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.” ~ 1 Corinthians 15:42-44 Years ago a pastor friend of mine always referred to the church as, "The people of resurrection." I think for him it somehow made this life that we are all living a little easier.
We all have problems, especially when you consider the world at this moment in time. We are not only faced with our own need to distance ourselves from one another, but we are also confronted with the fact that people are dying and there is death. It is not the happy ending to our life's struggle, nor has it ever been hidden from us. As we look to the resurrection, we realize that the resurrection is God's expression of faithfulness to Jesus and to all of God's children. The stone being rolled away and the empty tomb is the action to God's words to Jesus that Jesus is God's, "beloved Son", and that love is everlasting. While we too cannot avoid our own dying experience, God also speaks to us and reminds us that we are the beloved children and that God's love for us is everlasting as well. So many of my conversations with hospice patients is not about how they will die, or when. Many of them already have a good understanding of their own illness journey, and by the time I meet them, they have already been diagnosed with the life-limiting illness or condition that brings them on to hospice. No, most of my conversations have to do with heaven, and what heaven will be like? How will it look? And how will we all know one another? The resurrection for us is God's way of revealing to us that nothing that belongs to God will ever disappear. We will always belong to God. Remember the valley of the shadow of death that the 23rd Psalm speaks of? Within the context David shares, "Thou are with me." Belonging to God means that God's hold on us is stronger than death. Love is stronger than death. The resurrection doesn't provide the answers to our questions about life after death. In fact, in many ways the resurrection invites us to a place where we are silent, without the questions, but where we find simply... trust. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 Jesus went on to say, "In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me." ~ John 16:16 I just spent the last hour sitting with the wife of one of my patients. She suffers from Alzheimer's, and was busy working on a puzzle, while her husband was sleeping comfortably in the next room. "I don't know why 'they' think that I don't know what's going on?" she said to me.
Before I realized it, I was adding pieces to the puzzle, helping her discover pieces with the colors "gold and black," as she requested, and we found that we were working in synch with one another. "Colors are my life," she explained. "I used to wear dark colors all the time, but then when I got older, 'poof, look at me now," as she showed off her bright green shirt and blue pants. I complimented her on her outfit and then she looked at me and asked my name again for a second time and then said, "It's so nice of you to spend time with me today." She noted the surgical mask hanging from my shirt pocket that I have been wearing to make visits. "You know, we all wear masks. Some people wear very interesting masks that prevent us from seeing who they really are." She continued, "I've always thought that you should let people see you for who you are. One thing that this virus, or whatever you want to call it is doing, is teaching us how important masks can be, but now for keeping us apart from one another. I hate that part. We have to be with each other. We have to be able to see each other's face. It's like this puzzle. Not being able to see each other's faces is like the missing part of this puzzle. Something's missing." She then turned to the cat that walked into the room and asked her daughter, "When did we get this cat?" Her daughter looked at me and smiled. I needed this moment. I needed the wisdom of a woman with Alzheimer's, working a puzzle, and just reminding me how important it is to be present with one another. As I was leaving I shared with her daughter that this might be my last face-to-face, in person visit, as we are being asked to do more of our visits through virtual meetings. It dawned on me what Jesus might have been feeling, knowing that he was soon going to be distant from those who he had spent miles walking beside each day. John, in his gospel, captures Jesus sharing, "In a little while you will see me no more, and then after a little while you will see me." We wear masks. We are distancing ourselves from one another, and make plans to be apart for a "short time." All through this experience I have to ask and wonder, "When this is all over, and we no longer have to wear masks, will be allow others to see us as we are?" For now, each of us seem to be facing some interesting days ahead. I'm grateful for this moment during all the chaos, and for the reminder that there still exists opportunities for us to be present for one another... even if it is from behind a mask. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 "Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness." ~ Lamenations 3:21-23 This morning I watched online as the team of healthcare workers I serve with for hospice gathered together for our weekly meeting to discuss our patients. It has been three weeks since we sat around the same table and shared. We are all feeling the the distance between one another, and yet, we were still together as we talked about conversations with patients, what we are seeing with them, and experiencing when we are present with them, whether it is by phone or in person.
After three weeks of meeting like this, I realized that this is becoming a new "normal," for us. We can now maneuver through patient records, give up-to-date information, without struggling to keep our conversations moving forward. Today it was also good for us as we moved to a format where we all saw one another's faces. In some way, seeing one another is also a sign of hope. We have not been forgotten! It is central in the biblical tradition that God’s love for God's people should not be forgotten. It should remain with us in the present. When everything is dark, when we are surrounded by despairing voices, when we do not see any exits, then we can find salvation in a remembered love, a love that is not simply a wistful recollection of a bygone past, but a living force that sustains us in the present. Love transcends the limits of time and offers hope at any moment of our lives. Stay in God's grip! G. Todd Williams (c) 2020 |
AuthorRev. G. Todd Williams is the author of the book, "Remember Me When..." and is a former hospice chaplain and pastor. Archives
February 2024
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