Why would a church need a nurse?

Seneca Presbyterian Church will commission our Parish Nurse Ernie Lombard at both worship services on November 9. It will be a day to celebrate the long tradition of Christian congregations being involved in the ministry of healing. I first heard of the concept of a Parish Nurse – they are also called Faith Community Nurses – in the late 80s while serving St. John’s Baptist Church in Charlotte, NC. Presbyterian Hospital had received a grant from the Duke Endowment to place Parish Nurses in six Charlotte congregations. Since St. John’s sits right beside Presbyterian Hospital, it was logical for that congregation to be approached with the possibility. Tom was pastor at the time and he was intrigued by the idea. I was a bit of a skeptic.

                I reasoned that just about all the thousand plus members of St. John’s had access to good doctors and medical care. Why did we need a Parish Nurse? It did not take long for me to turn from skeptic to supporter.

                I watched as Dianne took blood pressures during office hours while listening to the challenges of aging. I saw her step into a medical crisis where a wife was all alone in making life and death decisions for her suddenly critically ill husband. She interpreted medical data for me, and help many stay just as healthy as possible. She organized a congregation as it responded to the hospice needs of a member dying with cancer. And she helped us understand the AIDS epidemic. Remember: this was the late 80s and churches did not know how to respond to the fears of a new and frightening health care challenge.

                Our SPC Parish Nurse has been on the job since the first of August. The world of health care is a bit different now than in was in the 80s. People check their own blood pressures at home. But they are also called upon to perform nursing duties at home that in the not so distant past would have been done by nurses in hospitals. Remember when we actually stayed in the hospital a couple of days after surgery? Now it’s often in and out on the same day.

                Retirees make up the bulk of membership at Seneca Presbyterian Church. Many are “young” and vital, traveling freely to see the wonders of the world and the wonders of their grandchildren. But many have slowed down from that pace. They stay close to home. They live with the pain of aging joints. They know what it’s like to see numerous doctors on a regular basis. Often their extended families are not nearby. Many don’t have children or grandchildren around to help out when a medical crisis hits. So we have Ernie to help us assess how we can be church for each other, deal with medical devices that come home with post-op patients, and see to it that folk get to physical therapy sessions when needed. And so very much more. 

                Parish Nursing began in Chicago in 1985. It has been a recognized nursing specialty since  1997. It is estimated that there are over 10,000 Parish Nurses in the United States and around the world. (You can learn more at www.parishnurses.org.) By bringing this aspect of health care into churches, we acknowledge the divine gift that is our bodies. We can support each other in keeping them just as strong as they possibly can be. But the relationship also works the other way. We can bring faith in the spiritual aspects of healing to the medical world. Because when you place your faith in the God who creates bodies, the Son who healed them, and the Spirit who brings peace when they are challenged, you realize there is vast difference between curing disease and healing lives.

                If you want to see more of what that means, I recommend checking out Ed’s Story. It is a video series produced by Flannel (www.flannel.org). Ed is a retired pastor with ALS. As his journey is highlighted in these videos, we see honesty, despair, grief, challenge, hope, purpose, and gratitude. We at SPC have our own Ed who is also living with ALS. With the Spirit’s care, Ernie’s guidance, and our love for our Ed, we plan to walk that journey with him and his family.

                In our world, disease is inevitable, and cures may or may not be possible. Healing always is. It comes in the power to claim and live the grace, mercy, peace, and hope of God that surpasses all earthly reality. 

Guess that's why a church needs a Parish Nurse 

- and so does the world. 

Wedding Wonderings

My family has just returned from the wedding of my nephew. It was a grand affair marked by great joy and generous hospitality - and lots of good food since it took place on a beautiful dock adjacent to her father's seafood restaurant. 

          Many friends and family members gathered to celebrate a committed relationship between two talented and bright twenty-somethings. Like many of their age, they had already established their lives and their careers – in a city a long way from our home. Because of that distance and those years building a career, I had not seen my nephew in quite a while. I’ve gladly officiated at many family weddings, but because of that lack of connection I was pleased to know that a close friend of the couple would be performing the ceremony.

            Despite the fact that the officiant began his remarks with “I really am an ordained minister,” this was the first time I’d ever attended a wedding officiated by someone who was not a “real” minister. Yes – he had applied on-line to some service that would “ordain” him instantly with no supporting credentials. One such service declares that everyone has a right to be married by whomever they wish and it is their mission to see that right fulfilled.

Despite that noble goal, I admit honestly that it is a bit disconcerting to have one’s profession so maligned. Google “become a minister on-line” and you will find countless free options. Google “become a lawyer on-line” and you will be directed to sites that offer on-line degrees – after three or more years of study. The irony is both obvious and rather telling: it takes the same three years of seminary training to become a bonafide minister. And in many denominations, the ordination process is just as rigorous as any bar exam. Yet anyone can legally become an “ordained minister” with a few easy clicks of a mouse.

As I watched this on-line minister perform a legal wedding ceremony for my nephew and his bride, his affection for his friends was obvious. Because of that friendship, they were at ease in the moment. The vows they spoke – in their own words – were sincere and heart-felt. Yet I could not help but ponder the broader significance of what I was witnessing.

Legally, weddings can be solemnized by an officer of the court or a minister whose authority to execute a legal contract has been extended by the courts of each state. Traditionally, most couples have preferred the minister and church option, whether they have a church affiliation or not.

Every minister I’ve ever known struggles with the dilemma of performing a wedding for someone who has no intention of becoming part of a church family. Why would someone without a church want a church wedding? Perhaps it’s to maintain tradition or to please parents. Sanctuaries are beautiful places, especially when they have long center aisles where a bride can make a dramatic entrance.

Yet ministers also have a sacred obligation to do more than just execute a legal contract. They are called to center the creation of a new family in the grace and love of God. They are called to emphasize the solemnity as well as joy of the moment. And they are called to pronounce God’s blessing on the bride and groom.

I suppose it is indicative of the age that more and more couples are seeking to circumvent that tradition. On the one hand, it may be healthy. If the couple has no desire for – or even an aversion to – a priestly blessing on their union, why go through the motions without meaning. Yet I wonder what power the trend will have on the families of the future.

The primary reason most ministers will perform a wedding ceremony for couples without a church family is their hope and their faith that the presence of holy words and sacred space will have an impact on the couple, whether they realize it in the moment or not. That someday, when the conflicts come as they surely will, the couple might remember something of grace and the power of forgiveness. They might be aware of a higher power who longs to help them keep the promises they made to each other.

So despite the fact that my nephew and his bride had a religion-less wedding, I still pray God’s blessings upon them. Because bidden or not, acknowledged or not, there is a God who created them and loves them and longs for them to know that love eternally.

Heaven: The Abode of Love

I am about to undertake a risky adventure, namely preaching about heaven. That adventure will occupy my heart for the next three Sundays at Seneca Presbyterian Church. I enter the adventure fully aware that its risk lies on multiple fronts. Heaven is something we all contemplate. Exploring the mystery of what happens to us when physical life ceases is a basic human instinct. We each have our images and hopes based on what we have read or been taught or overheard in passing conversations. Even children can speculate on what or where or how heaven is, and they seem to have a delicious freedom in so doing.

The older we get the more serious the issue becomes. We begin losing people who are important to us and we want to know what has happened to them and where they might be. We long to stay connected. We cherish the assurance that we will one day be reunited. And we begin to wonder for ourselves just what our own “next journey” will be. So first of all, preaching about heaven runs the risk of disturbing personal images of something profoundly significant.

Second of all, what one believes about heaven impacts greatly what one believes about God. If heaven is the abode of the Almighty, it is up to God just who is there and who is not. Yet many of us already believe we know who is there and who is not. Allowing ourselves to speculate about that imponderable question runs the risk of challenging cherished beliefs. But I also believe it can deepen our understanding of who God is and how God does.   

Philosophers and theologians have long speculated about heaven, and have invested much ink in sharing those speculations with us common folk. They have the time and wisdom to offer point and counterpoint, and even to reject each other’s arguments. I can easily get lost in the whirlwind!

Yet as someone who does desire to ground my understanding of heaven in the biblical witness, I’ve been aided by the writings of N.T. Wright, particularly in his Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church (HarperCollins, 2008). As a consequence, what at first seemed an intimidating challenge has actually proven to be an enlightening journey. I hope I can share something about that journey in this series of sermons. In the process, I think our idea of heaven will be expanded rather than diminished.

But ultimately, preaching about heaven is risky because no one knows for certain the what and where and how and who. We can read accounts of near death experiences and find them credible or not. But even if we do see them as credible, they can only provide us with a faint glimpse of an immeasurable glory. We still see in a mirror dimly.  Perhaps that is all we are meant to see.

I attempt the risk of preaching about heaven because so many of the saints of Seneca Presbyterian have or will soon take that journey. Walking with them is such a blessing to me, even with the loss that it represents. I intend to begin, end, and frequently remind them of this disclaimer: Heaven is where God is, and where God is, there is heaven. Beyond that all details are speculation and faith. Your speculation and your faith are just as valid as mine.

But I believe the journey is worth taking. Mitch Albom, author of The Five People You Meet in Heaven, says it well:

There's one thing I would say about heaven. If you believe that there's a heaven, your life here on earth is different. You may believe that you're going to see your loved ones again. So the grief that you had after they're gone isn't as strong. You may believe that you'll have to answer for your actions. So the way you behave here on earth is changed. So in a certain way, just believing in the idea of heaven is heavenly in and of itself.

Yet I believe there is much more. The risky adventure begins Sunday.

Preaching for the Long Haul

Disclaimer: This is NOT my next sermon series
no matter how creative! 

Our group of faithful seekers took a bit of a break this week. Instead of pondering the text for Sunday and seeking to find ourselves in it, we looked at preaching in general. The ostensible reason was simple. I needed some help in planning for the long season of “ordinary time.” That’s the season in the church year that falls between Pentecost and Advent.

When this church year began last December, I had committed to following the lectionary in order to see just what disciplines lectionary preaching could instill in me. But when you hit “ordinary time,” the challenge mounts. Yes – there are two choices for ordinary time. One that works through the Gospel assigned for the year – this year it’s Matthew – and one that works through major portions of the Hebrew Scriptures. So – do the saints of Seneca Presbyterian Church want to listen to Matthew or Genesis and Exodus for twenty long weeks? If you seek to break up that long stretch, how to you break away from a story and then come back to it? Aren’t you going to miss major pieces of it?  I hope you see the preacher’s dilemma.

One of the reasons I enjoy meeting with the faithful seekers each week is that they keep me grounded in reality. As fascinating as the patriarchal and matriarchal narratives of Genesis are, the faithful worshipper in the pew isn’t really interested in JEDP. (That’s seminary jargon for the source narratives underlying the Torah texts of Hebrew Scripture.) It’s not at all surprising that our conversation this past week turned instead toward “series preaching.” Isn’t that a good option for the summer, we thought.

So we began speaking of the questions that touch our lives, particularly as a congregation full of “over sixty-somethings.” How do we find joy and purpose in later life? What happens to our lives when our relationships with our children change? Are we ready to be the ones who need to receive instead of give – especially when many of us are still the ones giving and caring for our own parents? Is there a clear moment when those roles reverse? How can those who have always been the ones ready to help become the ones asking for it? And how can the ones who are accustomed to receiving be ready to give?

Is it any wonder that we are also fascinated by heaven and what we can or cannot know about what comes after this life?

We did not come up with any definitive plans for preaching during ordinary time. But still the conversation was a blessing. First of all, I am reminded that preaching really matters. It can offer us not only understanding and faith, but also wisdom for living our lives faithfully. Secondly, it gave me wonderful food for thought about what is important for at least this small group of “my people.” Yes- it left me with a great challenge. How do you preach effectively in ways that truly touch lives? The Holy Spirit has to help, taking feeble words and enabling them to be heard.

But you can also help me. What sermons have you heard that touched you or gave you new direction? How did it happen? How can it happen again?

Loaves and Fishes - and So Much More

It has been a rather eventful week for me at Seneca Presbyterian Church, but not in the usual sense of that word. This fourth week in the season of Lent proceeded rather smoothly. I enjoyed a relatively good balance between study, meetings, pastoral visits, and worship. Our Session gathered for a productive meeting on Monday evening. The greater community of Seneca gathered for worship on Wednesday noon at the home of our Episcopalian brothers and sisters. We saw one member return home from the hospital and another finally made it home after two months of hospitalizations and rehabilitation.

                In the midst of all that normalcy, Wednesday evening offered me two insightful and exciting encounters with faithful friends from our church family. The first was a meeting of worship leaders from our early service – both liturgists and members of the band. The ostensible reason was to reflect upon those worship experiences, tweak anything that needed tweaking, and contemplate the path ahead of us. Right now, that path is focused on our upcoming experiment with the weekly celebration of the sacrament of Holy Communion, an experiment that begins with the Sunday after Easter and will continue through the Sunday after Pentecost, namely Trinity Sunday.

                I shared with those gathered around the table the concerns that have already been expressed about “the experiment”: how observing Communion too frequently can make it seem rote and routine. Those around the table were genuinely surprised. Several come from traditions of weekly observance. They found it hard to believe that such observance could ever become routine. As our conversation progressed, we began to talk of ways we could deepen the experience of Communion for those who worship with us. We talked about adding song – and adding words – opportunities for active participation in the congregational work of worship.

As we talked, I became increasingly aware of how the limited words – and liturgy – that have surrounded my experience of Communion (in both Baptist and Presbyterian traditions) have truncated the sacrament and shortchanged worship.

Just after this meeting, the fellow seekers who gather weekly around the text for the upcoming Sunday convened. As we contemplated the feeding of the multitudes as told in the Gospel of John, the conversation continued. We talked of how we associate Communion with the Lord’s Supper – which inevitably becomes the LAST Supper, which inevitably becomes an experience of somber death and costly sacrifice. Of course, it is. But that is not all that it is. But when we make that all that it is, we rob ourselves of the joy that it also is, and shall be when all the nations of the world will gather around the feast table where Christ himself will be host.

So after this eventful week, I will never approach presiding at our Communion table in quite the same way. I’m not quite sure right now just how it will be different – but it will be.  My starting point will be moving past just Paul’s words of institution that begin “On the night when he was betrayed…” As important as they are, we need to hear more – so very much more.

I welcome your thoughts on just what that might be. 

An Experiment in Discernment

How often should a congregation celebrate the sacrament of Communion? It’s not an easy question to ask because there are so many varieties of preferences and so many reasons for them.

I honestly cannot recall how frequently we “had the Lord’s Supper” in the church of my childhood. But I do recall being excluded from it. I have a distinct visual memory of having the plate pass me by. That experience as a child was a key motivator for my seeking to be baptized.

I grew up in the Baptist tradition, which affirms believer’s baptism. One would not be baptized until one made a “personal profession of faith.” In order to make that profession, I received lots of nurturing from some wonderful people. They did their job so well that I was ready to affirm my love for Jesus when I was barely seven years old. That was truly the reason for my “profession of faith” – not being able to “take the Lord’s Supper.”

Ever since then, I’ve been acutely aware of what it means to exclude children from the Lord’s Table. I became even more acutely aware when our then almost eight year old son expressed the same exclusion. It was a moment I will never forget, and probably had much to do with my movement toward the Presbyterian tradition and away from the Baptist.

            Baptists would say that Communion is a memorial supper. The bread and cup remind us of Jesus. They are like object lessons – you might even say souvenirs – that trigger the memory of a story. Such an interpretation requires a level of understanding and comprehension, hence the typical Baptist reasoning for why children are excluded. They do not yet understand fully what it means to partake.

Presbyterians would say that, even though we do not affirm the Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation, the living and risen Christ is truly present whenever we celebrate the sacrament of Communion. That truth is inherent in the word sacrament – which is an outward sign of an invisible grace. Sacraments take ordinary things, like water and bread and wine, and make them holy through the power of the Holy Spirit. When we receive the bread and cup, we receive the living presence of Christ. Just how that happens is a mystery we can never fully understand – no matter our age.

Sometimes I wonder if the desire to limit our celebrations comes from too much attention to our human ability to understand it. If it truly is a “sacrament” – a genuine experience of the real presence of Christ, would we not seek that encounter as often as we could?

At Seneca Presbyterian Church, we are investigating the possibility of increasing our opportunities to celebrate Communion. I’m grateful that our practice now is monthly – on the first Sunday of the month. For many, that frequency is just fine. It is often enough to highlight the importance of the sacrament, but not so often that it becomes “routine.” Others at Seneca Presbyterian have come from traditions where weekly celebration is the norm – which by the way is not limited to just the Catholic tradition. They affirm the spiritual refreshment and renewal that comes from each experience of the grace of God regardless of the frequency.

John Calvin believed in the unity of Word and Sacrament. One is not complete without the other. Presbyterians have a wonderful way of expressing this truth. We receive the Word written through scripture, the Word proclaimed through preaching, and the Word sealed and enacted through the sacraments. It is a powerful movement from listening to acting; from passive worship to active engagement. Word and Sacrament together represent worship that is whole and complete.

It was the pattern of worship for the first Christians, and Calvin argued for it in Geneva, where he led the work of reformation. For although the Mass was celebrated weekly by the priests in the Roman Catholic tradition, in the 16^th century it was only offered to the people once a year. Calvin lost the argument to the magistrates of the city. Moving from once to four times was quite sufficient in their minds. Calvin noted his disappointment with that decision for all who would follow: “I have taken care to record publicly that our custom is defective, so that those who come after me may be able to correct it the more freely and easily.”

So we are investigating the option. Our experiment will be small. We will try weekly Communion at just our 9:00 service for the eight Sundays between Easter and Trinity Sunday. We will talk about our experience and share our reflections. Then we will discern together what is best for the community of Seneca Presbyterian.

What reflections would you have to offer? 

"But I say to you..."

As a still relatively rookie weekly preacher, I find myself sticking pretty close to the script each Sunday. After all, that script represents hours of my own thought and work.  In my sermon writing, I actually enjoy struggling to find just the right word in order to convey an idea, recognizing how important that word might be in expressing what I’m trying to say. Not that my idea is so critical in itself. It isn’t. But I hope it triggers further thought in those who hear me.

                Which is why I surprised myself recently by going “off script” for just a moment. I was explaining to the saints of Seneca Presbyterian Church why my blog has been so idle of late and how I hoped to re-invigorate my weekly rhythm.  I told them that I enjoyed the challenge of it and the freedom of it. And then I let slip out something I had not prepared to say. I told them I could say some things in a blog that I could not say from the pulpit.

                I have always been very conscious of not using the pulpit for “hot topic” issues. The reasons are many. Foremost among them is the preacher’s role as interpreter of scripture. The text is supposed to guide the conversation, and if that is true, there is no place for a “bully pulpit” of personal opinion.  The challenge, of course, is when the text cries out to speak on a “hot topic” issue. That’s when my second reason for restraint comes into play. The pulpit is inherently a monologue. Difficult issues where passions can play on both sides require a dialogue.

                Yet I find myself being challenged by my own discipline. The text for this week includes what scholars call the great “antitheses” of the Sermon on the Mount. Those are the six statements found only in Matthew where Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said, but I say to you.” Jesus then goes on to call his disciples – which is us the Church – to a higher righteousness and a deeper commitment. The very first of those higher callings may be one of the most difficult. “You have heard that it was said ‘You shall not murder,’ but I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.”

                Christians are so very often angry with each other. Sometimes we get so angry that we stop talking to each other. In my tradition, we express that anger politely. We separate from each other – we dismiss sister congregations to other denominational bodies. There have been times, however, when those I cared about were caught in the crossfire. The battles moved beyond differences of opinion to name calling, with the most hurtful name called being “non-Christian.” Sometimes those of us who are called to love our brothers and sisters in the faith above all else can so profoundly disagree that we say “If you don’t believe the way I believe, then you are not only wrong. You are not an authentic Christian.” In just about every case that I have known, my friends were not the ones saying it; they were the ones to whom it was said.

                When Jesus taught about the power of anger to kill, he urged reconciliation above just about all else. It was even more important than offering sacrifice at the altar. I think that’s because division in the body of Christ renders authentic worship impossible.

                So here is my dilemma. If difficult issues require a dialogue and Christians often fail to dialogue effectively, can we at Seneca Presbyterian model a better way? The people of SPC are remarkably diverse, and remarkably compassionate. I know we do not all agree on some of the issues that are dividing our world and our churches today. Yet for varieties of reason – including I trust our care for one another – we are not inclined to engage each other in open dialogue about the issues that challenge. Should we? Could we? 

              Would the dialogue divide us, creating tensions that could lead to anger? Or would the dialogue strengthen us, bringing us closer together and modeling for the world that there are Christians who can profoundly disagree on matters of deep importance and still receive and care for one another? Can our unity be so strong that we are able to listen and learn from one another rather than seeking to persuade the other of the “rightness” of our believing?

They are questions that cry out for conversation. 

I invite you into it.

In the Neuro-Trauma ICU

I don’t know if blogs collect dust, since they are digital creatures, but if they could, this one certainly would. The reality is simple. You get a busy week and realize there just isn’t time to post a blog entry and write a sermon. Since the latter is pretty much expected, it becomes the priority. One week becomes two, and then three. Before you know it, you have forgotten how it used to be possible to do both.

I guess it’s something like sleeping in on a Sunday morning. The more you do it, the easier it becomes. Since I might need to use that human slippery slope to chide a church member someday, guess I’d better get back into the business of blogging – for the sake of the few of you out there who may have noticed my absence.

                The saints of Seneca Presbyterian Church have had some challenging days of late. Not long ago, we learned that two in our community had been diagnosed with life threatening diseases. One underwent intense treatment for leukemia. We are grateful to God that at the moment he is doing well. That’s a testament to his faith, his family, and his courage. The other is learning how to cope with A.L.S. And he will do it with the same faith, family, and courage – though I’m darn sorry he has to.

Then last Friday afternoon as I was working on that sermon, I read an email from a church member. She was taking her mother to the hospital because something was dreadfully wrong. Her mom had just arrived in Seneca from Madrid, Spain. It’s a long and fascinating story. She was ready to begin a new era of her life back in the states under the watchful and loving care of a daughter and her family. On Friday night, she was admitted to the neuro-trauma ICU unit of a local hospital. The diagnosis was three hemorrhagic strokes – in three different areas of her brain. She died Thursday morning.

Last Saturday morning, I was on my way to check on her when I received a call from the son of a member. His dad had died in his sleep that night. Totally unexpectedly. There are times when you simply don’t believe what is happening around you. And then you remember if it is so amazingly challenging for you, how much more challenging is it for those families? We celebrated his life as a church family yesterday.

So the pastoral components of ministry have weighed heavily on my mind this week. What does presence mean? What words are most meaningful? Can simply being human suffice or are pastors supposed to have more? That is a sincere dilemma, not just a rhetorical question.

In my final year of seminary, an early mentor in my ministry spoke to a class on death and dying. His simple yet wise words have stuck with me even though they were spoken 36 years ago. “When you are present in the midst of death, the only one who easily knows just what to say is the undertaker.”  It is in those times that you hope the relationship you have with “your people” before the moment of crisis speaks in the midst of the silence and mediates, through the grace of God, the holy and powerful presence of the Spirit. Because sometimes that’s about all you have.

As I reflect on this past week, I am once again deeply grateful to these two families who allowed me into some of the most intimate moments of their lives. I learned much about them as I heard their stories – and watched them laugh through the tears. Literally.

We know that God is our refuge and strength – and always there in times of trouble. The psalmist says that means we will not fear. Living from that faith, I believe we are meant to be a refuge and strength for each other. As I continue to reflect on this week, and ponder the weeks that are to come, I invite you to reflect with me.

• How can a pastor most effectively care for her sheep?
• How can we best become a refuge and strength for each other?