I got a call from Bo's "hoomans" this morning before I was getting ready to take a shower before church. He has taken a turn for the worst and they took him to Columbia to the MU Veterinary School emergency room. He has been throwing up more lately. Two weeks ago, his folks agreed to put him in a study for the type of tumor he has, and part of the study is he gets four free doses of a certain kind of chemotherapy.
This morning, he awakened them with intractable vomiting and diarrhea. So they skipped church to drive the 90 miles to Columbia. I just got off the phone with Bo's folks. He was severely dehydrated, and admitted him at the veterinary school to re-hydrate him. The veterinary oncologist will see him tomorrow, and they will decide whether he should continue in the study or not.
I have been worried that Bo's episodes of vomiting have been because the tumor is now pressing against his digestive tract. Some of the food he has been throwing up has been totally undigested.
In my moments of praying for Bo and his human parents, I realize how hard these decisions are. Bo represents a time in his human dad's life when he was alone. It is hard to deal with letting him go. Correcting the dehydration is the "easy" part of this. It is where to go AFTER the dehydration is corrected that is the problem. Is there any benefit for him to remain in the study or not? Everyone agrees he is terminal...but HOW terminal? These are very hard decisions for dog owners, and they don't entirely parallel humans in the same boat, because dog owners have the option of euthanasia. No two people will react the same in this setting.
But meanwhile, I am praying that God stick with Bo and both his humans, as they all go through this difficult time.
I got to thinking of a comment I left on another blog today in relation to something that was rooted in pain and loss, and it got me to thinking about the process of healing when it comes to our woundedness, and decided to elaborate a little more.
Honestly, I don't know much about the process of how we heal after we suffer loss. But I do know a fair bit about the pathophysiology of physical wound healing. My world calls the two ways we heal from wounds either "healing by first intention" and "healing by second intention."
Healing by first intention mostly refers to wounds that are incised wounds that have been sutured. The perfect example would be when you go to your doctor to have a skin lesion excised. After the excision, the edges are sutured together. The wound heals faster because the edges have been approximated by sutures. When enough collagen comes in to hold the two edges of the area together, the stitches are removed, and a scar forms. Scars in this manner tend to be neater, lighter, and not contracted, compared to the scars of an open wound.
Healing by second intention is a much slower process. This refers to an open, gaping wound that is not sutured. It takes a lot longer for the wound to "granulate in", and the scar is more irregular, sometimes "puckered", messier. It scabs over, and the larger the wound, the more likely the scab will be damaged. The tensile strength of this wound is not as good as one healed by first intention. It is at more risk of dehiscence (coming apart) than a sutured wound is. But it still becomes at least a "serviceable" repair.
I am realizing that most of the things that lead to our own woundedness are injuries in which we are stuck letting it heal by "second intention." These are the things that happen to us without warning and leave big, gaping holes. They tend to be soft and messy for some time. The scabs are more fragile; in fact, we may well pick at the scab ourselves. They are more likely to become infected. When they scar, they pucker and leave more visible marks. When they do heal, they are more likely to break apart or become infected. But eventually, over time, they do fill in and become at least "serviceable." The scars may be ugly, or at the very least we think they are ugly and at that point, they might as well be, simply because if we see ourselves that way, "they are what we see."
How, then, do we even begin to strive for a life that "heals by first intention" instead, whenever possible?
I am going through a process in my life right now that will probably result in me "having to excise some lesions." I am not looking forward to it, just in the same way no one looks forward to surgery except "to get it over and be done with it." I realize it's either that, or let the chips fall where they may, and risk having an open, gaping wound that is not amenable to being sutured. But I know this is my best chance for having a solid, trustworthy scar...one that will lighten and fade and not need revision.
I like to think that the disciplines of my faith are the "ability to throw sutures" in this process. I think by engaging in regular and disciplined prayer and study, we up our chances of being able to stitch our wounds at a time it matters in the healing process--early on. Sometimes, the only thing that hold our wounds together and keeps them from bursting apart ARE the sutures.
But the day always comes we need to remove the sutures. Even with the sutures gone, though, their effect lasts.
But that still does not guarantee "the perfect scar." Sometimes we remove the sutures a little early, and there are gaps. Sometimes you get part of a suture buried in there and it has to fester out. Sometimes a perfectly healed wound, in certain conditions (like too much pressure) rips back open anway. This is not a perfect process.
Also, this doesn't address those open granulating wounds that heal by second intention. It is too late to suture those wounds. Sometimes those scars need to be revised, because they are unsightly, or because they do not have sufficient tensile strength. Sometimes we never let wounds heal properly because we keep picking at the scabs of them. Where are the disciplines of our faith in this?
I like to believe in this case, it has more to do with creating a favorable environment for time to heal these wounds, as does the covenant of community with which we share a common life. I will be totally honest here. I have never been a huge fan of "intercessory prayer" per se. Yet I mostly accept it because of its covenantal nature...that somehow this environment of prayer is a favorable environment that can maximize the healing powers of time and our healing potential within us.
That doesn't mean that prayer can stop a gaping wound from becoming infected. It doesn't magically protect the tissue from becoming necrotic and dead. But I think what it does do is create the best environment possible for whatever will happen, to happen.
I can't begin to understand the first thing about what "healing" is in a totally spiritual sense. But I do believe that the natural world is my window to all things beyond the natural world...and the natural world tells me that I carry scars that I scarcely notice anymore. Somewhere along the line they were healed, but I could not tell you an exact moment in time when that happened. I carry other scars that I know will always be more noticeable. But there are days I don't notice them.
I have been blessed in that my "obvious" scars are not disfiguring. Would I feel this way if I had awful, disfiguring scars? I don't know; I can't even begin to say. But I do know I trust the natural process that I see, and I know I have some disfiguring scars in my soul, even if I don't have any on my skin. I know that some of those scars have softened over time, even if they have not totally healed, and I have the ability to hope for more healing, coupled with the natural process of wound healing that I understand.
Many of you remember posting about our canine friend Bo. Here is a short update:
After several tests and a biopsy, Bo was diagnosed with a spindle cell sarcoma. The tumor is fairly extensive and the one major worry is one of the masses is near the spine. He is terminal, but no one has a good time frame on that.
Bo's mom and dad decided to agree to a study at the University of Missouri veterinary school where he can get four free doses of chemo, and after the treatment, re-assess and go from there. The chemo will not be curative, but the hope is it will shrink some of the tumor and at least temporarily give him some relief.
He is doing, well...fair. At least prior to the first dose of chemo, he was starting to have trouble keeping his food down. More than likely, one of the masses is pressing against his stomach. There is no doubt he is slowing down. But he may get a little relief there if the chemo shrinks the tumors.
I will keep everyone posted as things shake out.
Yesterday, our choir treated us to Bach's BWV1 Cantata: The "How brightly shines the morning star" one. (Hey, I'm a classical music zero, I'm doing good to know this much.) It was also a week I was acolyte, so I was struggling between my need to be "perfectly precise" in the presence of total strangers, who came to church just to hear the cantata, and to be able to sit in my little spot on the chancel and become lost within the music.
You have to realize that, as an expatriate Lutheran, Bach is considered "the greatest Lutheran hymnwriter"...and my only begrudging thing about becoming Episcopalian is missing an abundance of "Lutheran hymns." I think Germans do "passionate angst" better than the English, I'm afraid.
So I am always thrilled when we do anything with German hymn music. I was not disappointed. The choir was marvelous, as were the horns and strings that accompanied them. But as I sat there for twenty minutes, half-hiding in the recess of the wall where the acolyte sits, I think I spent half of it looking at the ceiling, hyperventilating, tears streaming down my eyes, and totally puzzled as to why this was happening.
This morning, as I do my present "planned study" of the last third of the book of Isaiah, I hit upon it in Isaiah 60:5...“Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice, because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you, the wealth of the nations shall come to you.”
Last night, I was still not hitting quite on what “it” was that made yesterday a first time experience. I think I’ve gotten a little closer to it this morning after reading this verse. It’s part of a feeling of being temporarily in the company of someone you have always, innately known you have loved (God) and the brief realization that this someone (God) loves you back...maybe more than you realized...and that although this love is eternal, this moment I was experiencing "right then" is temporary.
That is a feeling I am not used to these days. I think maybe that is part of what hit me so hard. I sat up there and realized that the place the music was taking me to was a place where I am loved in a way I’m not accustomed to...and at the same time realizing it would last only as long as the music lasted. I think it was the delight of being in the presence of something way further in my relationship with God than I usually get to be, and the sadness of the full knowledge this was temporary.
It’s because in this world, the “abundance of the sea, the wealth of the nations,” only comes to us for a short stretch at a time. It’s always edged with the knowledge that separation will occur. That’s just how it is in this world. We’re not allowed to stay there for any serious length of time, because we ARE temporal. “Beyond temporal” really doesn’t register with us. We are beings with a finite lifespan who contain a spark of the infinite, but how can we even begin to understand the infinite part of us when we are trapped in a temporal body, in a temporal existence? So when these moments of being totally connected with God occur, we can’t help but simultaneously feel the co-existence of our own temporal state. It creates a moment of unfathomable delight, coupled with the searing pain of longing.
I barely remember how to “long.” Years of waiting for things that I knew would never come, wishing for things I knew would never happen, beat it out of me decades ago. There is a place where you realize the cares of the world, the disappointments you experience through the flaws of others, the shame of your own inabilities and flaws, have scarred your heart to the place “longing” doesn’t happen anymore. Oh, maybe sometimes when people are caught in the throes of romantic love, they rediscover “longing”, but even that, over time, transforms into the day to day of “maintaining.” “Longing” changes to different forms of love...or pain, depending on the situation. Sometimes, I think, the problem of infidelity comes from just the simple desire of wanting to see what "longing" feels like again. I have a feeling that we commit a lot of sins just to "experience longing" for something or someone again, the simple desire to re-visit it.
But I sat there and realize I was doing something I had never done before. I was longing for God. I’ve certainly HIDDEN from God. I’ve LOOKED for him. I’ve been satisfied to just SIT with him. But up until yesterday, I had never LONGED for him.
I’m not ashamed to admit I am fairly afraid of that.
“Longing” has always ended up badly for me. It always results in exquisite pain. I’ve never had a single longing experience that ever ended up in a payoff. My track record is really bad on “longing.” So there is a part of me that says, “Don’t long for this. It will break your heart. Anything or anyone you ever longed for ended up being a shattered dream, broken glass on the pavement, with sharp shards that will cut your heart to ribbons when you fall upon it.”
I cannot even begin to imagine a longing that results in something good. My gut reaction is to “not long”; to resist.
But in this verse, it does not sound like I have a choice. It will be brought to me regardless of how I feel about it. I am not sure what to think of that. “Long, and it will be brought to you.” “Don’t long, and it will be brought to you anyway.” As the Borg say, “Resistance is futile.” So I have to think a little on what that means.
I just know this: I was exposed to a moment of “longing for God,” and I’m totally clueless as to what to do or think about it.
Yeah, I know, it sounds like the start of a golf joke, doesn't it?
But it's true. My priest and I sometimes chat about "the process" of his sermon-writing. Sometimes it is because he has writer's block, and he just wants to bounce a concept off of me. Sometimes it is in the context of just teaching each other about "our jobs." We sometimes like to talk about the little details of what each of our jobs entails...for him it is about "process" and for me it is a series of steps about how a particular surgical specimen turns into a set of microscope slides. Sometimes, I think it is just b/c we both like our jobs and it just comes out.
Well, I got to kidding around and started making "medical terms" for some of the different parts of the process just to give him a laugh, and here is what I came up with:
The process:
1. Sermonating—you’re ruminating about it.
2. Sermonizing—you’re writing about it.
3. Sermonoplasty--after you've written it, you're trimming and cutting and lifting it here and there to "make it pretty."
Then, of course, I could not have this conversation without some "pathologic sermon-writing conditions":
A. Sermonoconstipation....when you can’t think of a sermon.
B. Sermonorrhea—when you can write several.
C. Sermonoeructation—when you can burp one right up.
D. Dyssermonorrhea—when you have a great sermon in mind, but it’s the wrong text.
E. Dyssermonunea—when you write a sermon and it’s painful as hell and it’s supposed to be pleasurable.
F. Sermonograft—When you take an old sermon and take part of it and put some new stuff with it.
G. Sermonanastomosis--when you piece together two or more of your old sermons to make a new one.
H. Sermonoflatulence—When your sermon is just smelly air.
(Yeah, I had him laughing!)
Lent is coming. Get ready to be penitent. Even if no one cares.
If you ever follow snopes.com, you know what a FOAF is, a "friend of a friend."
Well, this came from Robert, who got it from the Rev. Bruce Knofel who got it from the Rev. Bill Voris, who is a Lutheran pastor who served as chaplain at Western State Hospital for many years. Bill was Bruce's C.P.E. director and his spiritual director for many years.
So I guess this is from a "Friend of a friend of a friend"...a FOAFOAFOAF....
Let us begin this season of Lent with the promise of Easter reminding us of new life, renewal and hope. Lent provides us the opportunity to renew our connectedness with one another, our community and the world. Lent is a time of process, change and conversion. So let this be our prayer for one another:
To fast from unrealistic expectations of others, and ourselves -- and to embrace reality.
To fast from words and behaviors that pierce one's spirit, -- and instead affirm someone each day.
To fast from windy, empty words regarding others and issues, -- and to act on what we say.
To fast from raining on the parade of another's enthusiasm, dreams, visions, -- and instead nurture and cultivate the dreams.
To fast from a lifestyle that doesn't allow us to stop and enjoy the moments, -- and to do some small thing for one's self each day in gratitude to the One who created us.
To fast from holding on to old ways, systems -- and to discern what it is we need to say good-bye to.
To fast from criticizing the organization, managers, colleagues, -- and to celebrate God's fidelity to use within this healing ministry.
To fast from bitterness and resentment -- and to give thanks for each person who has touched our lives.
And finally, let us fast from impatience, -- and to wait with compassion and understanding.
May this be our prayer, we ask through God who is the source of our being.
Amen.
...and since in a couple of weeks I can't say the "A" word for 40 days, let me add...Alleluia, Alleluia, Amen...
One of the things I like about going to Morning Prayer on Wednesday mornings is I get a sneak preview of having Sunday's Gospel text read aloud to me. Now I'm pretty good about reading ahead on next week's texts, but there is just something that kicks my brain in gear to actually think about the texts when they are read aloud to me. The text coming up for Sunday is Mark 1:40-45:
40A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.” 41Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!” 42Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. 43After sternly warning him he sent him away at once, 44saying to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” 45But he went out and began to proclaim it freely, and to spread the word, so that Jesus could no longer go into a town openly, but stayed out in the country; and people came to him from every quarter.
That whole discussion about "choosing" stuck in my mind today.
Jesus ALWAYS chooses for us to be clean. WE’RE the one that seems to be the one with issues.
The leper comes to Jesus and asks HIM to make the choice. Well, that’s because not only IS he a leper, he FEELS like a leper. He’s had years of being shunned, avoided, taunted, told he’s that way b/c of his sin. So he’s been so humiliated he can’t even ask Jesus to heal him flat-out. It’s more like, “If it’s okay with you….well…I’d kind of like to be healed…if it’s not to much bother…don’t want to put you out or anything…”
I am always struck with how the "leper" stories always cause me to first identify with the leper. How many times, when we have been the "outcast" in a situation, we find ourselves unable to ask for something in a direct fashion? We pussyfoot around the request, we hem and haw, and maybe even ask it in such a roundabout fashion that the person we're asking it OF doesn't have a clue what we are actually asking?
We can become painfully, incredibly shy when it comes to speaking the deepest of our heart's desires.
But even then, this poor leper causes an accidental ruckus. Jesus says, "Don't tell anyone, but go show yourself to the priest and have him declare you clean." But of course, the leper is so thrilled about his leprosy being healed, he basically runs down the street and tells EVERYONE. (He kind of reminds me of one of my friends, "don't tell anyone" always results in half the town knowing.) Thinking back to that business of Jesus feeling a little overwhelmed after healing Peter's mother-in-law, and half the town showing up wanting to be healed, I can see why he told the leper, "don't tell anyone, but show your sores to the priest." He wanted the priest's declaration to be the focal point of the thing, not "this guy Jesus healed me."
Of course, the leper telling half the town had the expected response. Once again, people started crawling out of the woodwork to be healed, and once again, Jesus is thinking, "Man, I can't even show my face in towns anymore. I kind of enjoy this healing stuff one-on-one, but healing these big crowds every day all day is NOT what I'm about."
Now there's a lesson. I channel surf all the time past the "televangelist channels" because they happen to be between two sets of movie channels I like. Now those folks, they definitely groove on those crowds of people wanting to be healed. Maybe right there is the difference between altruism and egoism. These TV preachers are more than happy to get the credit. Yeah, yeah, they stand there and tell people it is Jesus healing them, but when they are sermonating, you can tell there is a big dose of "me" in there, as in their "Jesus works in ME" sort of lines.
Jesus' desire to be humble in the face of all this is the lesson. Things in us that are "healed" in some way, shape, or form don't always have to be a public service announcement. We could choose to keep quiet and show our love and gratitude by going forth and serving others--a much more useful message in this broken world rather than to fawn over one person and shout his praises from the rooftops.
