Re/Presenting God

"Re/Presenting God"

Marcia Stanard

Wy'east Unitarian Universalist Congregation

May 10, 2009

Last spring, I began Clinical Pastoral Education, or CPE. CPE is a requirement for the ministry in our tradition, and it basically involves 12 or 13 weeks of working as a chaplain in a hospital, prison, or other such facility. It also involves working with a group of peers, and looking at your interactions with the patients or residents of the facility you're working at. Basically, CPE helps you figure out what is going to push your buttons, and teaches you how to work through that, before you become a minister.

Once last spring, I was paged to go be with two young adults as their mother was being removed from life support. We talked and laughed and cried together. At one particularly difficult point, I asked if they would like me to pray with them. The daughter said, "I can't imagine what we would pray for. She's dying." I said, "yes, but I was thinking that I'd pray for you two."

This was obviously a new concept in prayer. If there is nothing to ask for, why pray? If there are no miracles to be had, what would one pray for? I am reminded of the words of Meister Eikhart, "If the only prayer you ever said was Thank You, that would be enough." In this case, I prayed thank you, for the life of this woman, for her children's lives, and the chance that they had to say good-bye, and know that they were loved. I prayed for strength for them, as they faced life without their mother, and prayed for compassion for them, as they comforted each other, and were supported by their friends.

As I was talking with my supervisor afterwards, I said that it felt good to be there, and that my presence seemed to bring some comfort. Just being a listening presence was helpful I thought. Carolynne said to me-no. She said, "You weren't just another person in there. You were representing God. And you, I would say, re-presented God to them."

I've been fascinated by that idea ever since. The idea of re-presenting God.

Now I know that here, and in many Unitarian Universalist congregations, we hesitate to talk about God. We tend to use broader terms, like Spirit of Life or Love. And each of us has our own definitions for these terms, or terms like God. But in the hospital, working with a broad array of patients, God is the common term to use. It often means something slightly different to me than it does to my patients, perhaps. To me, God is a creative force in the universe found in trees and mountains and water-and in relationships between people. Carter Heyward, a lesbian feminist Episcopal priest says "to Love is to God." And to many of my patients, God is a tangible force, an omnipotent supernatural being who holds our fates in the palm of His hand. And, that no matter how rough life down here may get, many people believe that after death, they will be reunited with God and their loved ones in heaven, and the cares of this world will fall away.

Now, I know that there are some, perhaps many Unitarian Universalists who are uncomfortable with the generic hospital chaplain. Will they understand our faith, we wonder? Will they pray in a way that makes us uncomfortable? Will they talk about God and Jesus in a way that doesn't make sense to me? And most of all, perhaps, will my lack of a conventional religious viewpoint make the hospital view me differently?

I try hard to be aware of these possible attitudes when I see patients in the hospital. I'm aware how many times people make assumptions about me, as a chaplain when I walk into the room. I tend to hear things people think I want to hear, like "well, we're not really churchgoers, but we don't drink!" " How many souls have you saved for the Lord?" (sorry, that's not part of the job description, and expressly forbidden, actually.) And my personal favorite-- "Well, I don't go to church, but I hate evolution. That's just wrong."

Our job, as hospital chaplains, is to meet each person wherever they are spiritually, and to help them access their own resources within themselves. We are not the church police. We don't care if you drink, or smoke, or believe that the earth was created 6000 years ago. We are here to help you access your own resources. Maybe for you that takes the form of a church community, or a sense of spirituality; maybe it means we just listen to what's on your mind.

But in my view, the most important thing we do, is to accompany people just a bit in those incredibly difficult times. And this, to me, feels like sacred work. And this is where we get the chance to re/present God. For many people in this country, God is the supreme deity. Granter of Life and Death. If you believe that everything that happens is part of a greater plan, you may find that comforting. But for many folks, who believe that prayer is a literal form of petitioning, and if your faith is strong enough, God will answer your prayers, where does that leave you when your child dies?

I can't answer the why question for people. I have no idea why evil exists, or why children get cancer. But what I can do is to sit with someone who is going through unimaginable pain, and just be. It doesn't make it better. But just maybe, a person who believes in God can see God's loving presence in me.

Kate Braestrup is a Unitarian Universalist minister who works as chaplain to the Warden Service for the state of Maine. It's her job to be with the families when a person is missing in the woods, or out doors, and the wardens are looking for him or her. When the wardens have a difficult recovery, or situations that hit a little too close to home, she is the one they talk to.

Rev. Braestrup sees people who are often not expecting to need a chaplain. She encounters people who were out hiking in the woods, when suddenly their child goes missing. Or people who are snowmobiling when a machine flips over. Or simply at home; and they hear bad news about a loved one. And in an instant, pleasure turns to tragedy. And waiting time becomes exquisitely painful. These are the times when a chaplain comes in handy. Whether you are religious or not, having someone whose sole job it is to be with you as you wait is a tremendous gift.

Sometimes, the connection the chaplain has with God and religion can be especially helpful. Braestrup writes of a woman who walked into the woods to commit suicide. The woman's brother asks Braestrup a question about whether God could accept someone who had committed suicide into heaven, and tells of how his sister went to church two weeks before she died, and listened to a preacher say that suicide is the one sin that God can never forgive. Braestrup looked at this woman's brother, summoned up all her ministerial authority, and said "The game wardens have been walking in the rain all day. Walking through the woods in the freezing rain trying to find your sister. They would have walked all day tomorrow, walked in the cold rain the rest of the week, searching for Betsy, so they could bring her home to you. And if there is one thing I am sure of-it is that God is not less kind, less committed, or less merciful than a Maine game warden. "

Look for the love, our reading today told us. If you want to find where God is in a story, look for the love. God is not in the shooting, not in the drowning in a swimming pool, not in the car accident. God is in those who work to heal the sick. God is in those who comfort, and bring casseroles. God; in brownies and babysitters and Tuna Noodles.

I want to warn you. I'm about to tell you something that may make some of you sad. Last summer, my long-time partner Jill and I separated. But there is a powerful lesson that's come out of this for me. My image is that the container that my family was in crumbled, like an old clay pot. That loss is difficult. But what I've realized is that there is a much larger pond that is holding me and my family. Over the last several months I've had friends, old and new offer to let me stay with them, offer help financial or practical or emotional. I don't have to do this alone. The pond supports me. Lets me float. This is where God is in this story. Jill and I are doing our best to continue making a home for our children. That's where God is in this story.

Peter Mayer has a song called Holy Now. He sings of how, when he was a boy, he would go to church where the priest read the holy word, and consecrated the holy bread and wine. Now, as an adult, he sees holiness everywhere; in a sunrise, or a child's face.

"Used to be a world half there, Heaven's second rate hand-me-down.

Now I walk it with a reverent air, Cause everything is Holy Now."

Mayer writes of that attitude switch that can happen between looking for miracles and simply noticing all those present in the world around us. While he's writing of nature and creation, miracles are present everywhere if we can see them in that way.

Kate Braestrup writes of the biblical story of Jesus and the 10 lepers. Jesus healed all 10, but only one returned to say thank you. She writes that "all 10 were made clean, but only one received a miracle. A miracle is not defined by an event. A miracle is defined by gratitude."

"Anything could happen, but only one thing will. If it is what we desire, what we long for so badly we feel it burning in our bones, if by chance this is given, we will fall on our grateful knees, praise God, and call it a miracle, And we will not be wrong."

A miracle is the combination of a favorable outcome and gratitude. Miracles are temporary. No one lives forever, life is inherently "nasty and brutish and short". But like Peter Mayer says, if we look for the miracles, for the holiness inherent in life, we will find it in the most unlikely places.

Elie Wiesel writes of the time the concentration camp he lived in as a child was liberated. As an American officer entered the place, and witnessed the ovens, the prisoners starved, he began cursing and screaming. In his righteous anger, Wiesel writes, humanity re-entered the camp. Having someone else witness our pain, cry or keen on our behalf, can be profoundly affirming. Where is God in the Holocaust? Not in the genocide or the cruelty surely, but in the moments of humanity that were present.

Re-Presenting God can take many forms. It can take the form of righteous anger that lets us know humanity is still present. It can catch us when we fall, cushioning the inevitable blow. It can walk us through the darkest hours of our lives, accompanying us on the journey.

For those of us who have come out of more conservative religious traditions, Re-Presenting God can take the form of changing the omnipotent man in the sky God of our childhoods and re-imagining God as parental, or nurturing, or comforting. It can re-imagine God as not God at all, but spirit, or mystery or Love. It can eliminate God altogether, trusting instead in the nurturing embrace of community, or in the reason of science, or in the goodness of humanity.

For the people that I encountered in the hospital, re-presenting God may take the form of adding something to that image of the deity prayed to who is heartlessly denying the fiercest petitions of our hearts. For people who believe in the power of petitionary prayer, to have their deepest longings and pleadings denied can leave them not only broken-hearted at the death or decay of their beloved one, but wondering about the very nature of God. I believed, I prayed fiercely, and my prayer was not answered. What does this say about me? What does this say about my relationship to God? What do I make of this? If I believe that God can heal everyone, what does it do to my faith to have my prayers not answered?

Does this mean that God can't heal? Is there some bigger picture that I'm not seeing? Most frightening, does God not love me anymore?

This is the time that having a chaplain present can be helpful. Not because we have any different or better answers. Not because we can restore faith, or heal the sick, or even offer such hope about the afterlife that we make people feel better about their loved one's passing.

But chaplains can be helpful because we represent God in the hands that hold those of someone in pain. We represent God by being present with people in their times of greatest need. We represent God by showing up, being present, and speaking the truth in Love.

Last Fall, I baptized an infant that had been still born at 35 weeks. Now, baptism is not an important part of my own faith tradition, but it was important to these parents, that this baby that they had planned for, and loved before she was born, was baptized. To me, this was a simple pastoral care issue. If I could do anything to make this incredibly difficult time in their lives just a tiny bit easier, I'm happy to do that. I found it fascinating that my CPE group found themselves in a deep theological argument about the ethics of baptizing an infant that never really was alive. But to me, that part didn't matter at all. In a room with a couple who must have wondered why God took their child away from them before she was ever born, I got to go in and re/present God. God was not the one who took their daughter away. That's not where God is in this story. God is in the sacrament of baptism, which these parents believe will ensure that their child enters heaven. God is in the photographer from the hospital, who ensures that they will have pictures of their child. God is in the people who came and sat with them and listened to their sorrow and their stories.

Sometimes, miracles happen. Sometimes our loved ones are healed and we rejoice. Sometimes everyone is in the right place at the right time and those we love are brought back from near death, the lost are found. And we are grateful.

And sometimes fate conspires in ways that make us heartsick. Our child drowns; our spouse gets cancer. A young woman goes missing and is found murdered. God doesn't make these things happen. I don't believe there is a master plan that includes genocide and murder and children dying anywhere.

But I do believe in miracles, and love, and in the power of gathered community. I believe in mothers and fathers and grandparents and aunts and uncles biological or chosen. I believe that accompanying someone on the journey is Holy work, no matter who or what you believe in. I believe in the healing power of love and grace and tuna casseroles.

If you want to know where God is in a story, look for the love. The Holy moves in mysterious ways. There's a bumper sticker I see often: Be the Change you wish to see in the world. I would ask us to be the love we wish to see in the world. No matter if you call it God, or Spirit or Love, Let it move through us. Let our hands be the hands that God or Grace or Goodness has to do work in the world. May it be so. Amen.

© 2009 Marcia Stanard