Sacred places
11/03/16 05:20
One of the privileges of the work that I do is being invited into some of the most intimate moments in a family’s story. I am allowed to go into homes where a family member is near to death to pray and participate in the events of a particular kind of saying goodbye. The events of the endings of lives play out in many different ways in many different settings. Our community has a large regional hospital with most advanced diagnostic and care options. There is also a small hospice house that is dedicated to palliative care. Both institutions have dedicated staff and provide support for families as they walk the first steps of a journey of grief.
For many people, however, the preferred place for dying is their own home. Family members will go through a great deal to make that possible, trying to be sensitive to the wishes of their loved one. In-home hospice services are often much less expensive than in-patient care and our community has a dedicated hospice team that helps families with the process.
We Americans are fond of gadgets and devices and just as is the case with other phases of life, dying offers a wide array of specialized equipment. Special hospital beds, oxygen generators, bathroom adaptations, and other appliances and accessories can be brought into a home to make caring for a loved one easier.
It seems that for many the biggest challenge is managing pain. When the pain becomes intense there are a lot of medical options, but sometimes the amount of pain becomes the driving force behind a decision to move from the home into a hospital setting.
More interesting than the equipment or the place of dying, however, is the process of people and relationships. It isn’t uncommon for me to visit with individuals whose pain and grief of loss makes the process very difficult. Often it seems to the participants that the process of dying is occurring at too rapid of a pace. There is a longing and a bargaining for more time, more conversations, more opportunities to share special events and activities.
Still, there is also a kind of relaxed pace about end times. In many cases, as a person nears the end of her or his life the sense of time is sort of suspended. A few minutes can seem to be a long time. There is so much anticipation of the drama of final moments, including a sort of curiosity about what the final breath will be like. When a loved one slips from consciousness some people are comfortable to simply be sharing the space, others need to leave the room for a while and don’t want to watch every moment. There is no set pattern to the process.
I’ve walked through the process a few times with members of my own family, now. I know a bit of the difference in perspective that is granted to different experiences. I’m not sure that being a minister and having attended a lot of deaths and even more of the final days of lives was much help when the time came for the deaths of my loved ones. In fact, I’m not convinced that any amount experience is sufficient preparation for the next situation. Each person is unique. Each family has different needs and wants.
What I bring to the places of dying is not based in equipment. I do have a prayer book and a small bottle of oil for anointing. But those are minor accouterments. Mostly what I have to bring are words that have been handed down through many generations - a connection with the stories of other times when our people have experienced grief and loss - and a confidence that comes from the knowledge that death is not the end.
Most of what I do when I am in those places, however, isn’t about the words I say. I spend more time quietly listening and praying without words. I can be a presence without the need to talk.
This, I have come to believe, is the true meaning of witness.
Christians often think of witness in terms of giving testimony - of telling stories of faith and the presence of God. I have no problems with testimony, but I know that there are times to speak and times to be silent. Simply being can be a deep gift to those who are grieving. Much of what I do is to offer my presence and to witness what is going on.
This much I know: God is never absent from the places of dying. There is no requirement for a certain kind of intellectual assent. One doesn’t have to believe a particular creed. The debates over theology and philosophy are not required. It is a simple truth that God is always present at the interface of life and death.
I have been granted the privilege of being invited into those places and witnessing what is occurring. God would be present if I were absent. God doesn’t abandon people when I leave the room. There are, however, sacred times and sacred places where God’s presence is so obvious that no searching is required.
Celtic Christians often refer to thin places. Eric Weiner defines those spaces as “those rare locales where the distance between heaven and Earth collapses.” What I have learned through the experiences of my life is that we are not, first of all, a people of places. We are a people of history. Any place can become a thin place. The closeness of heaven and earth is not dependent on geography. A cathedral is not more sacred than a bedroom. Secular institutions have no power to keep God out of any place.
this week has been another time of experiencing the privilege of the invitation to enter into sacred space. I know that these are not easy days for those who are grieving. I know that they will not remember these times the same way as I do. Still, what we have shared has been significant and deeply meaningful.
It is clear that the story of our people does not end with the passing of a generation.
For many people, however, the preferred place for dying is their own home. Family members will go through a great deal to make that possible, trying to be sensitive to the wishes of their loved one. In-home hospice services are often much less expensive than in-patient care and our community has a dedicated hospice team that helps families with the process.
We Americans are fond of gadgets and devices and just as is the case with other phases of life, dying offers a wide array of specialized equipment. Special hospital beds, oxygen generators, bathroom adaptations, and other appliances and accessories can be brought into a home to make caring for a loved one easier.
It seems that for many the biggest challenge is managing pain. When the pain becomes intense there are a lot of medical options, but sometimes the amount of pain becomes the driving force behind a decision to move from the home into a hospital setting.
More interesting than the equipment or the place of dying, however, is the process of people and relationships. It isn’t uncommon for me to visit with individuals whose pain and grief of loss makes the process very difficult. Often it seems to the participants that the process of dying is occurring at too rapid of a pace. There is a longing and a bargaining for more time, more conversations, more opportunities to share special events and activities.
Still, there is also a kind of relaxed pace about end times. In many cases, as a person nears the end of her or his life the sense of time is sort of suspended. A few minutes can seem to be a long time. There is so much anticipation of the drama of final moments, including a sort of curiosity about what the final breath will be like. When a loved one slips from consciousness some people are comfortable to simply be sharing the space, others need to leave the room for a while and don’t want to watch every moment. There is no set pattern to the process.
I’ve walked through the process a few times with members of my own family, now. I know a bit of the difference in perspective that is granted to different experiences. I’m not sure that being a minister and having attended a lot of deaths and even more of the final days of lives was much help when the time came for the deaths of my loved ones. In fact, I’m not convinced that any amount experience is sufficient preparation for the next situation. Each person is unique. Each family has different needs and wants.
What I bring to the places of dying is not based in equipment. I do have a prayer book and a small bottle of oil for anointing. But those are minor accouterments. Mostly what I have to bring are words that have been handed down through many generations - a connection with the stories of other times when our people have experienced grief and loss - and a confidence that comes from the knowledge that death is not the end.
Most of what I do when I am in those places, however, isn’t about the words I say. I spend more time quietly listening and praying without words. I can be a presence without the need to talk.
This, I have come to believe, is the true meaning of witness.
Christians often think of witness in terms of giving testimony - of telling stories of faith and the presence of God. I have no problems with testimony, but I know that there are times to speak and times to be silent. Simply being can be a deep gift to those who are grieving. Much of what I do is to offer my presence and to witness what is going on.
This much I know: God is never absent from the places of dying. There is no requirement for a certain kind of intellectual assent. One doesn’t have to believe a particular creed. The debates over theology and philosophy are not required. It is a simple truth that God is always present at the interface of life and death.
I have been granted the privilege of being invited into those places and witnessing what is occurring. God would be present if I were absent. God doesn’t abandon people when I leave the room. There are, however, sacred times and sacred places where God’s presence is so obvious that no searching is required.
Celtic Christians often refer to thin places. Eric Weiner defines those spaces as “those rare locales where the distance between heaven and Earth collapses.” What I have learned through the experiences of my life is that we are not, first of all, a people of places. We are a people of history. Any place can become a thin place. The closeness of heaven and earth is not dependent on geography. A cathedral is not more sacred than a bedroom. Secular institutions have no power to keep God out of any place.
this week has been another time of experiencing the privilege of the invitation to enter into sacred space. I know that these are not easy days for those who are grieving. I know that they will not remember these times the same way as I do. Still, what we have shared has been significant and deeply meaningful.
It is clear that the story of our people does not end with the passing of a generation.