Thoughts on the Opioid Crisis - For Zach

When my son was born his name had already been chosen. A favorite movie at the time was The Princess Bride. His name would be Westley – without the “t” – the good guy, the hero, the handsome blond. Wesley was named, and I must say, he was absolutely adorable. As he grew, he was told where his name came from, and he watched The Princess Bride with his three sisters over and over and over.

In elementary school Wesley found his friend group, many of whom are still friends today. They called themselves the Unstoppable Seven. The Unstoppables all knew where Wesley got his name. They all watched The Princess Bride. The Unstoppables provided years of fun and entertainment for us as we enjoyed their company on many trips to the lake. Our house has a large third floor where bunkbeds, futons and a wide, open space make the perfect place to put seven rambunctious boys. They ate mountains of food at every meal. In between feedings they fished, swam, tubed, and built a secret fort in the Michigan woods. They were hilarious, intelligent and polite.

As elementary school led them to middle school, which led them to high school, the Unstoppables stuck together. Until one of them seemed to take a step out of the circle. Zach began to walk down a different path. And one day Zach wasn’t in the car when we were all heading north to the lake.

We saw him at graduation and gave him hugs and congratulations. A few years later, when visiting our old hometown, we went to our favorite restaurant and saw Zach behind the back counter making specialty rolls and helping guests. When he saw us, he literally ran from behind the counter, flour and dough on his hands, and engulfed us with huge bearhugs. He surprised us by shouting to one of his coworkers, “These people are like parents to me. I have so many happy memories because of them.” We felt a warm, happy, embarrassment at his praise. We had missed him since he stepped away from the pack. He was tall, blond, with a huge smile and naughty, twinkling eyes. Zach was full of life.

In late December 2017, Wesley called me from Bellingham, Washington. “Hey mom, I just found out that Zach is dead.” He sounded unsteady. The shock of his words took a few seconds for me to comprehend. Zach. Dead. He was only twenty-two. Fun, silly, loving Zach. Dead.

“How did he die?”

“It was an overdose. He got into heroin and other drugs.”

“How did you find out?”

“Facebook.”

It’s always a tragedy when a young person dies. In our country young people are caught in a catastrophic epidemic. The CDC estimates 130 Americans die every day from drug overdoses. This is a national crisis. A real one.

Zach was dead from an addiction to drugs.

I checked the two funeral home websites from our old hometown and found Zach’s obituary. His face smiled at me from the webpage.

Seven days after he died, I put on my black funeral dress and drove south. I pulled into the funeral home on an icy, windy day. A terrible day to put a child in the ground. But that would be any day of any year, wouldn’t it?

I saw a group of young men huddled together feverishly smoking cigarettes outside the funeral home entrance. I wondered to myself, Are you Zach’s friends? Did he leave the Unstoppables to run with you? Smoking is bad for you. Please don’t. You’re too young. Stay alive.

I smiled at the young men and made my way through the double doors and into the funeral chapel. I walked toward the flowers. Zach was there. Lying in his casket with a bandana around his head. I touched his hand and felt overwhelmed by the loss of this young life. Wesley’s age. Wesley’s friend. A friend who had become a stranger.

The funeral lasted less than fifteen minutes. The officiant didn’t know Zach, so he had nothing to say except saccharine platitudes. I saw Zach’s family sitting in the front row. Prime seats when you’re burying your child.

I watched the family and I also watched the big screen television with a rotation of slides showing Zach’s life in pictures. Zach as a little boy. Zach in elementary school. Zach in middle school. Zach in high school. There was a girl. Zach had his arm around her. She was pretty. She was in more and more slides. They kissed. There was a baby.

Zach held his newborn baby. Zach looked so sweetly at his little boy. The baby became a toddler with white-blond hair and laughing eyes. He was adorable and Zach held him in his strong arms.

When the unbelievably brief and insufficient funeral was at an end, the pastor asked if anyone would like to share a story about Zach. Not one person stood up to say anything about Zach. Not one person.

I wish I would have.

This is for you Zach:

“I remember the first time you came to the lake. I was cleaning things up as you all packed the cars to head home. I ran upstairs to make sure you each had your possessions (which were scattered everywhere!). You surprised me by poking your face out from under one of the bunkbeds.

“Zach, what are you doing?” I laughed at your prank.

“I want to stay here. Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home.”

“But we’ll come up next weekend,” I said.

“Zach, you were playful and naughty and fun. You found a fawn one day while the boys were jumping off the dock. You brought me to her and she stared at us from her deep brown eyes. No fear. You told me not to touch her or her mother would reject her. The next morning when we checked, she was safely gone with her mother.

I remember watching you eat a Bear Burger at the Brown Bear restaurant. You thought you were going to throw-up. I did too. You didn’t.

Zach, you were kind and appreciative. You had a softness beneath your humor. You were smart. You seemed to like being cared for. We cared. We enjoyed having you in our lives. We are so sorry that drugs got a hold of you and took your young life.”

As the piped-in music played, I stood to leave the funeral home. I saw one more slide on the television. And that was the one that made me cry. It was another picture of Zach with his son. It said, “Zach and Westley.” Westley. With a “t.” The good guy. The blond handsome hero.

In the parking lot, I sat in my car and I called Wes. “Hi buddy, I’m just about to leave Zach’s funeral.”

“You went, mom?”

“Yes. I’ve got to tell you something. There was a slide. Zach had a baby boy. Do you know what his name is?”

“No…what is it?”

Good bye, Zach. You are missed. I’m sorry you didn’t get the help you needed for your addiction. I hope heaven is treating you well and that you are flying with the angels. You are unstoppable.

The Waiting Room - Some Thoughts on Cell Phones

The Waiting Room – Some thoughts on cell phones

I sat in the waiting room this afternoon. I switched on my cell phone. I checked my sites and read some CNN. I’m a political junkie.

After being summoned to check-in at the main desk, I was moved to the next waiting room. I looked at my phone.

When I finally looked up, a mom and her son were sitting across from me. I wondered why she was there. She was the youngest person in the large waiting room. Except for her son. Everyone else was very old, like me (maybe even older).

The mom was on her phone. She did what I do on my phone. She swiped and liked and scrolled on down.  

Her son, who looked to be about six-years-old, gently bumped his head against her shoulder. Then he pulled his knit cap over his eyes. Then he sat still. I watched as he held his hands. He was wringing his hands. His slender fingers rolled and coiled around each other. His eyes were covered by his cap as he wrung his hands.

His mother stared at her phone.

I didn’t have a cell phone when I was a young mom. Who knows? Maybe if I would have had one, I would have stared at it in the waiting room, at the grocery store, at the bank, in a restaurant, and anywhere my kids were. Cell phones can be addictive. I love my phone.

These days, moms and dads of little ones live in a wild world. So many distractions. So many friends and strangers to keep up with. Family, work and a smaller and smaller world to manage. I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know if I could be a young mom today.

But back to the waiting room… I looked back down at my phone. Then one of the big doors opened and I heard a woman’s voice, “Daniel?”

The little boy who was holding his own hands, pushed his hat back from his eyes and looked up.

His mom slowly stood and walked him to the voice. The voice talked again, “How are you today, Daniel? My name is Mary and I will be taking your pictures this afternoon.” She was standing at the door of the X-ray wing.

The door closed and Mary, Daniel and Daniel’s mom disappeared.

I thought about cell phones. I thought about how many times a day I bend my neck forward and glue my eyes to anything. Even if it’s the weather channel.

I. Waste. Time.

I turned off my phone.

I bent my neck forward and I prayed.

Here was my prayer:

“I don’t know why Daniel is here, God. You do.

I hope it isn’t serious.

Thank you for Mary’s kind voice.

I hope he isn’t afraid when Mary “takes pictures” with something much bigger than a cell phone.

I hope her machine isn’t looking for something scary.

I hope Mary looks Daniel in the eyes when she explains the procedure.

Be with Daniels’ mom. She must feel scared, too.

I’m sorry for stepping away from life, and for wasting time.

When Daniel and his mom leave, I hope she is holding his hand as they walk out to the parking lot.

I hope she is holding his hand so he doesn’t have to.”

May I Help You? (For those who have endured abuse)

May I help you?

Some people may have suggestions.

Even if you didn’t ask.

Some may say you must be strong! You must be fierce! You must fight! You are tough!

But you didn’t ask.

They don’t know you have fought far too long. You are tired of wars.

Some may say, “Forget your sad story and move on with your life.”

Nope, you didn’t ask. Some people need to believe they know all the answers even when they know nothing about you.

Some people talk so they don’t have to listen.

Some may ignore you. This can hurt. But it is their own insecurity. Perhaps their own immaturity. 

This is not a reflection on you. You are beautiful. They are uncomfortable.

So, may I help you?

Take your time.

I might not have any answers. I probably won’t.

Personally, every survivor has their own distinct horror story. I respect you and your story.

Would you like to talk about it?

Is it easier to whisper? Or shout? Or let your tears do the talking?

What would comfort you?

You may ask for what you need. Always.

You may tip-toe or stomp or curl up on the couch.

Your answers are the right answers. Take all the time you need.

If you need to fight, I will go to war with you.

For now, I will sit with you. I will make the tea. I will be present. I will listen.

May I help you, dear one?

The Burden of Being Human: Blessings and Woes

The Burden of Being Human: Blessings and Woes

Blessed are you when you leave everything behind, including your homeland to protect your family from violence.

Blessed are you when the violence you left is waiting for you in the country you hope will protect you, as soon as you cross the border.

Blessed are you when your local school is shot up by a gunman as he fires and kills your children and friends.

Blessed are you when your son, who was alive yesterday, was gunned down in the street near your home, and now you are planning his funeral.

Blessed are you when your government shuts-down, leaves you without pay, but your needs for food, medicine, and shelter are still a stark reality.

Blessed are you when you find your daughter overdosed on opioids.

Blessed are you when those with money and power take your money and power too.

Blessed are you when you work full-time as a teacher but must have another job so you can pay your bills.

Blessed are you when your skin is any color but white.

Blessed are you when insults, racial slurs, foul language, and other word-atrocities are hurled at you.

Blessed are you when you don’t know where your child is and you are in a foreign land.

Blessed are you when your baby’s cries ring in your ears. The cries you heard when she was ripped out of your arms.

Blessed are you when you have been abused in mind, body, or soul.

Blessed are you when the burden of a government, which should care for the people, weighs heavily on your own shoulders.

******

Woe to you who take food from the hungry. In a country where many are over-filled – woe to you when you do not give to those with little or nothing.

Woe to you if you think one race is superior to another. No skin is different from another in the eyes of God.

Woe to you if you spend your money to comfort only yourself and your family. Give to others generously and often – or you will be emptied by your selfishness.

Woe to you if you use your power to destroy creation, lives, hope, the future. If you cause destruction, your own soul is gone.

Woe to you if you condemn, make fun of, or abuse someone who is different from you. Do not harm sisters and brothers. Each one has God’s handprints on them.

Woe to you if you use the name of Jesus Christ to promote bigotry, racism, or misogyny. Jesus Christ loved the stranger, the enemy, the outsider, the criminal, the sinner. Do not use his name against anyone. Ever.

Woe to you if you scheme and collude to enrich yourself, while letting others suffer at your dishonesty. You will be relieved of all you take. Sackcloth and ashes will be your clothes and food.

Woe to you if you lie. Liars are always revealed.

Woe to you if you if you follow a corrupt leader. Your heart is on full display. Woe to you.

WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! STOP!

Where is the comfort in this? Where is the Good News in this? Where is the healing, wholeness, kindness, openness, and love in this?

In 1968 Martin Luther King Jr. preached a Lenten sermon at the National Cathedral in Washington DC two Sundays before Easter. In that sermon he said this:

“We are tied together in the single garment of destiny, caught in an inescapable network of mutuality. And whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. For some strange reason I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you are what you ought to be. And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the way God’s universe is made, this is the way it is structured.”

Thankfully, we have this entire sermon on record. His words live forever. He was dead before the next Sunday, Palm Sunday.

We can’t just throw blessings and woes around. We can’t say, “Be filled” to a starving person without filling them with the food they need.

We can’t say, “It’s too bad about you and your family being separated,” unless we act on the behalf of all the families suffering from separation right now.

We can’t say, “So sorry about your loved one who was shot dead,” without lobbying for laws to protect innocent citizens from gun violence.

We can’t say, “Love who you love,” if we don’t fight to uphold the rights of the LGBTQ community.

Love is a verb. It is an action word. We, as the followers of Jesus Christ, are the action-takers.

So…

Blessed are you when you uplift another with a kind deed and thought-filled words. For you are other-focused.

Blessed are you when you shed a tear with another, as you wipe their own tears from their eyes. For you have empathy.

Blessed are you when you share food with those who hunger – for food. You will always have insight into the needs of others.

Blessed are you when you give more than you think you can, or should, to benefit someone who has little or nothing. For you have compassion.

Blessed are you when you aren’t afraid of being taken advantage of and give generously no matter what. For you will not be owned by material things.

Blessed are you when you stand up for someone being persecuted because of the color of their skin, who they love, or their history. For you have an open heart.

Blessed are you when your daily goal is to make someone’s life (someone you don’t know) a little easier. For you will gain wisdom.

Blessed are you when you hear stories of abuse or neglect, and you believe the story and love the teller. For you have chosen not to judge.

Blessed are you when you tear down walls of bigotry and hate and build beautiful bridges for easy crossings. You will lighten the burdens of those trodden-down.

Blessed are you when you speak the truth to power, especially when power has become corrupt and harm is being done to the masses. For you will have harnessed your own power.

Blessed are you when you marvel in the goodness of Jesus Christ and don’t argue over the dogma of Christianity. For you will understand true love.

Blessed are you when you see human beings as human beings. Each one a sister or brother worthy of respect and love. For you will know the true meaning of being human.

Blessed are you when the security of who you are, and the sureness of the God to whom you belong, allows you to invite and welcome “the other” to be a member of the family. For you will have a peaceful soul.

Blessed are you when you set fear aside and care for your neighbor with reckless, love-fueled, abandon. For you will have joy.

Blessed are you when you are able to live as you ought to live, because you have allowed others to live as they ought to live. And we are “one single garment of destiny.” For that is God’s good plan.

God in heaven recklessly loves us with complete abandon. God showers us with forgiveness, mercy and grace. Each of us is made in the image of the Almighty- our patient and purposeful God. The one who has redeemed us all.

Blessed are we when we live as redeemed people and spread that Good News lavishly.

Everywhere.

Amen.

Powerless- For those who have experienced sexual abuse

Powerless

I was asleep. With alcohol on your breath, you scared me awake.

I was powerless.

You were more than twice my size. I was twelve.

I was powerless.

I saw you in church twice a week. Youth group. Worship. Church was supposed to be safe. Holy.

I was powerless.

I babysat your sons. You scared me awake. You stunk. You hurt me. Over and over.

I was powerless.

Confusion. Silence. Fear. You used all these things. Your power.

Your power took away my being. Your power destroyed my security.

I was powerless.

I went through more trauma. Another abuser. Deep pain. Crisis of my body and soul. In silence.

Silence never heals. Silence hurts from the inside. Silence hovers in the darkness.

Words bring power to silence.

I spoke. Words poured out. Someone listened. Someone asked questions. Someone listened again and again and again. I grew up.

A trickle of strength wiped away confusion.

A supportive ear brought truth to light.

Insecurity was still my only dress. Shame and guilt clung to my spirit.

Being powerless is heavy. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to walk.

Deep breath. One foot in front of the other.

Power.

Words. Support. Air. Breath. New paths.

Power.

I can say yes. I can say no.

Power.

I love my body and love that it is loved.

Power.

My spirit has been restored and renewed.

I can listen to other stories. I can cry with another. I can remind a friend to breathe air that has no stench. I can help another find security to wear – new clothes of wholeness and light, and yes, holiness. We will throw away shame and guilt. Too heavy. They don’t fit. We never should have had them wrapped around us. We can put one foot in front of the other. Together.

Power.

Those who took away our being have lost. They are…

Powerless.

They are ghosts. We won’t be harmed. They are…

Powerless.

Because we breathe fresh air, and put one foot in front of the other, and find love and acceptance, they are…

Powerless.

We choose to take back every ounce of our power.

Those who tried to destroy us, they are…

Powerless.

POWERLESS.

Dear Mr. President - January 2019

Dear Mr. President,

It’s January 2019. We are completely through the holidays and our government is shut down. Happy New Year to no one.

You are exhausting. The members of your diminishing base are rude and irreverent.  Everything you touch is poisoned and dying. Two years in your role and you have done nothing to make America anything but a suffering embarrassment.

The Republican Party in congress have shown not only how desperate and dirty they are for votes in two years, but also how spineless and cruel they are to the American people. What a crowd.

You’ve lost thousands of immigrant children. Others have been wretchedly abused. You smash families. You judge transgender soldiers who fight for freedom. You are trying to take away women’s rights. You are hollow and bleak.

I’m a preacher. I’ve was told once by a professor to preach the Good News every Sunday when I set foot in the pulpit. You make my work hard.

But I don’t follow you. I adhere to nothing you pretend to believe because you believe in nothing but your lies and deceit and chaos.

I personally follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. I’m sure you only know his name as a swear word.

Other people claim to follow him, but I’ve watched and listened to the same people who profess to love and follow Jesus attack immigrants, mock the only true natives of our country, and spew hatred for anyone who isn’t white and ignorantly conservative. Their hatred and fear bring darkness wherever they open their putrid mouths.

How do I preach Good News?

How do I keep my anger in check when I see faithful federal workers going to food banks to feed their families, instead of being able go to the grocery store with their well-earned paychecks?

How do I care for the “least of these” when you and your followers tear them apart piece by piece?

How do I protect the world and nature while you do everything possible to destroy our God-given creation?

You and your crony-filled administration and your thickheaded right-wing media make every day a bad news day.

But the day of reckoning is coming. Call it karma. Call it retribution. Call it victory for righteousness.

You are death to life. But death never wins. Life overcomes death.

You are darkness in the light. I know the Light of the World. Darkness cannot keep the Light away.

You are brine in fresh water. But I know the true Living Water.

You scatter those who need the most care. I know the Good Shepherd.

You starve those who are so very hungry. I know the Bread of Life.

My work of Good News is not just done in the pulpit. That would be too easy. The work of preaching Good News is more about doing than speaking.

If I believe in the Light, then I must share light with those living in darkness.

If I believe in the reviving Living Water, I must quench the thirst of those who are so very parched.

If I believe in gathering and uplifting those who have been scattered and lost, then I must find them and reclaim them in the name of the Good Shepherd.

The hungry must be fed, no matter what.

We don’t have to be Christians to do these things. But we must be decent. We must be generous. We must focus on others who are invisible in this world. We must empathetically pay attention to what is going on around us.

That might be where you and your followers get tripped up. Sad.

Ultra-conservatism doesn’t have a place in this country. We are country of human beings with human rights. We are a country of hopes. We are dreamers.

As you and your followers attempt to take away rights and hopes and dreams, the rest of us will resist and persist and be relentless in restoring goodness, righteousness and peace to our ailing land.

You know nothing of these things. The vocabulary of kindness confuses you.

You and those who speak your language will eventually be taken away to a place where you can’t hurt people anymore, and finally we will mend. We will heal.

And that is some very good news.

Pastor Barb