Faith

Faith

It is a lonely time to be a Christian in Britain. A few weeks ago my daughter brought home a copy of a book by Richard Dawkin and I've been pondering his views. This past week I listened to a new BBC radio show called the Museum of Curiosity whose guests were particularly slanted towards atheism and relegated God to the museum. Last night I watched QI where the banter turned on 'believing in God'. What is hard is that these people that I find witty, entertaining, vivacious and intelligent do not believe in God. I will not stop listening to them or laughing with them because they don't have faith. But I do feel a bit lonelier in what I believe.

There was a movie I remember from my childhood. It was called 'Oh God’ and it was a comedy with George Burns and John Denver. I know—I heard the groans. But what impressed me about the movie was its message. Society cannot accept proof of God’s existence. God’s unwilling messenger (John Denver) eventually gets himself into trouble and God (George Burns) has to come to his trial. He shows a few tricks-impressive ones, which are explained away as mass hysteria, hypnosis, etc as soon as he is gone from the courtroom. Human nature has this need to understand and explain all things. It isn't a bad thing. I think it is innately a good driving force that enables us to adapt and achieve great things but it is also our god complex.

I can be certain of one thing—there is no proof of God's existence and there never will be. This starting point actually gives me great peace. It means I can stop looking for proof and gives me the freedom to start asking questions.

So why will there never be proof of God's existence?

Because I cannot think of any proof that would satisfy me.

There is a reason why Jesus did not reveal his message to the “learned and wise” and it wasn't because they asked too many questions—it's because they thought the answers were within their grasp.

It humbles me to admit that I will not be able to grasp how God exists or even the nature of my own free will. I understand many bits and pieces but the whole picture is still a real mystery. We can talk about speed of light and possible particles that move even faster, string theory and parallel universes, millions of galaxies and life outside our universe. It is all amazing and I want to know more but that knowledge does not make me doubt my faith. God is so much bigger then anything I can comprehend. What I know of God is no more then a grain of sand. Will I ever be able to sift through the whole beach?

What is faith?

Faith is my starting point. When I look at my life past and present and what I can imagine of the future, one thing is always there. It has been with me since I was very young. It is emptiness and a longing, a feeling of being incomplete. My mother used to tell me it was “God calling”.

At various times in my life I feel the emptiness more then others. I run from it quite effectively the busier I am. But it is always there when I slow down. So I have come to think of it as God calling. And my faith is my answer to that call.

St Benedict taught his order that you should question and always be in search of the answers. Faith seeking knowledge. So I try to remember this as I go through my life. Asking lots of questions, trying to be open to answers in whatever form they come and spending time with God because for some strange reason He seems to want to spend time with me.

What now?

Having faith actually takes some bravery. It is a letting go of some of the control I desperately try to have in my life. Having faith is entering into a relationship with God. That is pretty mind boggling and humbling.

Jacques Fesch while in prison experienced a profound conversion and wrote about the search for God. “In the same way a mountain nine thousand feet in height,with a base fifty miles in circumference, has only one summit, yet there are hundreds of ways leading to it. Each one follows his own path and sees only what is within his range. If you climb up the northern side you can't see the southern, but once the top is reached the same panorama stretches out before all.”.

Everyone's path to the summit is different but we all seem to be driven to climb. Whether you are Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, Sikh,Buddhist or atheist, we make the journey. So maybe I'm not so alone after all.

If any of the documentaries I have seen on climbing Everest are accurate than each of the many paths are winding and have challenges. No one can rush straight up to the summit.I may even need to go up a ways - find I am not ready and come back down to try later. Most climbers need oxygen. My prayer is that. Maybe one day by following my Christian path, I will see you at the summit and we will take in the view.

I have a feeling heaven will be that 'aha' moment—when I can see the panorama from the summit and realize how simple it all really was...

An Unread Eulogy

As I write this I realize this will never be read at my father's funeral.  My father was called by some a private person-but more so he was a deeply humble man.  So what he has gone through will never be shared beyond these pages of scribbled tribute.

I watched one of those inspirational movies last lent.  I think the title was ‘A Father’s Love’.  The film clip was about a father who ran marathons pushing his disabled son’s wheelchair.  I came away realizing that my Dad had run many marathons for me in my life-the marathon of the working man providing for his family.  The years of day in, day out, 9-5 despite how he felt or what he would have liked to do.  Over 50 years of M-F, 9-5 to provide for his family.

We all carry crosses in life but my Dad’s road to Calvary began the day my mother died.  He did not embrace the loneliness of surviving someone you have lived as one with for over 64 years, but he did accept it, looking for God’s plan in his life.  He became the hub for our family throughout the next 5 years, always keeping us updated about each family’s joys and sorrows.  He missed mom - words cannot describe the loss - always expecting she was just in the next room.

His time in the Garden of Gethsemane lasted about 4 years.  The waiting and knowing that God would be calling him soon (but when?).  The anticipation of what his last journey would be like was difficult.  I believe he prayed - God’s will be done.

Most people outside our family will not know what my Dad has been through over the last year.  He gave up his driving so as not to put others at risk and as a result did not get out as much.  He often refused offers to be driven places by friends in the community as he didn’t want to add to their “load”.  He pushed himself each day - most of the time feeling he was not doing enough.

Dad often complained - “I have no strength” but he really was a “super” man as he faced each day, pushing himself to live – after all, that was what God wanted him to do.

Dad grumbled, moaned, and questioned the “sense of it all” – that was his inspiration to me – his endurance.  He followed his conscience – his sense of right and wrong.  He knew he was doing what God was asking of him especially over the last 4 weeks of his life.

Dad had a small heart attack 4 weeks ago.  It pushed his body’s heart and kidneys beyond their limits. He endured.  He kept putting one foot in front of the other to the next step.  He had his girls to care for.  He was reluctant to let them help carry his cross – how could he burden them.

His cross-got heavier – itching, breathlessness, chest pressure, swelling, sleepless/restless nights, that slow forced letting go of control (not able to make dinner – he would still direct proceedings from his chair).  His frustration flared when he was not kept informed of “the plan” or when we would try to ease his burden by doing something (like buying groceries without telling him). He was always fully aware of what was happening around him as he lost his life by inches.  After speaking to his doctor and being told he was dying, his first response to us was- “You need to get Fr Vern’s pix back to him.”

It was so hard watching Dad suffer – he would die as he lived – enduring the struggle – doing what he knew to be right.  He taught me an important lesson – following his conscience despite where it led.  He was a brave man.  I like to think my mom was with him through it all – through her daughter’s hands and love.

I think Dad was at peace in the last hours of his life.  He came home from hospital in an ambulance – dignity intact.  He was alert and walked into his home to his reclining chair.

His last words before falling into his last sleep were “I don’t know what to do.”  I desperately wanted to say something – something wise and comforting.  All I could think of was “Just rest Dad – just rest.” .  He leaned back in his reclining chair and 12 hours later went to his rest with the Lord.

I am sure my mom was there to greet him.  I think she was waiting for him these past 5 years.

My Dad taught me so many things in my life –

·      to discern,

·      to endure,

·      to listen to my conscience,

·      to be true to God wherever He leads,

·      that suffering is not easy but a part of life and

·      that at the end God is waiting.

Thank you Dad.  I hope I listened well.

 

Part of the Deal

At least in London Spring has arrived. How do I know? It could be the daffodils and the fact that I was walking the dog on solid ground rather than hydroplaning on mud. But the real proof happened Sunday when we mowed the lawn!! Definitely Spring.

Spring was always my mom's favorite time of year. I think it was the reawakening she loved. The buds on the trees, the flowers and the reappearance of water from under the ice on the lake where we lived. My parents anniversary is in April-another reason she loved Spring for the past 64 years.

My sisters and I gathered a few weeks ago with my father. It has been about 6 months since my mother's death. We sorted out some things she had wanted to pass onto us and just were together. For my family just being together is busy and bustling just as it has always been but sadly minus my mom.

I remember spring afternoons and the first trips out to the lake to reopen the camp. The smell of moth balls as we opened the door, the first rusty water as we primed the pump, sweeping the spider webs from the outhouse and relaunching the row boat. Then there were summer afternoons after Sunday mass. The hum of the rotisserie and smell of roast beef as it went round on the grill awaiting the arrival of my sisters, brother in laws , nephews and nieces . Later in the afternoon we would all be in the pool (literally as those unwilling were tossed in fully clothed) and building block prymids while eating watermelon. In autumn we would be shining the silver getting ready for for Thanksgiving. Table after table set up in the basement for the feast followed by pumpkin pie and counting the silver back into the silverware box to make sure none was thrown away. I remember children and family and laughter and my mom who seemed to orchestrate it all calmly despite having been up at 5am with my Dad making French stuffing for the two turkeys.

During this past visit with my Dad I kept remembering a quote from the movie "Shadowlands". While they are enjoying a lovely afternoon together, Joy ( a pragmatic New Yorker who is dying of bone cancer) tells C S Lewis that "The happiness we feel now is part of the pain we feel later. It's part of the deal."

When we regather as family and I feel the loss of my mom I know it is because of the wonderful times we shared. It's part of the deal.

Sometimes Hope is Not Giving Up

Life these days seem too big, too complex, too much. Somedays I go into work and I think, "The system is broken and yet I keep working for it.” I keep plodding along a cog in a machine that is not pretty to look at and even harder to keep running. I'm a nurse in the NHS.

When I first started nursing in 1988 in the states (yes the system is broken there as well) my managers would say, "Let the system fail. Then we can fix it.” In other words stop patching the holes or it will stay broken. The problem with that approach is the one who suffers is the patient and that price is too high.

I was thinking today how to face the bigger picture. How do I do more than just go on being part of the brokenness and patching holes? The only answer I can think of is to take it in bite size amounts, in little steps and one day at a time. Not new concepts and definitely cliché. I have to say that approach leaves me frustrated. The bigger picture overshadows what I do. I feel insignificant.

Hiring freezes are put in place and then there are too few trained staff to provide care. Beds are closed and they sit unused while patients wait 8 hours for treatment. I realize there is too much bureaucracy, too little thought for the patient, and people in suits who have not worked the wards for too long. It makes me angry because I can change jobs but patients can't stop being ill and they are ultimately the ones who suffer. And these people in suits who are trying so hard to look at the bigger picture can't seem to sort it out. It is even bigger than them.

The one hope is that we don't stop. The nurses like me keep plodding along in the broken system trying to make it easier on those who are ill here and now. The bureaucrats keep trying (and I don't doubt their motives) to repair it. Despite our lack of progress, no one gives up. It isn't an option.

What the Amish Teach Me

After the tragedy faced by the Amish this past month what resonates is their response. I am sure (being human) that they feel anger , fear and the wish for revenge and justice. But they made the choice to respond not with fear and vegeance but with an attempt to forgive. I am awed by them.

I believe many choices are driven by fear and vegeance. To forgive is not something I need to feel--it is a choice I need to make and it is the only way to peace.

I look back to 9/11. What a sad day when a group of extremists shattered thousands of lives and misrepresented Islam.

I look back on the Iraq war and the hundreds of thousands of lives lost. What a sad response made in fear by mainly Christian countries who could not forgive.

It is the Muslim neighbours on my street and the Muslims I work with that remind me we are more alike than different. It is the Amish who remind me we all have the capacity to forgive.

My Mom and Dad in 1942.

My Mom and Dad 2005

Many times over the last few years my mom would say she felt like she was still 18 just trapped inside an 80 year old body.


My mom passed away a few weeks ago and she is on my mind throughout each day. I find I want to tell people what a truly great person she was, but her life is more than what my words can portray. So what drives me to write about her? I just want to catch a glimpse of my mom. I miss her.

My mom lived fully. She made choices and lived with the consequences without regret. She once told me her priorities. First was God, next was my Dad, and third came her children. As a kid this came as a great shock. Somehow not being first seemed an insult. But in my own life I have grown to understand her wisdom. My mom and Dad were married 64 years.

Part of her greatness was the way she lived what she believed. As a Catholic she used the only natural method of birth control available at the time, resulting in nine children, spaced two to four years apart. Mom never said it was easy, but she never complained it was hard. She would say she followed her conscience. When I had a dilemma she didn't give me her answers but would tell me "Listen to your conscience".

I often want to please everyone and be well liked and well thought of. I think of mom and the thought occurs to me that she never seemed to really think about what others thought. She lived trying to please God. I am sure there were many days she didn't want to go to work at 7am and cook dinner at 5pm, but she did it, steadfastly. She taught me to do the right thing even on days I didn't "feel" like it.

And if we are judged by the fruits of our labour, than the hundreds of people who came to my moms wake and funeral and the tears and stories they told shows she bore much fruit. From her co-workers from 25 years ago to the waitresses where she had breakfast last week, they all came with stories of how her life touched theirs. Despite not being wrapped up in what people thought, she was thought of very well.

My mom's passing has left a void in my life. But I am realizing that amazingly she has helped fill it. The love she and my Dad showed each of my sisters and I, we now share with each other.

Nursing and Wimbledon

It was an unusual day today at work. I rushed onto the ward running late,a result of childrens' lost shoes, lost travel cards and traffic. It was the 4th of July and I should have been drinking ice tea by a pool and preparing to watch fireworks but I live and work in London and its predicted to be the hottest day of the year. Lucky for me that nursing doesn't leave time for too much self pity.

It was also unusual that the ward was particularly quiet. So quiet that nursing my patients meant there was time for talking and listening. One patient has been restricted to his bed for 10 days in an intense environment where he is woken hourly with one procedure or another. It is no wonder he is becoming a bit confused and anxious to leave his bed. As I encouraged him to stay in bed once again I asked him where he wanted to go. "I want to watch Wimbledon." he replied. We talked awhile about Wimbledon and tennis. I have an idea I told him and I went to get a spare rental TV left by another patient. I set it up and by noon he was watching Wimbledon courtesy of the TV rental man who delayed payment. As people passed they would stop and chat to him about the tennis and players. He watched and stayed in bed. Nursing today mean't more than taking blood pressures and passing pills. Nursing meant listening and sharing Wimbledon.