For those on the frontlines — nurses, doctors, healthcare workers, firefighters, EMTs, grocery staff and more — it has felt like we never had enough time. We’ve all worked long hours, often double shifts, as we scrambled to heal and protect people from the coronavirus.

We know older adults are at risk because of COVID-19. Here at Pilgrim Manor, we’ve spent many long hours changing how we operated prior to the pandemic. And these changes continue, on top of all the other items we already considered top priority to care for residents.

We wish we had more time with so many rapid changes to keep residents safe.

Chronos

Waiting. That’s what the pandemic is. We wait to find out the latest trends in the coronavirus. Is the amount of COVID-19 cases decreasing? Increasing? When can we stop wearing masks? When can we see family? When can we safely go to restaurants? We wait to hear that family and friends are well, not sick and dying. Waiting.

So why do we need to make room for time? We’ve been more conscious of time this spring. Minutes blinking by. Hours crawling by. Days flying by. Weeks and months that look and feel different from any other time in our life. Most of our focus on time is awareness of it passing.

What time is it? In Greek, time is chronos, referring to chronological and sequential aspect of time. Time as a quantity. We’ve had enough of that kind of time.

Kairos

I think we need to make room for a different kind of time. There’s also another Greek word for time — kairos. Kairos has a qualitative aspect. Kairos time is an opportune moment — or the right time. In the New Testament, kairos means the appointed time in the purposes of God. Kairos time is the time when God acts. What if this moment isn’t only a horrible time surrounded by the coronavirus pandemic and racism and racial violence but an opportune time for God to act?

At the beginning of his ministry, “Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. ‘The time has come,’ he said. ‘The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!’” (Mark 1:15) Jesus uses the word kairos. And then we see God in Jesus Christ, acting in powerful ways. With just a simple invitation to “follow me,” Jesus created a following. First his disciples followed, but then hundreds more followed him. Why? Because they could sense something powerful in him.

Not only were Jesus’ words true and powerful, so were his actions. People were healed from debilitating diseases. People arose from the dead. Jesus fed 5000 people with only five fish and two loaves of bread. His disciples looked around them and could see the kingdom of God coming to light through Jesus Christ.

It was the right time — kairos time. They saw walls built to divide people crumble in the face of Jesus’ love. Racial walls that separated Jews and Gentiles. They saw women treated with respect, rather than as possessions.

The Right Time

It was the right time — kairos time. But that doesn’t mean it was an easy time. The Roman Empire had rolled over Palestine, and the Jews had lost their freedom and country, being occupied by a ruthless police force of the Roman emperor. But God almost always acts when times are darkest. Into the darkness of occupation, Jesus announces the good news that the kingdom of God had come.

It reminds me of Jesus’ resurrection. The disciples are in the midst of despair, having just watched the death of their hope as Jesus was crucified. John writes: “While it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance (John 20:1). While it was still dark. God’s favorite place to act is wherever and whenever there is darkness.

Into the Darkness

We are living through dark and difficult times. Would it be surprising that God chooses to act now? Although we have been physically disconnected through sheltering in place and social distancing, there has also been a new recognition that we are united on a deeper, spiritual level. In our community, staff members have worked harder as we are united in our passion to keep our residents safe. This is the right time — kairos time — where God acts to usher in the kingdom of God.

I mourn the deaths of black people to police brutality. I mourn the death of George Floyd. I’m angry that racism continues to thrive and that minorities bear the brunt of injustice. But I am so glad that people are rising up, that protests have swept the world to end racism and police brutality.

To me, it feels like God’s spirit of truth and justice is lighting a fire in so many people. God is acting to bring the kingdom of God closer, working in us and through us. It’s the right time. It’s kairos time. May God’s light burn through our present darkness. May we all catch fire with God’s spirit of healing, wholeness, truth and justice. Let’s make room for kairos time.

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Wasn’t Mother’s Day strange? I couldn’t bring flowers to my mom. We couldn’t gather around the dinner table. I mourn the loss of family and group celebrations of important milestones, such as birthdays, graduations, weddings — even funerals.

Although I grieve those losses, I am grateful for some new blessings occurring as a result of the pandemic. In particular, I appreciate how relationships with coworkers have deepened. Facing the coronavirus together has strengthened and deepened work relationships. What do I mean?

Motherhood Is Optimism

One of the best parts of Mother’s Day was the group texts from my fellow managers at Pilgrim Manor retirement community. As if to make up for the fact that most of us were separated from our mothers and children, due to the coronavirus and the necessary social (I prefer physical) distancing to prevent its spread, we gave each other “Happy Mother’s Day” wishes and blessings. One manager texted a quote that has continued to speak to me: Gilda Radner wrote: “Motherhood is the biggest gamble in the world. It is the glorious life force. It’s huge and scary — it’s an act of infinite optimism.”

Where do I derive hope during the pandemic? Motherhood is an “act of infinite optimism.” For me, having children feels like one of my gifts to the world. These totally unique people bless the world in new ways. Having children also connected me to the future in new ways.

Thinking of Others

Before I had children, I admit I was quite the speed demon. I drove fast, as attested by a number of speeding tickets. But once my son Jacob was born, I slowed way down. Suddenly, I viewed my driving from a wider perspective of community and the future. My actions impacted not only my son’s future and mine but many others’ futures. Clearly, a growing-up moment for me.

But more than that, I feel connected to the future through them. I’ve always practiced recycling. I work hard to reduce my carbon footprint. I try to be a steward of the earth as God created us to be. But now, my commitments have more roots. Now, not only do I care about the earth for itself but also as the home of so many children and people.

In addition, our younger generations give me hope. Many of the youth in Grand Rapids Public Schools have chosen to use buses rather than buy cars to reduce carbon emissions. Many share a passion for social justice. Most of them share a major concern for global warming, just like Greta Thunberg, the 17-year-old Swedish climate activist who ignited a global movement against climate change. Younger generations passion for social justice and a firm commitment to the transformative power of kindness makes me hopeful.

Faith Gives Hope

Finally, my faith gives me hope. Faith in a good God. One of my favorite Bible passages is Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” God spoke these words to Jeremiah after the Israelite people had been overrun by Babylon and forcibly exiled to Babylon. Their world felt like it had come to the end. But into their darkness and despair, God speaks a word of hope. Into our darkness and despair, God speaks a word of hope. The hope is none other than Jesus Christ. Because we belong to a resurrection God, we can have hope: “Nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:39b)

Our times are dark. We despair. I never expected to live during a pandemic. But God’s life and love will see us through. That’s why I choose hope.

We flesh out our hope through commitments. During this pandemic, we practice physical distancing and mask wearing to ensure an end to the pandemic and hope for the future for all of us. What choices have you made during the pandemic that bring you hope?

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What surprises me is how so many people have not collapsed in fear but instead have risen out of pandemic fears with greater resilience, compassion and love.

Resilience in Our Community

I work in a senior living community, and in order to keep residents healthy and safe, we’ve asked their families not to visit. Families have creatively improvised to stay connected. Carolyn, one of our residents, had her family gather outside her window, and her grandson serenaded her with a trumpet solo. Families drop off “love” packages daily, which might include cards, home-baked goodies, books or puzzles.

Our healthcare staff feels strained, yes. But instead of irritability or anxiety, I see the opposite. My coworkers are more cheerful. They are going the extra mile. One dining services employee worked overtime to bake cookies for each resident. Many of us have used our computers or personal phones to ensure residents get to see their loved ones, eye to eye.

Surviving Other Disasters

As chaplain, I’ve been making even more visits to ward off loneliness and isolation. While my goal was to help our residents, instead, I’m the one who has benefited. Marge reflected on her experiences during WWII and how they endured a lot of rationing but made it through. Wilma told me about her experience with scarlet fever. Her sister contracted it and had to be quarantined for a time. But her sister got better and came home. Someone else reflected on polio scares.

Because of their experiences during challenging times, older adults often radiate calm acceptance of social distancing and unflagging hope that we will overcome these pandemic times. As a result, I feel more hopeful. How glad I am to be working with older adults who share their experiences and wisdom!

Hope Prevails

Helen Keller wrote, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.” In some strange ways, darkness and disaster give birth to hope. Rebecca Solnit, a writer, has published books chronicling some of our modern disasters and their impact on our communities. Disasters like Hurricane Katrina, the 1906 and 1989 earthquake in San Francisco, and 9/11. She had lived through the 1989 San Francisco earthquake and noticed how sharing that experience with others connected them in a new way. She also saw amazing acts of compassion and altruism as people bonded together to endure it.

When Rebecca Solnit was interviewed for the On Being project, she said, “There’s a way a disaster throws people into the present and sort of gives them this supersaturated immediacy that also includes a deep sense of connection. It’s as though in some violent gift you’ve been given a kind of spiritual awakening where you’re close to mortality in a way that makes you feel more alive; you’re deeply in the present and can let go of past and future and your personal narrative, in some ways.”

Together, we are living through the coronavirus pandemic. Despite quarantines, isolation, and staying at home, we aren’t alone. Our connection is forged in this disaster. And we realize as never before our togetherness is a spiritual reality that connects us on a deeper level.

Easter Sunday

I’m looking forward to Easter. One of my favorite ways to celebrate Easter is the sunrise worship service. We got up in the dark and gathered together in the dark. At first, we couldn’t see each other’s faces. But gradually, the darkness diminished, and when the sunrise crested the trees, we sang “Up from the grave he arose.” I always get goosebumps imagining Christ’s resurrection, breaking the oppressive darkness with his glorious light.

Because of the corona virus, we won’t be gathering for worship this Easter. But maybe we can still worship together. Will you get up with me before the sunrise? Get yourself a cup of coffee, put on a coat, and sit on your front steps. And as the night gives way to day, and the sun rises in the distance, let’s say aloud, “Alleluia! Christ is risen.” And know that even though we can’t see or hear each other, our fellow sisters and brothers respond back, “He is risen indeed. Alleluia!”

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Little did I know how difficult it would be to have children. After years of trying, my husband and I sought a fertility specialist who helped us finally get pregnant. The sheer joy we felt when we welcomed our son Jake into the world! And again, with help from a fertility specialist and many prayers, we welcomed Samuel and Liam. It never felt like this ability came from me. I couldn’t bear children. Rather, our children were the product of God and prayer.

I am, like so many of our mothers of faith, barren.  Like Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, even Hannah, Samuel’s mother, and finally Mary, all childless until God gave new life. I even named two of my sons after sons born of our barren mothers—Jacob and Samuel.

Our family grew while I was in seminary. In my senior year, I began to work on my profile and to research different churches. And then … I found out I was pregnant! I said, “No, I can’t be pregnant. I’m infertile. It can’t be!” Normally welcome news, pregnancy and a child right when I was just about to begin ministry full-time filled me with anxiety and stress. Luckily, pregnancy lasts a long time. I used all those months learning acceptance.

Surprising Love

And then, my beloved daughter Fiona was born. A precious daughter. She was a gift of love I hadn’t initially wanted. I didn’t even know I needed her. But I did. And I do. She has filled my life with even more love.

Sometimes surprising and unlooked for love is the best gift of all. We remember that first Christmas a couple thousand years ago. We didn’t know we needed that little baby in the manger.  Jesus came into our world unexpected and unlooked for.  As John wrote, “The true light was coming into the world, but the world did not recognize him, and his own didn’t receive him.” (John 1:10 -11)

“The word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only son.” (John 1:14) I’ve always imagined God’s glory looks like love. The amazing love of our savior who was willing to give his own life in order for us to know God’s amazing love.

God’s Love

One of our residents moved into our retirement community rather reluctantly, grieving the loss of her home. She wasn’t religious, although she’d gone to church a bit as a young adult. When we first met,  she said to me, “I’m not sure God would really want me.” Yet, over the next year, she discovered God’s gift of love for her personally. She enthusiastically learned more about God through weekly catechism classes and officially joined the Catholic church when she was 85. She didn’t expect the loving gift of a savior born in a manger. She didn’t expect her own love for God to grow in her heart. But it did.

Sometimes the gift of love is unexpected, even unwanted, like the birth of Jesus Christ. Even 2000 years later, we still need the gift of a baby wrapped in love. The truth is, sometimes the greatest gifts are the ones we didn’t see coming. (Guideposts, December/January 2020, “Our Christmas Puppy.”)

My prayer for each one of us this Advent season is to be surprised anew at the gift of God’s love.

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Hearing Ella Fitzgerald’s smoky voice croon George Gershwin’s “Summertime” from the opera Porgy and Bess evokes the warmth and joy of summer.  “One of these mornings, you’re going to rise up singing.” For me, summer starts in springtime when the robins return to Michigan to lay their eggs. I crack my windows, even though it is still so cold out, just so I can hear the robins trilling a chorus to wake up the sun. It seems to me they don’t think the sun will rise until they do the heavy lifting of a full chorus to wake up the dawn.

Most mornings, I wake up with a song in my head. Often it’s a hymn, such as “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” or “This Is My Father’s World.” Or it might be a song from one of my favorite bands, Mumford and Sons or Florence and the Machines, or even Rolling Stones. But those songs in my head help me enjoy the day. It’s like they create an attitude of joy and fun.

Summer and music go hand in hand. Music in the Park or outdoor concerts. In Grand Rapids, Michigan, Frederik Meijer Gardens holds weekly concerts. There is something so right about sitting outside with music playing and birds and insects singing. My mother-in-law lives nearby, and we sit out on her deck, listening to the songs and relaxing with ice cold lemonade and small appetizers.

Memory and Music

My office is right down the hall from one of our dining rooms. Several times a week, I hear one resident, Ruth, begin playing hymns and popular songs as residents gather for dinner.  What’s not to love about that?  Ruth is a spry 99-year-old who played the piano for churches where her husband was pastor.  She’s sharp as a tack, and I wonder if it’s because of the music?

Recent research shows that music has a beneficial impact on memory. (See Repeated Exposure to Familiar Music Alters Functional Connectivity in Alzheimer’s Disease, July 2018, Alzheimer’s & Dementia). If you haven’t already seen it, watch the moving documentary, Alive Inside.

United Church Homes has become a certified care provider for the Music and Memory program. Volunteers and staff work with residents to create a personalized playlist that is downloaded to individual iPods for residents to use.  When Carol hears her favorite songs, she begins to smile, and starts to sing along, even though Carol’s dementia has impacted her short- and long-term memory.  But when the music plays, she can still remember the lyrics.

God and Music

I think God created us to sing and make music. Like Psalm 100 encourages: “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth. Worship the Lord with gladness; come into God’s presence with singing.”  There’s something creational about music. It’s as if God wired our hearts to sing. But it’s not limited to just humans.  As the psalmists look around the world, trees clap and hills sing and even the heavens “pour forth speech.” And I’m fairly certain it is set to music.

Vessels and Music

I was driving to our retirement community when NPR’s Morning Edition reported on an exhibition entitled “Vessel Orchestra” by artist Oliver Beer at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. Each vessel, from a 7000-yea-old clay pot to a modern wine glass sings a note.

Artist Beer said, “Every empty space, whether it be an empty room or a wine glass or a jug or the inside of a bronze bust, which is hollow, has its own frequency. That’s just a universal truth. And so, in fact, every single object that I’d listened to was an empty object, and therefore every single one had its own note.” Placing empty vessels from Metropolitan’s Museum of Art’s collections, Beers dropped microphone’s into the pots to broadcast their notes.  The result?  The pots sang! (“Crock of Ages:  New Exhibit Reveals Ancient Pottery’s Millennia-Long Songs” by Neda Ulaby, August 6, 2019)

This summer, whether it’s visiting New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art or asking Alexa to play an old favorite, rejuvenate yourself with song. “One of these mornings, you’re going to rise up singing.”

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I Know You, But I Don’t Remember You

Once, when we were out for dinner, Mom talked about how frustrated she felt not remembering. She said, “I know you, but I don’t remember you.”  On one level, that doesn’t make sense.  How can you know someone if you can’t remember them?  But on another level, it makes sense.  We know not just with our brains, but with our hearts.  That deep, heartful knowing of a beloved person or a beloved Savior doesn’t require remembering.  Something happens when we love someone, almost as if they are etched onto our hearts. That comforts me when I grieve Mom’s failing memory.

In Isaiah 49: 15 -16, God says, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” My name is written on God’s hands. And I’ve discovered that I am also engraved upon my mother’s heart, even when she forgets specific memories.

Grief in Aging

One of the tasks aging presents us with is grief. Many of my residents grieve life transitions, death of loved ones, and the loss of physical abilities, such as walking or the loss of memories.  What I’ve discovered is that talking about those losses with other people helps us continue on our life journey and travel through grief to a new normal.

To that end, I share some of my memories of my mom as Mom and I each make our way through our grief. Thank you for bearing witness with me.

Memories for My Mother

“Mom, this memory is all yours. You told me when I was three, I got mad at you and I told you, “I’m running away.”  You helped me pack a small suitcase, and I left out the front door, trudged down the sidewalk past three houses.  I set down the suitcase and sat on it, and after what seemed like forever to me — but was probably only ten minutes — I made my way back home to be welcomed with a hug. I have a feeling we each made a hard journey that day, both mother and daughter.

When I was in first grade in a new school and a new city, my teacher in her first year of teaching often scared me. She had me stay in for recess when I colored outside the lines. Once she accused me of cheating when I most certainly did not! As I walked home with my older sister, Susan, my worries twisted my stomach in knots. It hurt so much that I laid down in the ditch beside the path and told my sister I couldn’t walk any further. Susan ran home, and Mom, and she got into our station wagon and came to rescue me. You made me feel safe.

I have many good memories of coming home from school and sitting down with you to talk about my day and have a snack. You didn’t make cookies like your mom, but I always had my choice of a Twinkie, Ho-Ho, or Hostess cherry pie. Talking and laughing with you was easy. Of course, we had our fair share of arguments too. I was always quick to point out when something “wasn’t fair, for me.” I felt totally free to express myself, not always nicely. Having teenagers of my own now, I realize teenagers are pretty myopically self-absorbed. I won’t forget what you told all of us — thankfully comfortable long past that time, it only a memory. “I have always loved you girls. There were times, especially in middle school, when I didn’t like you. But I always loved you.”

When my first son, Jacob, was born, you flew out to Sacramento and stayed with me for three weeks. I will always treasure that time. You weren’t bossy. You weren’t opinionated. But it was nice to have your advice. And even more than that, your presence calmed some of my new-parent worries.

Mom, I wouldn’t have made it through seminary without you caring for my four children! You flew with two-year-old Jacob from Sacramento to Grand Rapids while we drove across the country with all of our belongings so I could go to seminary.  All my kids — Jake, Sam, Liam, and Fiona — have good memories of time with Grandma. My final year of seminary surprised us all with the birth of Fiona! I managed to finish final projects and take oral exams only because you came to my house every day and held Fiona between me breastfeeding her so I could study. Thank you, Mom! I love you.

I’ll remember for you now, Mom, until you remember.

Experiencing dementia personally or as a family member is painful. The Holy Spirit has been a bastion of comfort and hope for me.  So too is God’s promises for the coming peaceable kingdom and the new creation when God makes all things new. Even memories will experience a bit of a resurrection.

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God’s Will

“The heart of our journeys as Christ-followers lies in learning how to surrender our wills to God’s will. Jesus models this surrender in the verse above, and this is what Jesus invites us to do as well. In his earthly life, Jesus shows us what single-minded and wholehearted abandonment to the will of God looks like.” (Pauses for Lent: 40 Words for 40 Days. Trevor Hudson) During Lent, we fast or serve to remind ourselves that surrender of our will to God’s will is at the center of our lives.

Residing in a Senior Living Community: An Act of Surrender

If that’s the case, then residency at a senior living community is a Lenten act of surrender. In general, nobody plans on moving into a senior living community. We envision ourselves living out our final days at home. So when most people move into a senior living community, they grieve the loss of their independence, home and their way of life.

Lenore told me, “I didn’t want to move in here. But my kids are worried about my safety, and they feel like I need help.”

David said, “My wife can’t take care of me at home.  I fell several times, and my wife wasn’t strong enough to help me up. She had to call 911 to get help from paramedics.”

For the first several months, residents struggle with acceptance. As the Serenity Prayer states, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” (Reinhold Niebuhr).  Accepting a different life and home from what you planned is a difficult journey. And yet, most people move to acceptance, and then even surprising enjoyment, as community life brings new friendships with other residents and staff. People’s gratitude increases as they accept compassionate care given by staff. As in the season of Lent, we begin in mourning and ashes but move to resurrection and life.

Jesus’ Will

As I look again at our stained-glass window, I notice the artist depicted Jesus’ unity with God through a brilliant beam of yellow, slanting down as if from heaven and washing across Jesus’ face. God and Jesus are one. As Jesus tells his disciples, “Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me.” (John 14:11)  So Jesus isn’t submitting to the Father’s will. God isn’t asking Jesus to sacrifice his life on the cross for us. Jesus himself is equally committed to sacrificing his life on the cross because of his love for us and his love for God. What we see in the Garden of Gethsemane is not Jesus submitting to the Father’s will. It’s Jesus rediscovering his own will and love.

Will of Love

This Lent, with the Holy Spirit’s help, we have an opportunity to rediscover our will of love as Jesus rediscovered and recommitted to sacrificial love in the Garden of Gethsemane. Spend time in prayer using your imagination to see the larger picture of your life: wrapped and intertwined with God’s goodness and love, even in the midst of challenges.

For me, mindful breathing helps me sharpen my eyes of faith and see goodness and love at work around me and in me. (A good primer for that is Thick Nhat Hanh’s Peace Is Every Step.)  Then I am refreshed to choose again to be God’s agent of change and love in this world.

What practices help you to move from mourning to dancing?  This Lent, focus on our unity with God and our journey of love to re-energize your journey of faith and love.

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Pay Attention to Older Adults’ Wishes and Values

So many visitors treat these important and worthy adults as children. You can tell it by the tone in their voice. As they speak to residents, their voices raise an octave, as if speaking to a toddler. Or else, they ignore or don’t listen to a resident’s wishes.

When Maggie moved into a retirement community, she didn’t want to be here but at home. However, her doctor had recommended assisted living care for her own safety. Maggie grieved the loss of her home, angry at her family’s insistence she remain here. But what angered her most was that her family gutted her apartment, selling personal possessions or taking them for themselves without ever telling her. They had also decided which items to move to her new suite. She never had the opportunity to select furniture or belongings that were precious to her.

While older adults might not be able to decide a safe living arrangement, their wishes and values must always be listened to and respected.

Older Adults Are Irreplaceable

Older adults view voting as a sacred duty. Unlike younger generations, They see voting as a significant way to express their citizenship.  When Jennifer, our activities director, checks in with the residents about voting, she notices the pride and gladness residents experience when voting. I helped Dottie fill out her absentee ballot this year. As I read the names, she never hesitated in her vote. Unfortunately, many younger staff and resident family members don’t recognize how important voting is to older adults.  Some family members never bring in their parents’ absentee ballots. Other family members direct us not to give them an absentee ballot, due to their loved ones’ dementia. But Michigan voting laws, nothing prohibits older adults from voting, even cognitive impairment.

These experiences point to how our wider culture views older adults: dispensable and easily replaced.  But my experience as a chaplain to older adults speaks to another reality. Older adults are indispensable — indispensable meaning critical, vitally important, required, essential, necessary and key. Our communities and our country desperately need to listen to the experience and wisdom of our older adults.

Learn from Older Adults’ Experience

Many days, I feel like I am the learner, sitting at the knees of these wise older adults who show me the way to live a life that is full, kind, loving and deep. (For more information, listen to this Ted Talk.) Ann Marie (90) lives here with her husband Richard (96). Because Richard’s health has deteriorated and his memory impaired, Ann Marie is his primary caregiver, along with the help of our staff. She faithfully cares for him, regardless of the cost to her. When I asked her about this, she told me, “Richard and I cared for all of our parents at our home until they passed away. I plan on doing the same for my husband.” Her faithful service to her husband teaches me essential service is in marriage.

Linda lives in our health center, receiving skilled nursing services. She needs help with bathing and dressing, and she suffers from significant dementia. Although she remembers little from her daily life, she knows exactly what we can pray for her during worship. “I want to be true and continue to grow closer and closer to my God,” she often says. She teaches me that faith comes from the heart, and loving discipleship never ends.

Accept Grace Like Older Adults

Older adults, like all of us, have faced challenges and difficulties. From many of them, I see the hard-earned discipline of accepting grace their lives with deep peace. But we have trouble learning acceptance, hence the popularity of the Serenity Prayer. “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” (Reinhold Niebuhr) Aren’t serenity, courage and wisdom sadly lacking in our communities and our country?  How would our communities be different if we listened to older adults and benefitted from their experience?

Churches and faith communities are one of few places where multiple generations interact. What conversations or relationships would occur if we purposely created intergenerational groups to have personal conversations about life experiences or personal topics?

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But then I remember that Jesus told the crowds gathered around him, “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matt 10:34). That more truly describes the upheaval Christ’s coming caused. The Prince of Peace acted like a spark to dynamite. Instantly, Jesus was in conflict with religious powers and worldly powers. Why? Because the reign of the Prince of Peace will always be in conflict with injustice, hate and falsehood. So, do I need to look for places of injustice, hate and falsehood to find unity?

Finding Peace in Times of Grief

This past month, we saw a gunman filled with anti-semitic hate open fire at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburg, killing 11 victims. That morning’s Shabbat service destroyed by gun violence and death. A community ripped apart by one person’s racism. But in the face of that mass shooting, I found accord in a vigil we held here at United Church Homes’ Pilgrim Manor for the victims and the Tree of Life community. In solidarity with them, residents lit candles as we named the victims and then took time to express our own anger and grief for the victims’ families. I found peace in the shared compassion for fellow human beings.

I also found it this week when I visited a resident named Lauren. Lauren’s physical conditions required her to move into our assisted living community. Unfortunately, she could no longer take care of her dog, Scarlett, and has bitterly grieved their separation. I told her about the death of my black Lab Muta, and she told me, “I’m so sorry. I know how much that hurts.” As I was attempting to bring comfort to her, she comforted me. There was something deeply comforting about being able to share our individual losses. We could be open and vulnerable, and I think it touched both of our hearts in fundamental ways.

Peacemakers

Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9). It is in praying and advocating for unity in places of hurt, injustice and hate that I actually find my own peace.  As we connect with others, we share in the Prince of Peace. As Jesus told his disciples right before his own torturous crucifixion, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). When we make peace with others, we discover the Prince of Peace, moving heaven and earth toward his peacable kingdom of shalom.

This Advent, let us watch faithfully for signs of God’s peace breaking into our world. Let us watch for signs of God’s compassion and grace breaking in. May the Prince of Peace continue to transform us into peacemakers, and our world into the kingdom of shalom. And may we be blessed by Jesus the Christ’s peace as we affirm our common humanity in community. In the words of Martin Luther King Jr., “I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality. … I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word. Come, Lord Jesus, come.”

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After coming home from United Church Homes’ Ruth Frost Parker Center for Abundant Aging’s 2018 Annual Symposium, featuring keynote Dr. Ira Byock, my husband and I went to Ann Arbor to watch a University of Michigan football game. As we drove that weekend, I told him about the Symposium, about well-being at the end of life and about opportunities for growth only experienced in the face of death.

Then we turned on NPR and listened to the Moth Radio Hour, where Sheri Holman told her story, “Eat the Day.” We listened as she shared her experiences facing death and how, as a result, her family learned to live with grateful well-being.

Sheri described the delight of giving birth to her twins, Linus and Felix. They were healthy at birth, but as they neared two months, Linus began to do something unusual — instead of the typical direct gaze of a baby into his parents’ eyes, Linus began to look away. Following mother’s intuition, Sheri asked her pediatrician to authorize a visit to an ophthalmologist. As the doctor proceeded, he became more solemn and less talkative.  Finally, he told her, “This is very serious. Your son has a massive tumor on the retina of his right eye, called a retinal blastoma.” One week later, Linus began chemotherapy.

Sheri and her husband went into battle mode. Every three weeks, they took Linus for chemotherapy, which treated not just one tumor but 12 additional tumors. While experiencing her son’s precarious journey in the face of cancer and death, Sheri began to wonder what caused this.  As is so common, loved ones blame themselves, experiencing guilt as they grieve. She asked herself, “What did I do wrong as a mother?” She felt her family was cursed, and life darkened, becoming full of fear and out of control.

One day, she realized the only way she could go forward without despair was to change the story she told herself. She realized that death and suffering are both common and random. In the face of death, the only way to live is to savor life minute by minute. That day, Sheri took her twins and her 3-year-old daughter to the playground. She told her little girl, “Let’s eat this day. Let’s chew it and swallow it, so it is always with us.” And as they did, Sheri felt the darkness shadowing her family dissipate in the sunshine.

Today, Linus is a brilliant, witty 14-year-old boy.

Someone once asked Sheri, “Was there any good you got out of this?”

“Having a baby diagnosed with cancer stripped us of the illusion that life just continues. Instead, we are all born to die,” she replied.

Facing the reality of death made the whole family appreciate every moment of life. Together, they practice appreciation of what they have now — slowing down, not looking too far into the future. Living life presently, they live gratefully.

Sheri Holman’s story resembles many of the stories Dr. Byock heard from the dying patients he walked beside as a palliative care doctor. He realized that attending to the whole person, rather than only the illness, allowed him to attend to each individual’s well-being — well-being that surprisingly can be had in the face of death. In fact, it taught him that dying is an opportunity to live well with profound meaning, joy and laughter and a remarkable sense of celebration.

As Dr. Byock shared some of his patients’ stories, I felt my experience as a chaplain answering his. I have also witnessed people dying well. With helpful medication to alleviate pain, people have a tremendous opportunity to focus on what means most to them. And “it’s not things,” said Dr. Byock, “but people.” Near the end of life, focusing on community ties and family relationships allow us to find peace. Conversations expressing love and mutual forgiveness allow dying people to bless those around them.

What I found most striking at the Symposium was how Dr. Byock turned his learning at the knees of his patients into life lessons for living well for each one of us in attendance. I encourage everyone to read his books “Dying Well” (1997), “The Four Things That Matter Most”(2004) and “The Best Care Possible” (2012).

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