Journal of Sacred Work

Six Feet Down...How Far Up? Finding Caregiver God - Days 58-60

  Gazing into fireplace embers, I almost titled this, "After the Ashes."  It is life's most unsolvable question. Yet we all keep asking it. What is cremation's after-light? Is it a white so bright that it transcends all colors or a nuanced white like the Egret's feathers? 

   Divinity School academics label pursuit of the answer Eschatology. But there is no universal answer. Just our personal ones. 

   In childhood I was already skeptical about a death filled with fiery hells and sweet paradise. Regardless of hints from afterlife round-trippers and ordination as a minister my adult answers remained fuzzy.

   So many give up pursuing logic's unanswerable question. Others land in faith that comforts. "Ashes to ashes" becomes "ashes to light."

   Great. How long does that light last? Does the screen go blank? I don't think so

   Crazy Curiosity allows no rest. I love, but cannot yet live by, Joseph Campbell's line: "We are all falling through time so we might as well enjoy the fall." Death took him soon after I heard that.

   Surrender to God? How? Doesn't God want me to work hard first? Lacking the coordination to navigate the spiritual high wire act of surrendering and working hard I keep slipping off.

   The afterlife answer I settled on may not settle in you. It turns its back on hell and its face to the shades of light.

   I deny hell not because I don't want to go there but because the God of my understanding will not allow it. When a flawed body goes "six feet" down, its soul's energy flies up into Love's energy. Jesus' teachings led me to a "Caregiver God" healing everyone, not just Christians.

   We suffer because our half-lit eyes cannot see and receive our soul's fully-lit healing. My afterlife beyond the white light is a river. There, Caregiver God baptizes us with the waters of peace and serenity. That, I pray, is our universal paradise.

-Rev. Erie Chapman

Egret #1 & #2 by Erie, 2019

 

 

Sabbath Moment: Days 57

I invite you to join me in a Sabbath moment.

Sabbath Moment-MP3 rev0001

-Liz Sorensen Wessel

Picture shared by Dan Hudson
Adapted this Blessing from the Peace Pilgrim's Beatitudes
Adapted Prayer by Pat Bergen CSJ

"Live with your hands Unfolded" Days 49-50

In honor of Black History month I wish to share this 2.5 minute conversation between a father and son, Albert and Aidan Sykes who discuss growing up black in Mississippi. 

"Did you know that the work Martin Luther King was doing was for everybody?"

 

"Dad, the thing I love about you is that you never give up on me."

 

"Live with your hands unfolded."

What a beautiful message! Is there a word or phrase that resonates with you?

Shared by Liz Sorensen Wessel

Murder by God Complex? Day 51-55

I. GCS

In 1977, shortly after I became CEO at Toledo’s (not Columbus') old Riverside Hospital, the Chief Nursing Officer told me, “You’re meeting with Dr. Murphy today. Beware."

"Uh oh," I answered, "GCS*?” 

“Yes," she said, "He's got God Complex Syndrome...thinks he’s a god or maybe the God,” 

Back then, most doctors were men. GCS was rampant among the alpha male subset. Some showed Trump-like arrogance.

You know the symptoms: Bullying. Denial of mistakes. Never apologizing. The belief they were miracle workers. They knew they were not gods. But since they loved being treated like one, they demanded obedience and coveted praise. This last symptom suggested a short term cure I used too often. Genuine praise was never enough. I sometimes spent Fool’s gold.

II. Kings & Killers

Divinely immune, GCS doctors blamed their mistakes on caregivers. White capped nurses, required to stand whenever a doctor appeared, feared pointing out mistakes.

One example speaks everything. During my first year as CEO, the same CNO entered my office stricken. “Dr. Munoz, an anesthesiologist, killed a patient. He inserted the ventilator tube down a hysterectomy patient’s esophagus. He ignored the nurse’s warning. When the surgeon noticed it was too late.”

Although a lawyer I knew what everyone knows: This was classic medical malpractice. “We’ve got to tell the family and get this doctor suspended pending investigation,” I said.

“You’ve got to start with the medical staff. You know their “Code of Silence.” No doctor shall testify against another.”

She was right. The same Doctor Murphy, now Chief of Staff, told me, “No mistake here. The nurse is lying.”

The handling of this case is among my greatest regrets. I pushed aggressively for corrective action and the rarity back then of an admission to family.

It is an explanation, not an excuse to say that, 33 and a rookie, I lacked the strength to scale the Wall of Silence erected by the medical staff. Even my own doctor said, “You’re right, but you can’t beat this system.”

Like a southern jury after a lynching, the medical staff quickly exonerated the anesthesiologist. A board member said. “We’re not physicians, Erie. This is one nurse against many doctors…”

III. Remnants

44 years later, I stood looking at the remnants where Toledo’s Riverside once stood (Now raised.) The wrongly killed woman's ghost hovered above.

Remnants of GCS remain. Veteran caregivers recognize them. Tragically, the syndrome has fulminated down hospital hallways infecting another group: CEOs.

Desperate for affirmation, God-Complex men rarely distinguish fake praise. Mistakes, cynicism and even death can ensue.

I have sipped Praise’s addictive aphrodisiac too often. Arrogance forgets that this potion is reserved for the gods of myth, not us.

-Erie Chapman

*The God Complex is real. I coined it a syndrome.

 

Artists As Caregivers - Days 44-48

     Beauty empowers her daughter, Art, to heal both creator and appreciator.

Forget that you may not know this former Poet Laureate (2001-2003.) Back then, Billy Collins was to me what Harry Styles is today for my teenage granddaughter: a god.

On a 2002 Sunday, I was reading one of Billy dreamy poems to my wife when, mid-verse, our phone rang from its cradle in the next room. Even anonymous people should not be interrupted when reading Shakespeare or Billy Collins aloud. We let the answering machine answer.

“Hi, this is Billy Collins,” the machine announced.

My life flashed before my eyes. Was my friend, Steve, practical-joking me like when he mimicked Steven Spielberg?

“I am just returning your call…,” he continued.

The famous do not return phone calls. But, I leapt up, as surprised at my agility as by Billy’s famous voice entering my obscurity.

Clambering over the couch, my foot wedged itself between two sofa pillows. Billy’s poems were real as Beauty. His star was unimaginably distant. I must catch this lightning before it thunders and vanishes! If Billy hangs up I will drown in the sea of assistants that guard the great.

“Oh my God!” I shouted un-poetically to America’s Poet Laureate, “I was just reading you to my wife!”

He chuckled. He was gentle, gracious, poetic, fully booked.

A quarter century later, I am reading “The Art of Drowning.” It begins:

“I wonder how it all got started, this business/ About seeing your life flash before your eyes/ While you drown…"

If poetry soothes and humor heals, his fourth verse of made me laugh. And Billy’s recorded message, his next sentence truncated when I lifted the receiver, remains.

-Erie Chapman

Erie Chapman Foundation supports Radical Loving Care^® in healthcare & art. Please Donate-a-Dollar now via: https://www.eriechapmanfoundation.net

THANK YOU. - Erie

Billy Collins' photo: Marcello Noah, 2007

 

 

Transforming Suffering Days 42-43

 On February 10, 2000 Josephine Margaret Bakhita was declared a Saint by the Catholic church and was the first black woman to receive this honor.

Saint Bakhita was born into a loving family in 1869 in Darfur Sudan. Her family was well respected in their community and her uncle was the village Chief. Bakhita recounted in her autobiography, “I lived a very happy and carefree life without knowing what suffering was” (Wikipedia). Sadly, all that changed dramatically, when at age seven she was abducted by Arab slave traders and sold, not only once but multiple times. Throughout the years she endured unimaginable suffering and torture. In an interesting turn of events, Bakhita was last sold to an Italian Consul who did not mistreat her. When he fled the region due to threats of revolutionaries, he returned to Italy and took Bakhita with him.

 Eventually, Bakhita was granted her freedom by the Italian courts. For the first time Bakhita could choose her own destiny and she chose to join the Canossian Sisters who were a refuge for her and with a missionary heart, Bakhita served as a cook, seamstress and doorkeeper. It was said, “When Bakhita was on duty at the door, she would gently lay her hands on the heads of the children who daily attended the Canossian schools and caressed them. Her amiable voice, which had the inflection and rhythm of the music of her country, was pleasing to the little ones, comforting to the poor and suffering and encouraging for those who knocked at the door of the Institute.” (CHA)

 In fact, Bakhita became well known in the local community for her gentleness and ever-present smile.  During World War II, she shared in the hopes and fears of the townspeople with her kind and reassuring presence. They considered her a saint and felt, safe and protected with her by their side and often referred to Bakhita as their precious Black Mother.

Saint Bakhita was ill and in pain in her final days. Yet, Bakhita’s last words were, “Yes, I am so happy… Our Lady …Our Lady!”

I am so moved by Saint Bakhita’s story because she never let the cruelty of others define her life. Instead, she chose to love those who were vulnerable and in need and she transformed the deep suffering she endured through caring for and loving others.

No matter how dark life can be the Light finds a way.  

Human trafficking is a terrible cruel reality in our world today. The United Nations is an organization that does good work helping people around the world. If you would like to learn more go to: https://www.un.org/en/chronicle/article/prevention-prosection-and-protection-human-trafficking

Liz Sorensen Wessel

Resources for this reflection include Wikipedia, Catholic Health Association CHA

Mother NURture - Days 37-41

  Because this gorgeous wood sculpture rises up directly across the street from my home I see it out our kitchen window every day... in all kinds of light, across all seasons. Repeated thanks given to our dear neighbor, Esen, and her late husband, Cano Ozgener, who commissioned the sculpture, have never seemed adequate.

  Although I just forgot the sculptor's name, he has created something unforgettable. Today, I renamed his creation, "Mother Nurture."  

   Mother Nature's energy and Mother Nurture's love come to us first from the curved shapes of our mother. Across our lives, especially in our darkest hours, we seek the warmth, comfort and rounded essence with which we began. No matter how physically strong we males may become, our last word may well be the one soldiers often cry when felled: "Mother."

   With all her whorls, turns, curves, spins; with all her gifts of light and shadow; with all of her strength and grace; this sculpture will always symbolize, for me, woman. 

   Last week I offered a female image I created from a block of firewood. In this moment, I offer you the work of another artist who looked at a tree, imagined this complex shape within it, and created "Mother Nurture." 

   She offers a new way to experience both nature and nurture. May she comfort you as you go about your sacred work as a caregiver.

-Erie Chapman

*If you wish to support this journal and Radical Loving Care, please donate a dollar via the "Donate" button at https://www.eriechapmanfoundation.net 

Photo by Erie

Quote of the week: "The best things in life we don’t choose — they choose us. A great love, a great calling, a great illumination — they happen unto us, like light falling upon that which is lit." - Maria Popova, author of Figurings. She also edits my nomination for the world's best blog, The Marginalian. 

 

"Move Over!" Days 35-36

When I thought of what I might share with you today, a memory surfaced landing front & center. Perhaps, because there seems to be so much sadness in our world and a little laughter is a great release  for our emotions, especially in difficult times.  I’ve heard it said that laughter and tears are two sides of the same coin.

This is a story my mom recounted from when she was a young woman and lived at home with her parents and five siblings. My father was courting her and took her out on a date. That evening my grandparents were entertaining dinner guests, a man and wife who were friends of the family. A good time was in the making and when hour became late, they were invited to spend the night.  

Back then the living quarters were tight and my mom shared a bed with her sisters, with two sleeping at the head of the bed and two at the foot. Since my mom was still out, my grandmother left a note in the kitchen informing her that she would be sleeping on the living room couch as the couple was given the girls room for sleeping accomodations. When mom arrived home, the house was quiet and she went straight upstairs to without stopping by the kitchen. In the dark, she slipped in under the covers but the bed was cramped with little space for her.  Annoyed, she elbowed her sister (or so she thought) and said, “MOVE OVER!” and her command was obeyed with quiet obedience and mom drifted of to sleep.

The next morning, she was aroused with varoius members of the family peeking their head in the doorway as laughter and giggled erupted. Sleepily, my mom wondered what the commotion was about…  until she learned of what occurred and was more than a little embarrassed! The guests were good natured and everyone shared a good laugh that day for it was surely a night to remember!😊

 I love sharing a good belly laugh in recounting this story, it is a healing suave to connect with another with a bit laughter!

Dedicated to the sweet memory of my mom, Elizabeth (Lawler) Sorensen

P.S. When I went to bed, I thought of my mom's encounter even and foud myself laughing out loud as I drifted off to sleep.

Liz Sorensen Wessel
Famous Internet Photo