Diary of a pandemic: when you can't hold their hand - Day 30#

WHEN YOU CAN'T HOLD THEIR HAND

I'm writing what's on my heart.
I'm taking a risk.

Within the Covid-19 'story' one area of particular anguish relates to the many situations in which people cannot be with their loved ones in their last hours. For many the powerlessness and frustration they feel at the thought of their loved one dying alone, however caring and kind the nursing staff are, adds horribly to the pain of loss and grief.

What I share with you here is not intended to  minimise the enormity of this forced separation from loved ones when everything in you cries out for connection. Instead I hope that what follows will provide a way of actively supporting your dying relative or friend  or congregant - even though at a distance.

In the early years of aged-care chaplaincy, I used to agonize over how long to stay with a dying resident. Sadly, it wasn't uncommon for there to be no family to keep vigil, and I used to worry about the person dying alone when staff were stretched with caring for so many. But something changed:

I had been sitting with a dying woman whose adult children were all overseas. I'd been called in  by staff at 8pm, and by 11pm, I had very reluctantly decided to go home because I knew that if I didn't get some sleep I would be little use to anyone the following morning.As I got up to leave, the thought came: 'She won't be alone, you know. I am here.'

Wishful thinking? A self-comforting thought to assuage my guilt?
I choose to believe that it was the Spirit of Jesus  gently reminding me of what I knew in my heart, but had overlaid with worry. So when I found myself in similar situations in the future, this reminder helped me trust that the dying person was being accompanied by Someone who had already walked through 'the valley of the shadow of death'.

We are made in the image of God. [Genesis 1:27]
God is Spirit. God is Love. [John 4:24; 1 John 4:16a]

Many of us have said something like 'I'll be with you in spirit', when unable to attend an important event such as a funeral. In saying that, did we simply mean that we'd  be thinking about the gathering  and nothing more? Or were we attempting to express something we find hard to put into words, something like,  'My love is reaching out to you across the miles. Know you are not alone.'?

If we've felt the reality of such support from other people's long-distance loving, imagine what it would be like for the receptive spirit of the dying person, if their loved ones intentionally gathered, even if it had to be by Zoom. Imagine we - spouse, family, friends or minister, entering a time of communal quietness, sitting in that stillness of gathered experience and shared emotion. Imagine  bringing our beloved to mind, opening the doors of our hearts so Love may flow and reach the spirit of the one for whom we are, in effect, keeping a virtual vigil.

If we truly believe that  'nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus'  [Romans 8] then, does it not follow that, even if we are separated from our dying loved one physically by the constraints of Covid-19, Love will still find a way to meet our beloved at their point of need?

It may be that Love will connect the dying with images of those whom they have loved in this life, or the comforting awareness of someone they've loved who died many years ago. Love might take the form of Jesus, holding out his hand; Love may  manifest as Light or a beautiful fragrance gradually filling the room, or as a sense of Peace enfolding the spirit,

Although we who have gathered for this holy purpose may not know how Love touched our dear one in their dying, we will know we have been connected with our beloved in a way that  is neither sentimental nor superficial.  When waves of grief threaten to submerge us, as they will, this memory can help us to find our feet on the solid ground of a Love which is stronger than death.

And, in time, we may come to see ourselves as  partners in the mysterious work of a deeply compassionate God.

          

Diary of a pandemic - Day 19# hope among the ruins

A lone poppy  caught my eye as I wandered among the ruins of the Pools of Bethesda some years ago.  All around me lay remnants of what had been a place of healing and hope in first century Palestine. There was no sign of either now, apart from this bright red poppy which had managed to find sufficient nourishment to reach maturity and fling its colour into the greyness of the surroundings.   

This location in  Jerusalem was the site of one of Jesus' healing miracles. The Gospel of John, chapter 5 opens with the story of an unnamed man who had been paralysed for thirty eight years. He was one of many  who hoped that they would be cured when the water was 'stirred up'... but, as he will soon describe to Jesus,  he had no-one to help him reach the water in time. His life was severely limited and frustrating.

Into this place Jesus wanders. He learns of the man's longstanding disability and asks him what seems  a pretty obvious question: 'Do you want to get well?'  
The man is taken aback. He doesn't answer Jesus directly; he can't  turn his mind to what is being offered. Instead he looks backwards at what he thinks has been hindering his healing: the lack of aid from others.

It's an intriguing response isn't it? This relating back to what has been; this seeing others as bearing responsibility for one's predicament; this slowness to take a life-changing opportunity. 

Would I, would you respond any differently?
Well, we have a chance to see.

As we endure days or even weeks of frustration and limitations on our freedom because of the Covid-19 pandemic, we have the chance to take a look at how we've been living - individually, in kinship groups, as a nation, as a world. 
We have a chance to consider our inner lives and motivation - for example, do we habitually look for someone to blame whenever things turn to custard?
We have the chance to reassess priorities as we are confronted by both the disproportionate impact of this pandemic on the poor and disadvantaged AND the fragility and preciousness of all life, including our own.
We have the chance to slow down, to spend time with those closest to us, to dream up little acts of kindness, to recover the pastimes that used to give us joy, to play and be creative in all sorts of ways, to look at what it really means to be made in the image of God.

Some would say they just want to 'get back to normal', but there are others who are saying that maybe it's time to examine our 'normal' and see how we might better live our lives for the good of the whole planet.

What had been 'normal' for the paralysed man, certainly wasn't the life that Jesus opened up before him. Jesus offered him and offers each one of us a new way of being ourselves. We might even call this new way  'resurrection', 'being born again', even 'repentance' - turning towards Jesus so we can grasp the healing and new life being offered and be guided by his Spirit in the pathway ahead as it unfolds.

Take a moment to imagine Jesus standing in front of you, as he did with the paralytic at the Pools of Bethesda. He looks at you with deep compassion:

'Do you want to get well?'

Diary of a Pandemic - Day 11# -Hugs

In the 90’s when I was chaplain at a tertiary education institute, the Student Services team and I decided to offer a ‘Hug Day’ to lift people’s spirits in the middle of a dreary winter. After first asking permission of course, posters were put up and fliers sent out, with pictures from Kathryn Keating’s  ‘A Little Book of Hugs’ showing two polar bears  in a whole range of hugs, from the intimate hug on the book cover to the ‘A’ frame hug, the ‘side-on’ hug and so on. People had plenty of guidance about what was and wasn’t okay, and, for a day, there was a lot of laughter and appropriate, consented hugging – it was a hug[e] emotional boost!

But now in 2020, with Covid-19 spreading, many of us are having to practice physical distancing and can only hug those in our bubble, unless our bubble-mates struggle to share touch, or avoid close physical contact because of earlier trauma or cultural conditioning. And, if we’re on our own, having a pet can help fill that need for close contact, but not everyone is in that position. What do we do if we’ve no-one to hug?

We can use our sanctified imagination. While some may be wary of the imagination I think it’s fair to say that we’re already seeing the positive fruit of the imagination of musicians, songwriters, poets, comedians, artisans and ‘ordinary’ people within their four walls, as they create resources to lighten the global mood a little, while we bob along on these seas of uncertainty.  

So, if you’d like to give this a go, let me ‘talk’ you through this imaginative hugging process.

Find a time and a place where you’re not going to be disturbed. [ put your phone on mute!]

Choose a favourite pillow or large cushion. Take a few slow, deep breaths.

Invite the Loving Presence to be with you.

As you hold your pillow/cushion in your arms, think of someone with whom you feel completely safe or who lifts your spirit. It may be an absent partner or a child, an old friend, or even Jesus.

Close your eyes and imagine that person is here with you now … gently draw the pillow/cushion nearer until it is comfortably close … hug for as long as you like. You may even want to dance …  speak … or sing … or just be quiet, resting in the knowledge that you are loved, and held and secure.

When you are ready, take a few deep breaths and open your eyes. Spend a little time in quiet reflection before re-engaging with your surroundings.

You may even like to write something about this experience – or share it with someone whom you trust.

May you know you are held in the love of God – always.

Diary of a Pandemic: day 5# - framing and reframing

Many of us may be struggling to adjust to the 'stay-home' orders,  introduced as a measure to restrict the spread of the Covid-19 virus. Apart from the super-elderly who have lived through war-time deprivation, it's the first time we've experienced anything remotely like this  - and naturally there are different responses and different ways of naming what's going on by those in authority who are asking their people to co-operate in a desperate effort to slow down or even stop the disease's shadow covering the earth.

What do we make of the terms being used in media and common conversation [held at a safe distance or over the phone/device of course]; terms like being in 'lockdown', 'quarantine','confinement'?

I don't know about you but initially the terms all raised my anxiety as I went to my unfortunately common default setting of imagining  'worse case scenarios' and thought of non-compliance being met with  potential violence, large-scale sequestering of the sick , and solitary confinement being used as a punishment!

But, in Psalm 73 - today's Psalm - we see how easy it is to be overwhelmed if we let ourselves think only of the negative connotations - even if evolutionary biologists might say we're hard-wired to react and respond to risk to enable the species to survive. It's only when the psalmist 'goes into the sanctuary' of his well-established relationship with a faithful God, that he gleans some perspective and can begin to see that there is another way of framing things that can be life-giving.

Another way of framing things.

Lock-down - words like security, safety, and focus come to mind; a time when it's possible to draw aside from the 'madding crowd' for a season, to 'pull up the drawbridge'  and reconnect with ourselves, with others [on the internet or with physical distancing], with creation and with our God.
Welsh poet William.H.Davies wrote these lines to open his poem Leisure [1911]:
               What is this world if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?'
Well, now we have the time to stand and contemplate what is around us and what is within us.

Quarantine can speak to us of protecting ourselves not just from a nasty virus, but from anything that can undermine or even poison our well-being.
Do we really want to binge on box-sets of violent TV dramas until this situation eases?
Does watching non-stop updates about the spread of Covid-19 soothe our soul or deepen our anxiety even further?

Confinement in common current usage is associated with limiting freedom in some way. But in many cultures it used to refer to the period [sometimes up to 30 or 40 days] during which a woman and her baby recovered from child-birth, established feeding and were cared for by those closest to her. How many of us are secretly breathing a sigh of relief that we can legitimately step back from the hectic pace of modern life, take better care of ourselves, and deepen our relationship with those with whom we share this extraordinary time.

Even though it's thrown us all, maybe  there's an invitation to us to see this unexpected and unprecedented event in our personal and global history  as a period of gestation with huge potential to give birth to what has been growing within us for a long time - a reclaiming of who we really are, what and whom we really love, and a re-examination of who we think God is.s

Then, when we emerge we will bring with us a different way of seeing, a  readiness to continue to spend quality time with God 'in the sanctuary'of our hearts, and good news for all of creation.

Diary of a pandemic - day 2# NZ lockdown

I have nothing profound to say.

There are countless others with words that seem wise, but my mind needs to empty a little bit, stem the onslaught of statistics and stories and dis-ease modelling and 'what if's' and create some space for stillness. 

I am sitting upstairs in my writing spot with a tall kauri tree outside my window, watching it wave in the breeze. It is older than I am, a home to trilling tui, fantails, clumsy kereru, the occasional tiny grey warbler and sparrows. We will become better acquainted in the weeks ahead as I listen to them sing, and see them sit safely on the branches outside, a world away. 

Like it or not, I'm one of the 'vulnerable' - in my early 70's - it's a stark reality for many of us who don't consider ourselves 'old' that we're among those who may be most affected by the invisible menace which has already irrevocably changed so many lives around the globe. 

But it's time to pull my mind back from the thought of so much suffering and focus on the moment for that is all I have, all any of us has, this precious moment in which we live and breathe.

I look outside: the pavements are empty - no children from the local childcare centre walk in wobbly pairs down the road, high-viz vests barely containing their energy; no people hurry between businesses or doctors' rooms and pharmacy. Far fewer cars and only the occasional truck goes past - somehow they seem quieter, slower than usual.

There are moments of absolute silence, so unusual for a city street.
Within the space of that silence my mind moves to the words of 14th century anchorite and mystic, Julian of Norwich:
        All shall be well, and all shall be well and 
        all manner of thing shall be well.

Julian could only say this in the midst of hard times because she knew God's presence and love, and trusted that we are all held by a love that will not let us go.

May I hold onto this when I feel overwhelmed or anxious.
May we all come to that place of deep confidence and improbable peace no matter what lies ahead.

Balance ...

taken by Sue Pickering 2004

We visited this neolithic monument  Pentre Ifan, in Wales in 2004 and since then it has often reminded me about balance, particularly as I've tried to do justice to the various people and things that matter to me, and to express what I am called to do or be over the years.
But as I age the picture has begun to speak  to me about the precarious nature of life: as our planet struggles to survive, as friends become unwell and die, and as my own capacity to do what I've always done diminishes. It would be easy to despair - to allow it all to overwhelm me as I attend or conduct yet another funeral for a someone special,  as I watch the increasingly urgent calls for climate action, as I look at my 1 yr old  grandson and wonder about his future, and as I try to extricate myself from the expectations of others and of myself. 

Today though, as I was reflecting again on this picture, a new perspective of Pentre Ifan emerged, a way of looking that  has to do with being upheld by the three Persons of the Holy Trinity :
Lover, Beloved and Love itself holding me - holding each one of us - with perfect poise and deep strength from everlasting to everlasting.

And that brings me hope - may it bring you hope too.

Rock pool revelation

I hadn't intended to go down to the rock pools
but a basket of time arrived like a gift
which I received with welcoming hands

like a child
I walked from rock to rock
not 7  or 17 anymore but 71
so more aware
of the need for care
and relieved to reach
the exposed beach
and the pools
that called me in my youth
and call me still
to be
still...


it's far too easy to glimpse,
it's far too easy to glance
and then rush on
instead of settling and letting
the shadows clear and
the depths reveal themselves
as eyes adjust to the slanted light

and then it will happen ...
the slightest movement will catch our attention
and draw us to the path of a tiny cat's eye snail;
a curve of kelp will waft away
and show the kina,* shiny-spined,
cramped in a crevice;
a glass shrimp's antennae will dance to and fro;
and hormosira banksii - a name from my youth -
will offer its brown beads for popping!

be called
be still
look into the wondrous rock pool
of your own inner being
and let yourself find and be found by
the One who made you.

* kina - the Maori word for sea urchin