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?