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…