Author: Audrey Stewart (Page 3 of 11)

This is a question we hear on a daily basis. Perfect strangers ask as we order our morning coffee. Our colleagues ask when we arrive at work. We ask literally in passing when we see an acquaintance walking by. We rarely answer honestly because the question has become a nicety rather than a real question. “How are you?” is a natural follow-up to “hello” but giving an honest answer is rarely what we expect as passersby in life. This question is also one that is asked over and over again when you are grieving a loss. It’s so natural to ask that sometimes we forget how complicated it can actually be. Sometimes the question is frustrating in times that are trying: “How do you think I am?!” But in these past 4 weeks since my dad died, most of the time that question is a call back to this world and a good question to ask myself. My meditation for these past weeks has been asking over and over, mostly subconsciously, “How am I?”

The question reminds us that we are still here. The question reminds us that crushing grief, while overwhelming, is not all there is. For the first week or so, grief was the only discernable feeling for me – but after that week others started to break through. Hunger, thirst, stir-craziness, confusion, and fear were the most obvious upon first glance. But when I really asked the question of myself: “How are you?” I determined there were so many other answers: I am grateful for all of the love I’ve been shown. I am overwhelmed by the stories I am hearing and the sides to my dad that bring others joy. I am alive. I am moving forward, sometimes reluctantly. I am in need of a run. I am angry. I am grateful. I am.

A few months ago a friend of mine experienced a traumatic death of a loved one. I went to visit her and before I left she talked to me about the question: “How are you?” She talked to me about how exhausting it was to hear that question and that I should know better, as a priest, than to ask grieving people how they are. She was right in many ways, and absolutely correct for herself personally. There are so many other questions one can ask: How are you sleeping? How can I be helpful today?

For me, though, “How are you” is an excellent reminder that I have a right and responsibility to check in with myself and that it is okay to be something other than not well. “How are you?” when asked with genuine concern and a willingness to hear the truth is a vital human question. I might not always want to answer. (I might not even want to answer when I ask it of myself.) I might not feel comfortable in all situations to open up. But the concern and care that is encompassed in that simple, yet wildly complex, question is noted and appreciated. Let’s take back this question and only ask when we truly want to know the answer. It is not a cursory greeting, it is an invitation for human connection. And for this moment, my answer is: I’m still here.

Our flow was much better today due to both our space and the set up. We were in the Catholic Church. On the walls are numbers for the Stations of the Cross, but no pictures to accompany the numbers. It was unclear whether they ever had pictures or if the numbers are where they’ve always stopped to pray. It seemed fitting that the pharmacy was set up in the chancel beside the altar. The place where the people go to receive the sacrament of our Lord’s Supper, today became the place where our brothers and sisters in Christ came to receive the gifts of medication to aide in their healing.

I am here as a chaplain. While the healing prayers I offer are not sacraments, they are sacramental. I sit to the side where I can watch the ministry of my colleagues as they diagnose, listen, and lay hands on our patients. Marissa calmly ensures that the balm we offer is the proper dosage, and all of us try to live into our baptismal covenant to respect the dignity of every human being.

In the afternoon as I went outside to pray with some patients John the Baptist appeared before me. His hair was matted and dusty, he wore oversized-baggy cargo shorts that barely covered him and looked more like a loin cloth than shorts. He walked with a wooden walking staff, carried a dirty, empty bottle for water and a disheveled sack with all of his belongings.  He came to me clearly complaining of head pain. I struggled to explain that I was not a doctor. My translator told me that this man was an “imbecile” and we “didn’t need to waste time on him.” I insisted that all people could see the doctor and walked him over to the check in area. The translator at intake also tried to tell me that this man was “sick in his head” and didn’t need help but I insisted that all people would be seen. The translator was then very kind and helped me calm the man so he could wait.

Yesterday we treated two developmentally delayed patients who were originally turned away because they were “imbeciles” and had no need for the medical care we offered. With the help of many colleagues we made sure they were seen. These encounters broke my heart knowing that the daily lives of these people are filed with occasions of disrespect and ridicule. These experiences also beg the question: What would we do if we literally encountered the saints of our scriptures without knowledge of who we were meeting? The bible teaches us the John the Baptist was a disheveled character who did not fully fit in society. Would we accept the baptism of John if he appeared to us today?

Our team was “baptized” today. The other patients laughed as I insisted we treat him. Our patients inside of the “clinic” space shuddered as he passed. But our doctors embraced the man and listed to his rambling to make sense of what ailed him. After his check-up he was brought to me for prayer. Immediately, he dropped to his knees, shed his baggage and bowed his head. I laid my hands on his head and prayed that God might fill him and heal him. But he is already full of Christ. He knows and loves the Lord more than I could ever hope to know Christ.

Jesus told us to let the little children come to him and it has been demonstrated that children often have greater faith development than many of their adult counterparts. Children have an innate ability to trust and know the Christ that is in front of them. Developmentally delayed individuals share in this innate ability. This man, our own modern-day Haitian John the Baptist, was a faithful exemplar of Christ in this place. My prayer for our team is that we might find the strength to discover a personal faith nearly as radical as our “Baptist” exhibited today.

To paraphrase Madonna: It’s a digital world and I am a [reluctant] digital girl.

We’ve all gotten it: the email that unravels all your awesome (if you do say so yourself) plans. You send a simple request to someone and they email back explaining all the reasons what you need is not possible. Or you get an unsolicited bit of advice or feedback that hits every nerve in your body. Or you send a bit of feedback only to receive an email in return that is laden with hurt feelings and accusations. As our world continues to turn more and more to impersonal, digital communication methods it becomes easier to lose sight of feelings and emotions when we communicate with a quick click, click, click… send.

But human beings haven’t changed. We are still emotional beings who take pride in our work and try (I hope) to do our best to respect the dignity of others in our communications. So this turn to cold, digital communication is sometimes at odds with our communication needs as individuals. Some personality types are better suited to digital communication than others. But on the whole, we lose something when we communicate as though it is entirely mechanical instead of personal.

So, how do we respond in love while still maintaining appropriate boundaries and professionalism?

Here are my quick and dirty email communication rules that I try to follow:

1. Take a breath or, better yet, several. Just because email means instant communication is possible, it doesn’t mean instant communication is necessary. With smart phones, tablets, and wifi galore we’ve become a society that expects instantaneous answers to all of life’s questions. Just because there might be an expectation that we respond immediately it does not mean it is required. Take 24 hours before responding to any email, that is not time sensitive, that is upsetting or inflammatory. If you think that window might further damage the relationship, a simple response that tells the sender you received her/his correspondence and will respond soon can sometimes defuse the situation temporarily.

2. Take it off line. Email is best employed for matter-of-fact, short communications. Once hurt feelings get involved the situation can escalate quickly. Offer to meet in person or by telephone if the correspondence has taken a turn towards hurt feelings.

3. Walk a mile. If you thought the thing you were requesting was simple yet the response you got was complicated, rather than further explaining why your request is really simple – look at it from their perspective. What are the values involved? What other factors are in play?

4. Get an outside perspective. If you really cannot settle down or see the reasoning in the correspondence, ask an unbiased person to weigh in. Sometimes this might be to validate what you are experiencing, a lot of the time this might be to objectively consider both sides.

5. Remember the Christ that is in them. It is really easy to play the “I’m right, they’re wrong” game with email. You don’t have to look the other person in the eye when you are communicating and “hearing” their words. I find it is always best for me to assume the best motives and remember that at the bottom of it all the person with whom I am communicating was created in God’s image. This is both the hardest and easiest step. If loving everybody was easy, we’d live in a much more peaceful world.

It’s only after I’ve completed the above five steps that I am able to respond to difficult emails with love. Sometimes I do respond before I’ve participated in these steps and sometimes I luck out and do a good job. Most of the time, though, a quick response leads to hurt feelings and a much longer and more arduous communication than was necessary.

A few weeks ago one of my parishioners emailed me the following story from his commute. With his permission I share it with you now:

Today as I was on the subway coming back from Quincy to my office in Back Bay I was riding the Orange line.  A man who was learning impaired approached me and asked if I had any spare change.  At first I nodded no; he then offered me a gift which was a piece of paper 18”x24” rolled up with an elastic band (he had a handful of them). I declined, but offered him a dollar instead and he was grateful.  He proceeded down the subway car, approaching others and got pretty much the same initial response of the nod, except most looked around to see if anyone else was looking to try to get a mutual smirk, evil smile or an eye roll.   I got so frustrated with myself for not doing more; he wanted to give me something.

He worked his way back to me, and this time I was ready with another dollar bill; I wanted what he was handing out.  So I handed him another dollar and he handed me the gift.  He proceeded to offer me a second one, and I declined (much more politely than last time).  He was probably in his mid 50’s and told me he had been drawing since he was 8 years old.  I told him that I would open it when I got back to work.  He proceeded on, and continued to get the same negative responses.  The suspense was killing me, what was in the rolled up paper, and what was his drawing?  I took off the rubber band and unrolled it and saw what he had drawn.

I went back into my wallet and pulled out a five dollar bill, and said “here; this is worth way more than two dollars”.  He again offered me a second one and I declined and told him that he needed to keep them so he could give them to other people.  It turns out, according to him, that they are all the same picture.  He then sat down next to me on the subway and smiled a lot and introduced himself to me, and told me that he had worked so hard on those drawings in his art class today.  I chuckled to myself because others kept throwing me a glance, some were a friendly smile and others were something more of a look of disgust as if to say “better you than me” and if so they were right.

 

I practically skipped off the subway.