Of Gods and Men

This French movie is one of those unexpected success stories that no one saw coming. Who would run to the theatre to spend a couple of hours with monks in Algeria, monks in the midst of the civil war that took place in the 1990s, monks who decided to stay in their monastery anyway and eventually were murdered? An incredible amount of people did – as the movie introduces us to each of those men, their faith, their torments and doubts, their prayers. Although the violence and tension grew around them, their inner peace increased also as they felt their mission in the midst of the terrorized villagers was not over.

They were aware their situation was precarious – the very root of the word prayer from Latin, as a book written by Michael Lonsdale (who interpreted Brother Luc) explains[1]. In this book, Michael commented on his experience in this movie. He was told when he started acting “as an actor, you will confide in the world about who you are more than you ever will in your personal life”. He felt this was never as true than in this role.

 “Why be martyrs? One of the monks feverishly asked Christian, the leader of the small community.  For God ? To be heroes ? To prove we’re the best ?”

“No, no, no… Christian answers. We are martyrs out of love, out of fidelity. If death overtakes us it will be despite ourselves. Up to the end, we’ll try to avoid it. Our mission here is to be brothers to all… Remember that love is eternal hope…. Love endures everything. »

The monks were taken then killed in circumstances that were never fully understood. I have heard said “sometimes God calms the storm. Sometimes God calms us in the midst of the storm.” The serenity of those men as danger came ever closer surpasses our human understanding. The movie offers us to share this peace, this peace we all crave, through those limpid images.

Being a martyr is first being a witness. Both words come from the same Greek root, martus. Through this movie, the journey of the monks of Tibhirine inspires us and become ours.

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[1] Michael Lonsdale, “Prière”, conversation with Jacques Bonnadier, Editions Onesime, p.20

The lamas are in the yard.

Our area still has a rural side and it is always an unexpected pleasure to pass animals on the streets you were not expecting to see. For instance, lamas in a big yard not far from the church – I was on my way for Bible women study when I stopped to take pictures of them. The closest lama did not condescend to turn his head in my direction but his ears kept following any noise I was making. Another day, we met a peacock. Of course, sometimes we see deers or coyotes crossing but they are too fast for my camera.

This summer, one very early morning, I saw from our house, on the other side of the street, a big raccoon who was slowing going away. He kept turning back and looking at a gathering of crows that seemed to be feasting on something. I wondered if he got excluded. Maybe the fauna around here is a merciless world…

Blind and yet discerning

So I was preaching on Sunday – Irvin came back late on Saturday night from Phoenix, Arizona where he taught an Introduction to New Testament class to a group of lay leaders. I always take advantage of such circumstances to snatch up an opportunity to preach…

I chose a text from the Gospel of Mark, where Jesus heals Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, in the last verses of chapter 10 (10:46-52). This text shows us a man deprived of his sight but more aware of what is going on than anyone else around. This encounter is the counterpart of the meeting that opens the chapter 10: the dialogue between Jesus and the rich young man who refuses to follow him because he cannot part with his wealth.  

Bartimeaus calls Jesus “son of David”, a messianic title that no one else uses in the Gospel of Mark. He does not hesitate to throw his cloak aside so he can reach Jesus as fast as he can, in the midst of a crowd so without much hope of ever finding it again. His cloak – probably the only protection this beggar had against the cold Mid-Eastern nights… And when Jesus eventually told him “go”, Bartimeaus instead chose to follow the one who just saved him.

Indeed, Bartimeaus has a lot to teach us on perspicacity in the midst of darkness. I took it personally: I thought for an instant that I would not be able to read out loud the text of the Gospel, as the lines looked so small. Being unable to see when you are getting ready to explore a text about a blind man, this is true irony. This is time for me to stop hiding from the hard truth. I need glasses…

The lectionary has a good sense of humor

One of the biblical texts this morning, according to the lectionary, came from Exodus 17. Hebrews became thirsty in the desert and turned to Moses with anguish. Moses cried out to God. The answer came fast: strike the rock at Horeb and water will come out, ordered the Eternal. So it was.

I did not preach on Exodus this morning, yet those verses came to my mind when we found out at 9:00 AM that water was cut off at the church. No bathroom, no kitchen on the day where we were expecting adults and kids for a morning of bible study then worship followed by lunch.

The white building is our church.
Picture by Rev. Jett Brooks

Who to call? Who to reach on a Sunday morning? The answer was complex: the building belongs to the Puyallup tribe and sits on the tribal cemetery. Eventually, Irvin was able to reach someone at the casino, open every day, our neighbor on the other side of a huge parking lot, who was compassionate as well as knowledgeable and called the right persons. A few minutes before the service started at 11:00 AM, water came out.

The lunch that followed was a fundraiser for our Children ministry and it offered fry bread and Indian Tacos. We were delighted to have Tom and Bev, elders of our church join us. Bev has been through quite an ordeal with her diabetes and lost her two legs. Physicians thought several times she would not make it. But she was here with us, vibrant and humorous. Her family and husband care for her with love and dedication.

Is the Lord among us or not? This was the questions pondered by the Hebrews when they feared dying of thirst. (Exodus 17:7). For the past 10 years that we have been serving Church of the Indian fellowship, we witnessed the answer of this faithful community: the Lord is among us.

Working on my inner cocker spaniel

It is said that, after a while, puppies and their owners tend to look alike. This week, out of utter dedication, I made a decisive step toward canine condition, as I found out I had an ear inflammation. My physician prescribed antibiotic drops and recommended that I would tilt my head when applying them so that they would reach out the irritated area – the same advices our vet gave us in similar circumstances. Cockers spaniels often need ear drops…

So I spent a week surrounded with haze – sounds would reach me beyond a padded distance. It is also painful. Aleve does its work but at night, my ear still wakes me up. So I will confess it. I also used some stronger medicine leftover from the prescription made by my dentist earlier this month after he pulled out one of my premolars.

Which leads me to some vernacular translation. In France, when you get hurt, you cry “aïe” (pronounced “i”). I took me a little while to realize that in the US, you should utter “ouch”.

Another notable difference with France: how to get your medicine. In France, pharmacies are stores of their own, usually painted with green colors as it goes with its national ensign, a green cross. You bring your prescription and you don’t have to wait or come back: the pharmacist straightaway brings up and gives you the box of the medicine you need. No counting of pills.  The first time I needed a prescription when I started living in the US, I was puzzled by the statement “it will be ready in one hour”. How come picking up a box on a shelf required this amount of time???

My ear is now healing – to my relief. After improving my listening skills this summer during my internship at the hospital, not being able to simply hear properly was frustrating! And I now care for two sets of silky furry ears with a renewed compassion. 

Blueberry Thief!

We are very happy with our blueberry bush this year. Summer was rainy and cold so it bloomed late but with fortitude and its fruits came to maturity early this September. Even before harvest, I noticed that bunches of fruits would vanish, as if delicately picked while no leaves would be damaged. The mystery just got solved… No comment.

Not two Codes Blue are alike

Greg, my CPE supervisor, was right. The on-call nights were never as dramatic and stressful than that very first night. One night, I was called to support the family whose aunt was slowly passing.

«Her window on the world is getting smaller…» commented the nurse when I asked him his prognosis in a whisper. Still, she survived through the night while a code blue was happening in the cancer unit – I ran over there. This patient could not be revived.

As I joined the group of nurses and technicians gathered by the patient’s room as they always do in those moments of crisis, they looked at me suspiciously. My badge only mentioned I was a volunteer and they were wondering what was bringing me up here – some sort of morbid voyeurism? “«I am a chaplain intern – on call tonight » I explained and immediately their attitudes changed. “Oh good! Her husband is on his way… He does not know yet his wife passed away. Would you welcome him ?»

Later that same night, a 91 year old woman expired by her daughter and son-in-law. The nurses had called me as her death was becoming imminent. As we were waiting for the people from the University of Washington (the patient had donated her body to science) the daughter told me about her mother, who had come to live with her in Tacoma a few months earlier. “I know she was 91 but still, she is leaving too early, she said. I threw a “welcome to the Northwest Party” for her when she moved in with us. She was still doing fine last week… This summer, I wanted to take her to the Pacific coast for a day trip. She was such a good Mom..." She left two hours later with her husband. I told her as I hugged her “I did not get to meet your mom but I won’t forget her”.
All those on-call referrals were not always that dramatic. One night, I was called by a patient who was unconscious in the critical care unit. His daughter was here, a small jar of oil in her hand. “I would like you to baptize my dad” she said. “I am a Catholic. My Dad does not belong to any church. I don’t want him to die without baptism. I am afraid he would get lost… I know for a fact he believes in God.”

However, when her mom and sister joined us in the room, they disagreed. They did not want him to be baptized while in a coma. “He must choose for himself, we should not impose that on him when he is not aware of what is going on” said the mom. Her daughter accepted their decision. I prayed with them then left.

The next day, I went back to the room of the patient. I was hoping to see again the daughter and be able to explore with her the fear she expressed that her father would be lost without baptism. She was not there but I had the good surprise to see the patient, awake and sitting in his chair, talking with the nurses.

The last code blue of my internship took place during the day. A patient passed out during his dialysis and was able to be revived fast. His daughter, overwhelmed with relief and retrospective fear went out in the hallway and started crying. I had just arrived. I introduced myself and asked permission to hug her. She was a foot taller than me and she sobbed in my arms for several minutes before she was able to talk again.

“ You are a chaplain?”
“I am. A chaplain intern.”
“You are the prettiest chaplain I have ever seen.”

I guess not two Cold Blue are alike…

Code Blue

20 minutes after I wrote the previous message, the pager (clipped on my T-shirt) made a screeching sound. I pressed the button with a shaky hand and the words “code Blue, room 616” appeared. Code blue: a heart stopped. Nurses and doctors trying to revive a patient. Looming death. I was supposed to call back the number on the pager, but no number showed , just the room number. What should I do? Reluctantly (it was almost midnight) I called Greg, my supervisor. He always said we could call him at any time. Indeed, Greg answered – though I could tell I woke him up. “Call the nurse supervisor” he said. At this station, a nurse that knows everything that happens in this huge hospital. “Yes, come in, she said. I am calling the family right now.”  

I jumped in my car. I prayed as I could, broken words through the many fears I was experiencing. Above all, I was afraid of not being able to face whatever was over there. When I arrived at the room of the patient, I found out that he had been revived and he was being transferred in critical care unit. His family was on their way. I look at the nurses and doctors busy around the unconscious young man. I was impressed. One of the nurses approached me. «There is another one» she said, pointing to another room. “He just died. The family is coming».

A few minutes later, the mother of the patient and his girlfriend arrived in tears. The nurses introduced them into his room and I followed them, hoping to be useful, maybe pray with them. “Get out please!” the girlfriend shouted. I left the room, realizing my mistake. This moment was theirs. I should have not been there without being invited. A few minutes later, a nurse went in and told them about the circumstances of the death. He died peacefully – they were supposed to make a decision the next day about taking him off life support. “They would like a prayer now” the nurse told me.

I came in – the patient’s room was large, filled with silent machines. I noticed in a corner colored balloons with “Happy Father’s Day” written on them. I sat down by the mother who was crying silently. I suddenly started crying too – I did not see that coming. I needed several minutes before being able to speak. Then I started praying. I talked about the presence of God standing by people in sorrow. I talked about Patrick in the light of the Kingdom. I prayed for the comfort of those left behind, who loved him. I say that their memories, the shared experiences with Patrick would remain theirs forever – nobody would take them away. I quoted King David, after the death of his son, who said “he will not come back to us – we will go to him”. Finally, I stopped talking. The mother told me kindly “that was beautiful”. We stayed silent for a while. I was looking for a way to invite her to tell me about her son but I did not find the words. Why did not I say simply “tell me about him”? Eventually, I left to check on the other patient and promised I would be back.

The mother had arrived by Larry bedside, the first patient. His heart was getting weaker. I just had time to introduce myself when another code blue took place. More nurses and medical technicians arrived. This time, the patient could not be brought back. Larry’s mother was in tears. The doctor hugged her. I stayed with her in the room after everybody left. I hold her hand and we prayed together. Then she asked to stay alone with him for a while.

I spent some time waiting in the hallway. This was a welcomed pause. I was still shaking. I went back and visited with the other family, who had some questions about the upcoming formalities. I gave them information and the phone number of the nurse supervisor – she would need to know the name of the funeral home that would be coming. The two women were getting ready to leave. Patrick’s mother hugged me. I watched them walk away – the girlfriend had taken the «Happy Father’s Day» balloons with her…

Another code blue took place at 6 :00 AM – a woman who was revived. I came and prayed with her daughters.

«The on-call nights are not always that busy» said Greg, my supervisor later that morning. Greg assured me I probably would not have another night of that intensity during the rest of this CPE.

But next Wednesday, that will be my turn again to have the pager back, a long unpredictable night ahead of me.

It is right here

It is right here - the pager that will ring up if there is need for a chaplain tonight. It is in front of me, still and silent for now like a big sleeping beetle. But this fragile condition can be broken at any time.

For the first time tonight, and until 8 AM tomorrow morning, I am on call. If there is need for a chaplain tonight at Good Sam hospital, I will be the one being called. As I promised I could be at the hospital in 30 minutes, I don’t need to sleep over there. I am at home, and the pager follows me everywhere I go.

This internship is fascinating. Not only do we learn to listen and walk with patients and their families, in the midst of their pain, questions and emotions. But we are also led to observe our own way to provide this support. So many things to discover about ourselves through this time: what moves me to help others? How can I provide this help without projecting my own fears and beliefs? The most enlightening exercise is the verbatim. As we recollect the words shared during an interaction with a patient, we write down the emotions and thoughts we experienced. We share the verbatim with the others interns and our supervisor and we comment it together. Why were you uncomfortable at this point of the conversation? What would you do differently? We are scrutinized like never before – without feeling under attack. We are all in the same boat, trying to become better chaplains.

All this is still very new and while I am looking at the silent pager and the night outside, I can’t help hoping… stay calm tonight, Puyallup, stay calm.

Facing the Good Samaritan

Tomorrow morning, at 7 :45 AM, I am scheduled to be in the little chapel of Good Samaritan hospital in Puyallup. This will be the beginning of two months and a half of Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) in other words, an internship in the chaplaincy department of the hospital, as I mentioned it last November. During those weeks, I will be serving in specific units of the hospital, I will have classes, I will have the opportunity to write down “verbatim” (the account, word by word, of a conversation with a patient and how I explore this interaction). Those verbatim will be later on discussed on weekly classes and during one-on-one supervision.

Good Sam is a huge place – a maze really – which doubled its size last winter: an 8 stories building was added to the existing hospital. This internship is the last step of my process to become a pastor. «it is a life-changing experience, said a friend who is now a pastor in Wyoming.  Very hard, very demanding, I learnt so much about me. The whole thing was a gift”.

One of my Hebrew students had a similar comment after doing a unit of CPE in Seattle. “that feels like your personality is scrutinized and analyzed, a fascinating time”, she explained.

So there will be the maze of the hospital hallways and the meandering of my psyche – summer should be interesting in Puyallup. To be followed…

The Vet and the Speaking Serpent

 A few weeks ago, I took Sitka and her red eyes to our vet downtown in Puyallup. Cockers spaniels eyes should be carefully monitored.

That was the first time I met with Casey, the senior vet of the place. He asked me the origin of my accent and what I was doing in life. Then he proceeded to tell me about the animals of the Bible. Not any animals. The talking animals.

In the Bible, we only meet two animals who talk like humans: the serpent of Genesis, and Balaam’s donkey (Numbers 22). The donkey was actually a she and the prophet would ride her.

One day, as they were traveling in the countryside, an angel suddenly appeared in front of them. The donkey moved out of the path to avoid colliding with the heavenly visitor. Balaam who could not see the angel started beating his donkey for what seemed an erratic behavior until she turned to him and told him off for his inability to understand what was really going on.

Balaam’s eyes finally opened up (a translation says «the scales fell off his eyes») and he was able to see the angel. A psychiatrist friend had pointed out this text to me years ago. According to her, the donkey represented our unconscious mind.

Casey also mentioned the serpent from Genesis, a weird animal that had legs (before God condemned it to crawl on the ground) and could talk – and those words, spoken to Eve, go back to the foundation of our theological discussions. “Did God really say…?” (Genesis 3:1)

Casey then mentioned that he had been called before to take care of snakes that had just shed their old skins. This shedding does not always go smoothly. Sometimes, when the weather is dry, the old skin stays stuck on the eyes of the serpent – usually in time of very dry weather – creating some sorts of scales and the serpent cannot see anymore.

“Most of the time, Casey said, you just need to put some ointment or even Vaseline on the eyes of the serpent to solve the problem.” Casey commented that others stories in the Bible (including Balaam’s) mentioned humans unable to see until “scales fell of their eyes”.

For one thing, it is good to know what should be done if we ever cross the path of a snake in trouble. For another... let's face it. Serpents and humans, we all have our own way to blind ourselves until the voice we expect least - the donkey we ride for instance – frees us and brings light back to our lives. 

It happened in December…

… but I I did not find it time to mentioned it so far.

Two services in one night

On Christmas Eve, Irvin, his sister Chris who came to visit from Idaho and me took part at two Christmas Eve services. The first one was at Indian Fellowship at 6:00 PM. About 60 people came. Two of the ladies told us afterward they had been very moved: this was the very first Christmas Eve service they had ever attended. We read verses from the Gospel of Luke, sang traditional carols, and lighted 12 candles one after the other, throughout the service. Irvin and I even sang together an old French song – in French!

First Pres had two services that night, a traditional one at 7:00 PM and a contemporary one at 11:00 PM. There is a musical dividing line throughout the American Christianity. Some enjoy singing like they always have, rejoicing and feeling inspired by the songs they grew up with. Others, usually younger folks, request more modern and stimulant music that some call “praise music”. Churches of the size of First Pres often have two services on Sunday morning – or Christmas Eve – so both groups worship with the music they need. Since I enjoy every opportunity to sing, traditionally or otherwise, I had the pleasure to sing with the praise team at 11:00 PM. Sue offered Irvin to serve communion with her. So we had two wonderful opportunities to celebrate Christmas, in varied atmosphere but each time with joy. In each setting, it was the time to «sing to the Lord a new song, Sing to the Lord, all the earth» (psalm 96)

Houses and cars are also in tune with Christmas

Since the beginning of Fall, houses and sometimes even cars follow the rhythm of the celebrations. From Halloween, to Thanksgiving then Christmas, decorations change the look of the neighborhood. In December, houses are almost transformed in Christmas trees, with their own lights and ornaments, many referring to Santa Claus. All Santa’s history, in all its details, is also a traditional part of the American celebration. Each deer that pulls Santa’s sledge even has its own name! The most popular is Rudolph, the “red nose deer” who has its own story told in an animated movie. One day in December, I parked by a car who had been “dressed up” as Rudolph ! Only in America… 

Beginnings and Endings

So it is our turn now. We just got out of 2010. We are almost the last ones to do so: Australia was celebrating the first minutes of 2011 as our morning was ending on December 31^st.

Around 3:00 PM not only 9 hours was separating us from France, but also a whole year. When it is out turn to leap into 2011, the whole year has already done so, except Alaska and Hawaii.

Temperatures got colder those last days: 25F (-3C) under an unusual sky: without a cloud. While our delighted pups ran after the fireworks coming from the neighboring yards, we enjoyed the view of the many stars that we have so few opportunities to admire in our area where the sky is often overcast.

Let’s not rush moments of transition, suggests this author. "Beginnings and endings are so very sacred, to give honor to all that has transpired, every experience, every joy, every pain, is a doorway to the magical. Hold your entire year between your hands, every day, every thought, every breath. Now bless it with gratitude, love and humility. You have done more to transform this new year than a thousand resolutions". (K. Allen Kay) Happy New Year!