Sunday, March 23, 2008

Expectations & Shakeups


Probably the most amazing thing about Easter and about Recovery is the reversal of expectations. The situation on Good Friday and Holy Saturday is stark and raw. Nothing is going to change this reality. People and their families who are in the whirlwind of addiction can imagine no end to the downward spiral that is smashing and destroying everything in its path. You wake up in the morning with expectations that everything is going to be the same and the most amazing thing has happened. There is an empty tomb. The one who was dead is alive. And even better than that…everything is going to be okay. Better than okay!

Who’d ‘a thunk it? Who would believe it? In one brush stroke the world view changes from black and white to color. It is like the scene from the Wonderful Wizard of Oz when the film changes from Kansas to Munchkinland. Color everywhere. The storm is over. The witch is dead. How did it all happen? The truth is that things had been set in motion for some time but we were unaware. The miracle was waiting for today. The miracle is today.

We respond to this shakeup with awe. The new world at our feet is boundless. The promises are fulfilled in each step forward. Recovery from addiction and salvation from bondage are virtually one in the same. Senator Barack Obama talks about the Audacity of Hope. There is also an Audacity of Easter and an Audacity of Recovery. Life is new and we have the power of change in every step that we take.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Holy Saturday ~ Developing An Ability To Grieve


I wrote last year about the darkness of pathless places. Holy Saturday brings us here, as it always does, to look into the depth of emptiness. Why? Most of the contemporary Christian churches diminish or just ignore this day. We crowd it in to a passion play and move quickly to the happy ending. It is hard enough to deal with the tragedy of death and horror of the ordeal of Jesus’ path. It makes it even worse to have to sit and wait, in the unrelenting darkness of grief that comes with Holy Saturday. We just can’t seem to come to terms with it.

Our culture cannot tolerate or honor sustained grief. We demand that the business of it move along and get done. Our patience with those who suffer wears thin and we want them to “get over it”. This inability to allow grief to process is powerful force that plays a major role in much of the depression and chemical dependence that I treat every day in our outpatient clinic. It lies at the bottom of unresolved emotions and unfulfilled actions that have been repressed in a desire to make people believe that “everything is okay”.

We do not always have to be left with comforting words. Sometimes we have to be joined in silence and allowed to wail. There comes a time when the harsh reality of pain, loss and suffering must be experienced. Lincoln understood this as he gave his address at Gettysburg. Whitman grasped it as he wrote “O Captain! My Captain!” A writer named Adolofo Quezada lost a young adult son and lamented his “dreams forever unfulfilled”. After a near breakdown, he came to believe that if he allowed himself to let go and experience all that comes of grief, then and only then, would he find the comfort of new life.

Keeping Quiet ~ by Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), "Keeping Quiet"
Extravagaria (translated by Alastair Reid)
Jonathan Cape, London, 1972, pp.27-29

Friday, March 21, 2008

Feed My Sheep...A Holy Week Reflection


The story of Holy Thursday and early morning Good Friday are so filled with our human experience. It is hard not to identify with what is happening here because it is a story of success, celebration, love, bitterness, confusion, resentment, fear, anger and sadness. The full range of experience is contained in some twelve hours. The most incredible part for me, however, is that even this story ends in complete and unconditional forgiveness. It is among my favorite images.

At the end of the day in all of his human weakness and frailty, Peter denies and betrays his best friend. Not once, but three times. It has been offered up that the third time was in earshot of Jesus and that he turned to meet the eyes his brother. Peter must have expected sad disappointment in that gaze… or some fire of condemnation. Rather, those eyes were filled with compassion, love and understanding. There is a Russian Icon of Jesus that captures that moment which can be found in a book called “Behold The Beauty of The Lord” by Henri Nouwen. I am so moved by this painting. Peter retreats in shame. His forgiveness is reinforced several days later by a risen Christ who recalls the three denials with three questions, “Do you love me?” When these questions are followed by the directive, “Feed my Sheep”, Peter is given charge of the followers.

This is the powerful forgiveness and charge that is given to us today. We are called regardless of who or what we are. Called to rise above that which is ordinary and easy. Called to be useful to others. Called to service. We are frail, broken, tragic and lost…but in the final analysis…forgiven and loved. Forgiven and loved beyond any limitations of our thinking and imagination. This is a truth that we can all celebrate.