1 Corinthians 13:1-7, for a funeral

 

1 Cor 13:1-7 If I speak in the tonguesof men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.3If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. 4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

These words are often heard at weddings, not at funerals. But they are just as appropriate. In marriage we see the romantic side of love, the love of one for another. But in reflecting back over an entire life we can see how that love flowed out to others, to see the hard work that it did in tough times, and to see that love is not merely something that is felt but something that one does.

When Paul wrote to the Corinthian church, he was writing to a church divided. There were rival groups fighting for attention and power while more serious issues were being ignored. They were boasting about their wisdom and knowledge, but Paul was pointing out that their wisdom was futile. The church was “majoring in the minors” to borrow a phrase. Paul responds to a number of their questions about the order of the service and so on, points out where he sees them in error. And then it’s at this point that he points them to the “why” behind the “what to do”. Continue reading

Advertisements

Overcoming Nature

I watched the film Temple Grandin with my wife over the weekend.  My wife works with autistic children and their families, and had been looking forward to seeing this movie for some time.  Grandin is a PhD and expert in animal husbandry, as well as autisitc.

Part of the story revolves around how she seeks to revolutionize the cattle industry by reorganizing slaughterhouses to make them more amenable to cows actually behave, making the whole process more humane as well as efficient.  For example, rather than forcing cows into insecticidal dips with prods and slick  chutes, which occasionally result in drowning, Grandin’s model uses curves to lead the animals to a stepped platform, where the animals simply walk into the dip, swim through, and back out.  It’s all pretty amazing in how simple the design and process appears, yet how complex the behavior is that the process is built upon.

What else is interesting is her reason for doing so.  Most of us would think that her affinity for cattle and the desire to limit their suffering would have led her to denounce the whole industry, but that wasn’t the case.  She understands and respects the life that is present in each animal (in the film, after a cow is killed before her she asks “where did it go?”), but doesn’t have the deep emotional connection that we would expect due to her autism.  The reason she sees for treating the animals humanely is simple but deep: “Nature is cruel, but we don’t have to be.”

I thought about this in light of hospice care.  This same thinking guides a lot of our care and judgment regarding care for those we care for.  We see nature at it’s most cruel sometimes.  I recently had a patient whom I was close to pass away.  He had struggled with pulmonary fibrosis for several years, struggling to breathe continually and leashed to an oxygen tank.  He gradually grew weaker and more dependent, to the point where he could only walk short distances.  Then he had a serious stroke, taking most of whatever he had left.  He could talk, though slurred, and could understand, but was otherwise unable to move.  Even his head had to be propped up with a neck pillow.  It was tremendously sad to see the cruelty of nature at work here, and our job was to make sure that cruelty was dealt with as best we could.

The physical pain was manageable, but the psychological and spiritual pain was tremendous. I spent time with him the day he died in his home, holding his hand and praying for him along with our staff and his wife and daughter.  Some of his grief was directed at God, and I can’t say that I blame him.  You can’t go through an illness like that, or accompany someone along that road, without wondering why.

There are plenty of answers out there for sure: the fallen world, suffering as part of life, the stripping of everything to increase our dependence on God, the work of the devil, the work of God, and so on.  Yet I found Grandin’s insight to be one of the simplest and maybe truest at the moment.  Nature is cruel in many ways, and we can’t overlook or overcome that cruelty.  Sin and death are, at least for now, permanent fixtures in the world.  However part of realizing the kingdom of God in the here-and-now is to see that while these can’t be overcome, we don’t have to fatalistically succomb to it.  Jesus reminds us, over and over again, that he has “overcome the world”, and even though that cruelty is still there in the world, we can overcome it as well.  Nature is cruel, but we don’t have to be.

Grief

I think grief has less to do with whatever is lost and more to do with the change it makes in our lives.

I meet so many people in my job who are truly accepting and realisitic when it comes to the death of someone they love.  Especially when that person has dementia, has been due to a long and drawn out illness, death has been otherwise anticipated and even welcomed.  People often are ready for their loved one to die and therefore feel their grief will be short.

However I find so many times that even when the loss of someone is expected, the loss of everything associated with that person isn’t.  Suddenly the family member is faced with not having to visit the nursing home on Sunday afternoons, like they have for the past 8 years.  No more doctor’s appointments.  No more visits with the visiting nurse after the bedsheets are changed.  These are the unexpected losses, and these are the focus of all the denial, bargaining, anger and depression associated with grief.

Mourners can accept the loss of the person, but they can’t accept the fact that that loss has changed them irrevocably and they can’t accept the feelings that accompany that loss.  They don’t deny the death, they deny that things have changed and that they have changed.  They don’t bargain with God to get them back, they pretend that if they don’t go by the nursing home or the hospital they won’t be sad.  They aren’t guilty that they didn’t do more, they feel guilty because they can do more, and that change bothers them.

When I turn from considering grief to only be about a body in a casket to being about the global change in my world, I can really grieve and grow.