From
Living Theology in the Metropolitan Chicago Synod
Volume 4, Number 3
Epiphany 2000
"Wellness"
The beach is not the place to work, to read, write or think. I should have remembered that from other years…
At
first the tired body takes over completely…
One is forced against one’s mind, against all tidy resolutions, back
into the primeval rhythms of the seashore…
And then, some morning in the second week, the mind wakes. Comes to life again. Not in a city sense. No, but beach-wise. It begins to drift, to play, to turn over in
gentle careless rolls like those lazy waves on the beach. One never knows what chance treasures these
easy unconscious rollers may toss up, on the smooth white sand of the conscious
mind; what perfectly rounded stone, what rare shell from the ocean floor…
But
it must not be sought for… No, no
dredging of the sea bottom here… The
sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too
important. To dig for treasures, shows
not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a
beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.
(Ann Morrow Lindbergh, A Gift From the Sea. New York:
Pantheon Books, 1955, pp. 15-17)
I recently celebrated twenty-five
years of ordained ministry. I am drawn
to the sea for rejuvenation, and the words of Anne Morrow Lindbergh generate
attractive images that parallel my life in ministry. Looking back I see the role that story telling and story hearing
has had in shaping my ministry. Stories
were always there, and they continue to wash up in life and ministry like
treasures on the beach.
For me as a young boy, stories were
magical and profound. Today, children’s
sermons, story time in our parish, Community Opening, pre-school classes and
Vacation Bible School are opportunities to play in the world of stories—stories
that are rich in meaning at multiple levels.
The healing stories of the Gospels are
personal and timeless, yet too often we have approached them analytically. Jenson, Thinking in Story, (C.S.S.
Publishing Co., 1993, pp. 40-43) indicates that preaching is often the
presentation of ideas rather than the telling of the story. As pastors we often sidestep the voices of
the real people in the Bible stories.
The words of Martha as she knelt in grief before Jesus is the cry of any
one of us at such a moment. Stories of
healing lead us to personalize and deepen our faith. Upon hearing such stories we seek to tell our own stories and are
often better able to affirm our faith in God.
In recent years I have helped to train
nurses for ministry as parish nurses.
As a chaplain represents the spiritual dimension in care of people in
hospitals, so the nurse can be the voice for the physical care of our bodies, a
missing piece in holistic care of people in the parish. However, it can be frustrating when the
Sunday readings hit so accurately at the needs of the people, but the worship
forms, prayers and preaching are directed elsewhere. Parish nurses may not claim liturgical skills, but their work and
faith give them a wealth of healing stories that give witness to the healing
hand of God in our daily lives. These
stories should find their way into the life of our communities and be used in the
heart of worship.
Our stories should be treated as
treasures washed up on the beaches of our lives and ministries. Medicine has been reclaiming the role of
stories in the art and reality of healing.
For many years medicine regarded stories as “anecdotal” and therefore,
the “epitome of unscientific information.”
In writing about training of physicians, Eric Cassell (Nature of
Suffering, Oxford University Press, 1991, p. 167), claims “to know the
illness one must know something of the person.
To know the person, one must know something of the narrative.” And, “the narrative is not only an
assemblage of empirical facts, it is an aesthetic whole—a tapestry woven from
individual threads to form a coherent pattern that is complete in itself, but
also tells of the weaver.”
Health care professionals may be
frustrated in trying to find ways to bring their gifts into the church because
worship naturally takes priority as the center of life in the parish. The vital signs of the body of Christ pulsate
in liturgical forms. The health of the
parish can be measured in the sanctuary, where life and breath are evident in
music and voice, and where vitality, flexibility, and inclusion are tested
against a standard of balance, wholeness, and meaning.
The community life that goes on in and
around the walls of the church throughout the week should be given expression
in the worship hour. It is the
testimony of our faith as story that is our corporate worship. A healthy worship experience gives witness
to a sense of confidence and hope that we are on the right track as a people of
God and as shepherds caring for those we serve.
One of the natural bridges between the
various ministries of the church is story sharing. Our stories lift up our diversity within our unity as a people of
God. Bishop Kenneth Olsen and Francis
Cardinal George each told their personal side of the story of growing up as
Roman Catholic and Lutheran Christians at the Tenth Anniversary of the Covenant
Signing between the two church bodies.
Worshipping participants could identify with these stories because we
have experienced the immovable wall between Lutherans and Catholics in our own
lives. But in that moment we were not
talking about the distant past or even the achievements of the past ten
years. New healing was occurring as we
worshiped in that very moment; a new generation of leaders was reaching out for
unity of Christian identity.
Health care professionals express
concern that clergy do not bring health and healing proclamations to the
pulpit. Worship experiences rarely
embrace health and healing themes, even though many gospel lessons are rich in
this sort of content. Consider this
text from Luke 13:6-9
A
man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came seeking fruit on it but
found none. He said to the vinedresser,
“Lo these three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find
none. Cut it down; why should it use up
the ground?” And he answered him, “Let
it alone sir, this year also, till I dig about it and put on manure. And if it bears fruit next year, well and
good; but if not you can cut it down.”
Jesus told this story about Israel, a chosen people, at risk of being lost. It is a powerful story for us today who are searching for ways to address problems of children and teens at risk. This text has extraordinary meaning to me after ministering for a number of years with adolescents and their parents in treatment for substance abuse. The therapeutic community daily addressed “compliments, complaints and concerns.” As caregivers we discovered that honest, consistent, well-placed compliments by parents and peers were often experienced by at-risk youth like the hand of Christ touching the daughter of the Jewish leader (“He went in and took her by the hand, and the girl arose.” Matthew 8:25). One mother, a teacher in the local school whose son went through this process, wrote to the staff, “Thank you for giving me my son back.”
The Service of the Word for Healing
Parishes of the Metropolitan Chicago
area have increasingly lifted up the daily work of the church in visible signs
of health and healing ministries. The
Park Ridge Center has announced a new project involving a number of
congregations where the health and healing ministries can be made local. In 1998, the Inter Lutheran Coordinating
Committee on Ministerial Health and Wellness sponsored A Letter on Peace and
Good Health, written by James P. Wind and published by Lutheran
Brotherhood. [Ed. note: see review in this issue.] The December 1996 issue (Vol. 35) of Chicago Studies, a
Liturgy Training Publications, was dedicated to the topic of Healthcare in the
Catholic Community with articles specific to the Lutheran Parish (Crum) and the
Catholic Parish (Kinast).
The editors of the ELCA Worship
Planning Guide Sundays and Seasons, (Augsburg Fortress Press 1997-98)
note that the “Service of the Word for Healing” is frequently not used and even
not known to be a resource in Lutheran congregations. The editors encourage pastors and congregations to consider ways
to offer this service, especially in the Cycle C Year of Luke.
The worship committee of the
congregation I serve initiated a monthly schedule in which the Service of the
Word for Healing (Occasional Services, pp. 89-98) is offered during the
regular worship hour. Anointing and
laying on of hands is done after the hymn of the day. After two years on this schedule we have found it meaningful to
integrate the various parts of the liturgy of this service into the Order for
Confession and Forgiveness as well as other service prayers.
The need for the service is
tremendous. Our committee expected that
only a few persons would come forward on a given Sunday, but we have found that
the majority of the congregation comes forward. Persons with more severe disabilities remain in their pews and
the pastor comes to them. Young and old come forward, each kneeling at the
altar railing. The pastor approaches
and speaks aloud their first names.
Naturally, I know nearly everyone who comes forward and I am aware of
their life circumstances. The needs for
healing and celebration of healing are wide-ranging. A mother brings her six-year old son with her to the railing. No reason is given, yet I know that the Mom
and Dad are in a bitter divorce process.
As I lay my hands on the child I pray silently that god lift from this
child the burden of his parents’ conflict so that he is free to focus on
learning and play.
Jenny, who is fourteen, is also
kneeling at the altar. I remember when
she and her parents first moved to Chicago and how Jenny glared at me with that
contemptuous look only teenagers can give.
Her parents wanted to talk, but Jenny was angry and wanted to leave, and
I was holding them up, she felt. Nearly
a y ear has passed. Jenny has joined
the confirmation class and softened greatly in her attitude toward me and the
church. As she kneels at the altar
railing, she has her arm around six-year old Katie, child of long-time members. The have adopted each other as sisters. Katie often sits on Jenny’s lap during story
time in Community Opening. Jenny’s eyes
look up as I approach her at the railing.
“Jenny,” she says, speaking her name.
I reach out and place my hands on her shoulders, giving thanks to God
that our church has been an instrument of healing in what was potentially a
stormy transitional move to a new community.
“Jenny,” I say, “I lay my hands on you in the name of our Lord Jesus
Christ, beseeching him to uphold you and fill you with grace that you might
know the healing power of this love.”