Our Good Shepherd Carries His Lamb Home

A. went to be with Jesus about 3 am this morning. At last, she is free of chemo, of ports and lines, of nausea and pain. I have been blessed to be with her in life, and death, and look forward to the day when we are reunited in Christ.

Oh let the Son of God enfold You
With His Spirit and His love
Let Him fill your heart
And satisfy your soul
Oh let Him have those things that hold you
And His Spirit like a dove
Will descend upon your life
And make you whole

Jesus, oh Jesus
Come and fill Your lambs
Jesus, oh Jesus
Come and fill Your lambs

Oh come and sing this song with gladness
As your hearts are filled with joy
Lift your hands in sweet surrender to His name
Oh give Him all your tears of sadness
Give Him all your years of pain
And you’ll enter into life in Jesus’ name

Ways God Shows Up

Our brother in Christ, Ultra Rev has a report of amazing things happening in Lakeland.

Steve Hickey justifiably wonders: "Before you judge what is unfolding in Florida, ask yourself this question… what will it look like when God shows up?"

Well, God is certainly able to show up however He wants. A couple of His preferred ways is through Word and Sacrament. Peter Kreeft lists 11 more ways here. It seems to me that Hickey is ignoring all these ways God is already showing up, and that troubles me. Am I being too judgemental? Am I wrong to be bothered?

I teach at a Pentecostal Bible college, so it's not like I'm new to any of this. I'm told that when people fall down in chapel and speaking "in tongues" that that is also a way that God is showing up. Nothing would please me more than to have the Lord "show up" and heal our friend A. from the cancer that has riddled every part of her body!

The problem is, though, that if He does, her husband will become a follower of Magic Jesus. They come from another culture that is heavy into "bargaining" with God, rather than receiving from Him. The husband wants a god that he can manipulate; a faith that he can wear as an amulet. His hope is centered on this life, this world, on material things.

There is nothing--not even Jesus--that is more important to him than his wife. He will believe anything, do anything, sacrifice anything to anyone or for any object that will heal A. Aslan or Tash, Jesus or Allah or Buddha or Donald Trump--it's all the same to him, if they'll give him what he most desires.

Doesn't this make a difference?

It's this very attitude that makes Hank Hannagraff's concern mine as well:

He says participants leave believing they are truly healed, but back in the real world, they find nothing has changed. "That's when they start thinking God has abandoned them or doesn't love them," Hanegraaff said.

I'm doing a lot of wondering these days.

What will happen if A. is not healed? Will X be going with Momma D. and me to wash A's body, so that she will not have to be touched by strangers? (That was the thing that bothered her most about dying, next to not being there for her little son, M.) Where will X be for M, after his mother is gone?

And furthermore: has God not been showing up for the past year as Steve and I (and others) have been visiting, praying, reading, and singing with A.? Have we just been spinning our wheels? Did we pray the "wrong" way, so that our prayers for healing weren't heard? Did we not have enough faith? Was God unable to heal A. as long as she was under the care of doctors? Is what a charismatic evangelist (who blew through town) said to A. months ago true, that her first baptism in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit wasn't enough; that she needed to be "completed" and receive a second baptism in the Spirit?

Steve Hickey wants the power.

A. and I want Jesus. And His Father. And His Spirit.

Please continue to pray with me that H. will, too.

Take the world, but give me Jesus,
All its joys are but a name;
But His love abideth ever,
Through eternal years the same.

Refrain

Oh, the height and depth of mercy!
Oh, the length and breadth of love!
Oh, the fullness of redemption,
Pledge of endless life above!

Take the world, but give me Jesus,
Sweetest comfort of my soul;
With my Savior watching o’er me,
I can sing though billows roll.

Refrain

Take the world, but give me Jesus,
Let me view His constant smile;
Then throughout my pilgrim journey
Light will cheer me all the while.

Refrain

Take the world, but give me Jesus.
In His cross my trust shall be,
Till, with clearer, brighter vision,
Face to face my Lord I see.

Refrain

THY will be done...?

“Human love has little regard for the truth. It makes the truth relative, since nothing, not even the truth, must come between it and the beloved person." --Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together.


H. concluded his fast last night. He says that Momma D. was sleeping with A. when A. got up our of bed in the middle of the night. Then next time he told me the story, he said she got up twice. He says he's got a connection to God and that he believes God has done a miracle. "I had a feeling this morning."

Today H. dismissed hospice. He told the hospice doctor he wasn't going to watch his wife starve to death, so has been feeding her meat broth and papaya. He ended her morphine. A. had a bowel movement which he takes to have been a sign of her healing.

X, a woman from a charismatic church has been with them all afternoon. She has told H. that he should believe God is doing a miracle. "God created A. and knows how her intestines should work. They were meant to digest food! If she vomits up what you give her, rebuke Satan in the name of Jesus! And don't believe those doctors. They don't believe in miracles, so what do you expect them to do?"

I stepped into this just as X was getting ready to leave. She sized me up as One of Those Who Aren't Spiritual, or at least Spiritual Enough. Sigh. Relationships and long obediences can't compete with prophetic preaching and dramatic experiences.

"I'm not going to allow anyone who doesn't believe in miracles in this house," H. announced. (This is just a variation on his default position, Postive Thinking. I wondered if it was meant as a warning for Steve and me.) "I've had enough of mortuaries and talk of death." (Steve has spent the last week helping H. make funeral preparations.)

While I certainly believe God is able to do miracles, I must confess my unbelief: it doesn't seem like He intends to take away A's cancer and give her 40 more years on this planet. I am certain her healing will occur, but I'm not cure it will happen the way H. is currently demanding it.

I am also disturbed for A's sake. She sat up in bed, and took several puffs of a cigarette, but she seemed out of it. She complained she was in pain, so I massaged her back. H. reset the morphine machine, which had been turned off, exclaiming proudly, "She hasn't had any morphine for four hours!"

He and Mamma D. carried on a lively conversation in Farsi, never once including me, which has never before been their practice. A, still sitting up, softly whispered some things in Farsi to them. It was clear they didn't want any singing; so I blessed A. with Aaron's blessing (which caused H. to stop and frown as I said, "the Lord give you peace"), prayed briefly and kissed her goodbye.

I am perplexed and frustrated. Am I missing something wonderful here? Or have H. and Mamma D. gone off the deep end? At what point does one pray for a miracle, and at what point do we pray, "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven?"

Any advice?

The Sign of Kathy

While visiting A. on Friday, there was a minute where Momma D. left the room. A. was weak but lucid, and she urgently whispered, "How long will it take?"

"I don't know. That's not for us to say. But there used to be a woman in our congregation who was a hospice nurse. Her name was Kathy, but she's now in Alaska. She would have been able to tell you all about what to expect. She used to talk about how the dying people she was caring for--at the very end-- would often see bright lights, relatives and friends who had already passed on, welcoming them into the next world. How I wish she were here for you to talk to."

Our conversation ended abruptly, as Mamma D. re-entered the room.

The next morning I made Steve and Joanna their usual Saturday morning breakfast: waffles made from scratch. We were just about sit sit down to eat when the phone rang. I expected it to be a realtor, wanting to show our house, but the voice was vaguely familiar.

"Hi Beth! It's Kathy N. I'm here in Eugene and I was wondering if you'd like to get together to go for a walk."

Kathy? Kathy! Here in Oregon, come all the way from Alaska's Kodiak Island. I now know exactly how that Ethipian eunuch must have felt when Philip showed up alongside his chariot. Seems the Spirit had been pressing her to quit her job as a school nurse to volunteer for a year with Medical Teams International. She was here to talk with people from the organization and iron out the details of her position as a mental health counselor for disasters and areas in crisis.

The Lord has a way of weaving lots of disparate threads together, doesn't he? Kathy and I marvelled at how He had orchestrated our reunion, and then we had a wonderful walk. She listened patiently as I spilled the entire story and offered some wise advice born of her experience. Then we both went to visit A. Unfortunately A. was exhausted and unable to converse, but Kathy played a borrowed guitar and we both sang for her.

Mamma D. has demanded a miracle. The only sign she will accept is her daughter's healing. H., too, is frantically searching for a miracle. He has heard a story about someone in Egypt who was healed of his terminal cancer when three of his friends fasted for three days. Today H. begins his fast, convinced that somehow it will force God's hand.

Matthew 12:39-39
Then some of the Pharisees and teachers of the law said to him, "Teacher, we want to see a miraculous sign from you."
He answered, "A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a miraculous sign! But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.

It seems to be the case that it is only when we first accept the sign of Jonah--the resurrected Christ-- that God is ready to give us other signs, signs which in turn point back to Him. This weekend, A. and I were given the sign of Kathy. Sadly, H. and Momma D. couldn't receive it.

Matthew 12:39-39
What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived—these things God has prepared for those who love him"—for God has revealed them to us by his Spirit.

I pray for the day when H and Mamma D.'s hearts will be opened, so that their ears might hear and their eyes might see.

Life is Not Fair

It's not fair that H. should be losing his beautiful young wife. It's not fair that M. will grow up without his mother around. It's not fair that Mamma D. is watching her daughter die in a foreign land, where she is deprived of the support of friends and family.

On the other hand, this life is not fair, but this is not our only life.

Before something can be broken, it must exist as a whole. Before something falls, it must have be balanced. Evil is always a privation of good: a twisting, an absence, a deprivation of something positive, real, true and beautiful. The good news is that we have a Lord who loves what He has created so much that He is in the process of healing that which fell, and repairing that which is broken.

I believe friendship is one of the ways He is accomplishing that.

C.S. Lewis writes in The Four Loves:

For a Christian, there are, strictly speaking, no chances. A secret Master of the Ceremonies has been at work. Christ, who said to the disciples,"Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you," can truly say to every group of Christian friends, "You have not chosen one another, but I have chosen you for one another." The Friendship is not a reward for our discrimination and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each the beauties of all the others. They are no greater than the beauties of a thousand other men; by Friendship, God opens our eyes to them. They are, like all beauties, derived from Him, and then, in a good Friendship, increased by Him through the Friendship itself, so that it is His instrument for creating as well as revealing. At this feast it is He who has spread the board, and it is He who has chosen the guests. it is He, we may dare to hope, who sometimes does, and always should preside. Let us not reckon without our Host.

I shall always remember this afternoon, sitting between my two dear friends, J and A, and in the presence of our Mutual Friend, Jesus. May His peace be ours tonight, with each of us receiving the sort of healing we need.

Music to Die By

A. is now home under hospice care. She is actually doing much better, now that her pain is under better control. She was able to sit up in bed and have a conversation with Steve and H. about how she wants a Christian funeral, "but with music that is quieter than on Sundays." Mamma D. was not present, which was why this conversation could occur.

On Friday, I stayed at the hospital with her so H. could go back home to let in people bringing a hospital bed. Mamma D. wanted me to pray for a miracle. She kept touching a copy of the Koran to the top of A.'s bare head, as if it were some sort of talisman.

I didn't think I could/should do it, because
1) the Lord has had plenty of chances to do one, and seems to have His reasons for not doing so, and
2) Most importantly, it would reinforce a "Magic Jesus" image that isn't who our Lord really is.

So instead I spoke to A. about how Jesus had gone on to prepare a place for us, and that it looked like she would soon be assisting Him. We spoke of those who await us, and the joy of that reunion, and the prospect of a new body and never, ever weeping or being in pain again. I didn't think Mamma D. could understand me, but apparently she takes in more than she can communicate. She began crying hysterically, insisting I quit speaking about death and demanding that I pray for a miracle. "You cannot leave me! What will I do without you? You must stay!" she wailed at A.

I suppose I am just not culturally sensitive. This may very well be the way Iranians express their anguish, but it seemed to me to be selfish and upsetting for A. Yes, any mother would be wild with grief, in the face of her child's suffering and death. But what mother would seek to perpetuate and increase her child's suffering, in order to satisfy her own needs? On the other hand, I don't know how well I would do if I were in another country, unable to speak the language or have friends nearby to support me.

Still, I was very angry and frustrated for A's sake. What to do? It was clear that if I didn't pray for a miracle, I was in trouble, and if I did, and it didn't occur, I would be in trouble. I'd lose either way. So I simply prayed for Christ's peace and deliverance, for both A. and her mother, and then made a quick exit.

Since then Steve has visited a couple of times. He has given A. communion and annointed her with oil. Mamma D. seems more controlled in his presence than in mine.

As I have been working and thinking about A., I have been listening over and over to "Akathist Of Thanksgiving" by John Tavener from the album of the same name. The words and music have brought me great solace. A. wants music for her funeral, that "will be quieter than on Sundays." Well, if it were me, this is what I would want both for the process and the completion of my death.

According to Orthodoxwiki, an akathist

"...is a hymn dedicated to a saint, holy event, or one of the persons of the Holy Trinity. The word akathist itself means "not sitting."

Like a sonnet, an akathist has a definite structure. It is divided into 13 parts, and each part has one section that usually ends with an "alleluia!" (the kontikion) and another section that somewhere within it contains an entreaty like "come!" or "rejoice!" (the ikos).

Again, according to Orthodoxwiki,

The akathist "Glory to God for All Things" or "of Thanksgiving" is often attributed to Priest Gregory Petrov who died in a Soviet prison camp in 1940, but also to Metropolitan Tryphon (Prince Boris Petrovich Turkestanov) +1934. The title is from the words of St. John Chrysostom as he was dying in exile. It is a song of praise from amidst the most terrible sufferings.

Taverner only sets 10 sections of Petrov's poem, and it is the haunting Kontakion 9 and the ethereal Kontakian 10 that I have been holding close in spirit.

KONTAKION 9:

(Chorus) I have often see your glory
Reflected on the faces of the dead!
With what unearthly beauty and with what joy they shone.
How spiritual, their features immaterial,
It was a triumph of gladness acheived, of peace;
In silence they called to you.
At the hour of my end illumine my soul also,
As it cries, Alleluia, Alleluia.

You can hear/see the music video of a part of Kontakion 9
here

KONTAKION 10
(Chorus) Glory to you, O God!
(Soloists) Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
(Chorus) O all good and life giving Trintiy...
(Soloists) Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
(Chorus) ...accept the gratitude for all your mercy and show us worthy of your goodness...
(Soloists) Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
(Chorus) ...that having increased the talents entrusted to us...
(Soloists) Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
(Chorus) ...we may enter into the everlasting joy of our Lord, Singing the song of victory.
(All) Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
(Basses) Glory.

This is music to die by, and by which to enter into eternal life. May A. be spared the hysterics and wailing, and be given such music instead.

A. hears the truth

Finally.

Steve just called with the news. A's doctor has admitted that there is nothing more he can do.

Steve was there this morning when the doctor came to speak with H., and H. asked Steve to be with him for that talk. (That alone was reason to praise God.) Steve was able to help the doctor to convince H. that any further treatments will increase and prolong her suffering. It was bitter news for H.

H. told the doctor that in Iranian culture, one does not speak of dying, particularly to the person who is ill. The doctor bluntly responded that this is the U.S. and he has a responsibility to tell his patients what their condition is, which is what he proceeded to do. A. made it clear she does not want any more surgery, or feeding tubes. The doctor is recommending hospice, but it sounds like she will stay in the hospital for a few more days. Does she even have that long, I wonder?

Momma D. is a mess...she was under the impression they could get A. well enough so she could go back to Iran to see her brothers and then die. The doctor said absolutely no way will this happen.

I am going to get cleaned up and go see A. Perhaps now we can speak openly, before her family, about what lies ahead for her in Christ, instead of whispering.

Last night I ran into a friend who had been visiting A. She was weeping. "I am so angry with God," she confessed. "He could have done a miracle here, and then they would have believed. That whole family could have been won for Jesus!"

"Yes, but which Jesus?" I mused. "Magic Jesus? They've heard enough of him from some of H's friends. Power Jesus? But that would have just been Allah with a different name. Dying and rising Jesus? Now that is the Jesus who is the Truth."

Now that A. has heard the truth, may she soon see Him.

A. in the hospital

A. hasn't eaten in a week. She is wafer-thin, weak and in horrific agony. Even in the morphine doesn't seem to penetrate the deepest crevices of pain. She lies in her hospital bed, moaning, only semi-conscious.

Lord Jesus, show yourself to be the Good Shepherd that You are, by gathering this lamb in your arms and leading her to greener pastures. Just a year ago she saw you beckoning to her. Now may she see you open the gate, as she awaits her full redemption.

The birth pangs are too hard! Shorten her labor and deliver her from the evil of this cancer. Bring her to that place where there are no more tears, where Your peace replaces all pain.

In your name we pray,

Amen

The Gift of Listening to Difficult Things

A. is dying, and she can't talk about it with her family.

She spent two days in the hospital last week, after passing out for so long with such shallow respiration and reflexes that her family feared she had died. She had a conversation with Steve, seeking "permission" not to fight anymore (see below). Today I visited, and she whispered to me that she was ready.

Momma D. and Momma B. were in the room with us, so A. couldn't speak freely. She told me, quickly, that she had broached the subject of her death with her husband, H. a few days ago. "When I am gone, the bed will seem empty, so take M. (their little son) to sleep with you," she pleaded. But H. couldn't stand it. "Don't talk that way! You must fight! You're driving me crazy!"

H. didn't sleep any that night, and when he got up he had a headache all day. When A. heard this in the morning, she apologized, and said, "I was just kidding." But she really wasn't.

How difficult it must be to hope in Christ, and not be able to share that hope openly with those who are closest to you. A's family is all insisting that she continue to fight, and they refuse to speak with her about death. (This seems to be a common cultural practice. After complications from a stroke, Arezoo's own father was sent home by his doctor, who told the family that he was just fine. Twenty minutes after his return, he died.)

Brothers and sisters in Christ, let us not take our freedom for granted. We have a risen Savior! Why should we fear speaking to one another about death? Perhaps the best gift we might give to a friend or family member who is dying might just be our willingness to listen.

Prayer for a Happy Death

a Prayer written by Cardinal Newman.

O my Lord and Savior, support me in my last hour by the strong arms of Thy sacraments, and the fragrance of Thy consolations. Let Thy absolving words be said over me, and the holy oil sign and seal me; and let your own body be my food, and Thy blood my sprinkling; and let Thy Mother Mary come to me, and my angel whisper peace to me, and Thy glorious saints and my own dear patrons smile on me, that in and through them all I may die as I desire to live, in Thy Church, in Thy faith, and in Thy love. Amen.

My Jesus, mercy.

Bad news from three fronts today, including word from Steve that A. is even weaker now, constantly wracked with pain and immobile on the sofa. He visited her this afternoon, and she gathered enough strength to ask her mom to leave the room so she could talk one on one with Steve.

"Pastor, will Jesus take care of M. (her son) if I die?"

"Yes, A. Jesus loves little children, and He will care for M."

"Then please pray for me to die."

So he did. And so I am praying, as well:

Father, please open the door for A. so that she might be released from her suffering and find rest in Your arms. May she pass quickly and gently from this world, and as she does, please comfort her family and provide a way for M. to remember her fierce love for him. May You be glorified through her death, even as she glorified You in her life.

Easter with A .and H.

Sunday, after the joy of celebrating Christ's resurrection through worship and our traditional congregational Easter dinner, several of us went over to visit A. and H.

As I have written earlier, A is recovering from her gallbladder surgery and the news that her abdomen is inflamed, and filled with liquid. She is awaiting results of a biopsy, but her enzyme count seems to indicate a return of cancer. She has been extremely depressed, so I thought it might be good for some of us to stop by, to bring her a lily and our love.

J, ML and CS came, and CS's dear little son, E., who is only a month or so older than A's son, M. They had gone trick or treating together last Halloween. But M. has been sensing the tension and so has been reticent to engage with people. He did, however, enjoy the Easter basket we brought, as well as the chunky preschooler's Bible that CS gave him.

We gathered around A. to sing and pray. Mamma B and Mamma D. remained in their chairs, but H. joined right in, "adding his energy." That really took a lot of courage on his part, to enter into a circle of Christians, in front of his mother, a devout Muslim married to a sayed! A. was distant, indifferent. She gave us perfunctory thanks and retreated back into her pain.

The other VCC folks left, but Steve and I remained a bit longer, seated on either side of the sofa, with A. between us. While her family conversed together in Farsi, A. confessed to us in a flat voice that she felt she had lost her faith. I noticed that she was no longer wearing the gold cross H. had given her a year ago, upon her baptism. Her eyes were fixed and empty.

Now A. takes the Bible very seriously (probably because as a Muslim she was trained to take the Koran very seriously.) So Steve responded to her disclosure by pointing out, "The Bible says that even if we are faithless, God cannot be." We then observed how Jesus felt deserted on the cross; how that even HE felt like God wasn't with him at that time of his greatest suffering. So, if A. was feeling afraid and abandoned, that is exactly what Jesus experienced, as well. But the good news is that Jesus also experienced resurrection, so we can experience it, too.

A. sat motionless, for a long time silently weighing our words. Then she turned to Steve with great resolution and whispered: "Pastor I want to testify. When I die I want to be buried here, in U.S. like a Christian. I want the carpet [a carpet her mom brought from Iran, with the image of Christ and the cross woven in it] laid over me. I not want my mother to wear black longer than seven days [Persian custom dictates mourning for two years.] I want my brother to go ahead and get married after 40 days."

"Lord I believe: help my unbelief. "

Somehow, the Spirit had worked through this conversation to bring A. to the point of actually speaking about her death. This was a milestone, as she has been under pressure to act her role according to the Iranian cultural script which prohibits telling anyone they are mortally ill. Moreover, H. has constantly been pushing her to "think positive thoughts," in other words, not to acknowledge death as a real possibility. This explains why they have both vehemently rejected any talk about Hospice.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me."

Steve told A. about his mom's funeral and how it was held at church, with singing and witness to her resurrection in Christ. A. was enthusiastic about that idea. So we began a brief conversation about the things each of us would like to have at our funerals... the music, the scripture, and other little details. I think that calmed her, to see that Christians can talk about death and not be afraid, because our hope is in Christ. What better time than Easter to remember that no grave can contain Him or those who trust Him!

"Now that that is done," I said when I sensed she had finished speaking, "let's think about the life we have been given right now." A. then opened a card CS had left, and another one that we had invited everyone who was at the church Easter dinner to sign. She brightened, and smiled. M. ran up to H's mother waving his new Bible and calling for her to read it to him. Who knows how the Lord will work through all this?

S.A., H's father, then shuffled into the room. I was greatly encouraged to see him even able to walk, and talk, after his stroke. Mercifully, he and Mamma B. had been able to fly back to Eugene from Utah on a commercial airline direct flight. Poor H.! He is being squeezed on all sides, what with A's cancer, his father's stroke, and his own health and financial problems. Who knows how the Lord is working through all this?

Jesus said to them, "My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I, too, am working."

Even on Easter Sunday.

A's Descent

It is ironic that A. should tell me, on this Holy Saturday, that her enzyme count has skyrocketed from 21 to 360. (37 is normal). She is like the living dead. Her voice is dull. She cannot/(will not?) move. She has descended into her own Hades. My prayer is that she will discover that Someone has made it there before her, and waits to lift her out:
“Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light”.

The Trinity, N.T .Wright, and Mohammad

Visiting today with A. and her Muslim "seeker" mother, Mamma D. and her deeply Muslim mother-in law, Mamma B. At one point the conversation turned to things theological. It was held simultaneously in English and Farsi translation. Mamma B. was actively involved; Mamma B. listened, but didn't say much.

A:" So Mamma D. wants to know if God has children.

Me: (seeing where this is headed) Well, Jesus is His Son...and the Bible does call us His children....

A: But then God is not one?

Me: (frantic: how do you explain the Trinity, to Muslims, when you yourself cannot speak Farsi? Lord, thanks for the chance to speak about You. Help me not to mess it up!) No, God is one; he is one substance, but three persons....He is so great, so powerful, so amazing that who He is not be contained in just one person. (hopefully that will connect with the Muslim reverence for God's sovereignty and power.)

It's like an egg. (good old eggs!) There's the yolk and the white and the shell. It's all egg, but the yolk is not the white, and the white is not the shell, and the shell is not the yolk...but the yolk is egg; the white is egg, and the shell is egg.

A: (Smiles broadly as she translates my words, seeing that Mamma D. is understanding them and clearly entertaining the possibility that God could be one, and yet three.) So there are not three gods.

Me: NO! Not three gods! Only one God! Muslims say there is only one God; and Christians agree! But we say He is three persons, not just one person.

A: So Jesus is God. Muslims think he is just a prophet, think He is not God. But Christians believe He is really God.

(conversation continues, Mamma B. eventually leaves)

----------------------------------------------------------------

A: (still translating, with a doubtful look) Do Christians believe in reincarnation?

Me: No. We believe in resurrection.

A: So do Muslims. We believe after we die we either go to up to heaven or down to hell. [At this point the reader might want to read this.]

Me: Hmm. Well, we both believe in an afterlife, don't we. Christians think that when we die we go to be with God, but that when He is ready He will give us back new, even better bodies than these, and He will come and live with us. (I breathe a prayer of relief: Thank goodness for Bishop Wright's recent interview in Time! )

A: Muslims don't think that; they think we go live with God.

Me: Well, they're on the right track, but they just need to know that God loves his creation so much that someday, when Satan is gone and there are no more tears or pain, He will come "down" and live with us. Just like in the beginning, when He walked with Adam and Eve in the garden. (Remembering the Time article, it is clear to me that the picture of heaven Maria Shriver paints has much more in common with Mamma B's vision than with the Bible!)

A: (quite satisfied, and explaining this to her mother) We don't need to be afraid of God! Jesus is his Son. He makes us friends with God.

Me: Yes! (remembering Luke 10:20-22, "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.

All things have been committed to me by my Father. No one knows who the Son is except the Father, and no one knows who the Father is except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him."

A: When I was Muslim I always afraid of God. I fear God. Beth, I confess something. I think I love Jesus more than God (she meant the Father). Is that bad?

Me: Well, A., it's understandable, since all your life when you think of God you think of someone scary. But Jesus comes to show us we don't have to be scared of His Father.

A: Mamma D. wants to know: if Jesus protect us from his angry Father we can do bad things and never be punished?

Me: (Aha! This is why I believe grace is infused/imparted, not simply imputed! ) Well, Jesus is not like a blanket that hides us from an angry Father, so God doesn't see us and gets fooled. No. Jesus not only comes to tell us how his father wants us to be, he came and showed us. And he comes and lives in us, when we invite him to. That means that His goodness and truth and beauty start "growing" in us, and we begin to be more and more like Him, not sinning. So when God looks at us, He sees we are not perfect, but he also sees Jesus working inside us to get rid of sin, and that makes Him happy.

A: (suddenly downcast.) Beth. I confess. I jealous. Mamma D. bring back DVD of my family, and they all dancing and happy and beautiful. And I jealous. I want to know why God not let me be healthy, and beautiful. I not beautiful. I am in pain. Very bad pain, all the time. God is greater than Satan! Why he not tell Satan to stop hurting me?

Me: (Oh no, the problem of evil!) Oh A! Someday God will stop Satan. It's just not time yet. (Just this past Sunday the lectionary included Matthew 4:1-11. I try to build on that.) Remember in Matthew when Satan tempts Jesus? Jesus is hungry, and Satan tries to get him to change stones into bread...and He tries to get Jesus to jump...

A: (Brightening) Oh yes! I remember that. I love that story. He try to get Jesus to jump from high building but Jesus say NO!

B: Well, A., if Satan is so bold that he tries to tempt Jesus, and God didn't stop him from tempting His own Son, then who are you and I to demand He stop Satan for us right now? The Bible says someday God will throw Satan into a lake of fire and he will be gone forever, and God himself will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and there will finally be no more sin or pain."

We wound up praying together: A in the middle of the sofa, Momma D. on her left, me on her right. We thanked God for bringing A's family to be with her, and asked him to help her endure her pain, and even take it from her, if that were possible. We asked him to forgive us of our sins, and help us to be more like His son. Momma D. couldn't understand our English, but I think--I pray-- she was in agreement with us.

It's difficult keeping the alleluia buried...

It's Lent, and we're burying the Alleluia at VCC, but this morning when A. came in part-way through the praise songs, and flanking her, her mother D. and her mother-in-law, B., it was difficult to resist screaming HALLELUJAH!

So we gave a round of applause instead!

Neither D. nor B. speak any English, and none of us speak Farsi, but I think they felt the love of Christ this morning. I was especially thankful that at this, their first experience in Christian worship, we celebrated communion. Whereas it was impossible for A. to keep up translating Steve's sermon for them, she was able to whisper some explanation about what was happening with the bread and the cup and all the people going forward and sharing in the meal. The Spirit took care of the rest.

Afterward the service ended, A removed her shoes, kneeled and bowed before the altar to pray, as is her custom. "Mamma B" and "Mamma D" did the same, behind her. Kent and I joined them and we all praised God in English and Farsi. He has brought A. through 8 rounds of the strongest chemo available. He has overcome the bureaucracies of two nations to reunite B. with her daughter. And perhaps most amazing of all, he is moving in A's father-in-law's heart, so that he is wanting to read more about Jesus. When Mamma B. pointed to the large cross on the wall behind the altar, and said, "Isa Masi--AMAYN!" we couldn't have agreed more!

My goal is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. (Col. 2:2-3)

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Postscript:

Rowan Williams has reflected here on his church's practice of "burying the alleluia" while visiting Sudan.

Yes, we need to be reminded by abstinence and restraint that the world is still a Good Friday sort of place, shadowed by abandonment, terror, pain. But what if you don't really need reminding? What if, like the Sudanese believers, you have lived so long with abandonment and terror and pain that you can never forget or ignore it? These were people whose whole life was a particularly awful and crushing 'Lent'.

Yet they could not stop saying, singing, shouting, 'Alleluia'. If they lived in a long-term Lent, they also lived in an unceasing awareness of Easter. They had come through the horrors of war and oppression with the confidence intact that God was always there on the far side or in the depths of what they were enduring. If everyone else forgot them, God would not and could not. Because he was alive, they could live too - to echo the words of Jesus in John's gospel.

What he writes could also be said of A: almost all her life has been one long Lent, yet --as she says, "thanks God"-- she lives with an unceasing awareness of Easter. Because Jesus is alive, she is, too. And that Life flows back and forth and around and through.

Bringing Church to A.

This past Sunday after the potluck, about 15 people accepted my invitation to come bring church to A., who was still recovering from her exploratory surgery. We all piled into A's living room, and she made her way down the stairs, sat between Steve and me on the couch and gripped my hand with all her strength, beaming.

The coffee table before us became the altar, as Steve spread out the bread and communion cups and I placed a fragrant basket of stargazers, pink roses and red and white dahlias next to them. A. has promised Jesus to bring Him flowers each Sunday; but Saturday, when she realized she would not be able to do so, I assured her I would take care of it.

It was all very upper-room. We sang some simple praise songs, had communion, prayed, and annointed A. with oil. A. was excited to be able to choose whatever song she wanted, and decided on this one:

"I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice
To worship You
Oh, my soul rejoice
Take joy, my King in what You hear
Let it be a sweet, sweet sound in Your ear."

H. came home just as we were praying, and was there to witness A's annointing. I laid my hand on A., and held H's, in a sort of human chain, and several of us prayed for A. Paul speaks of unbelieving husbands being sanctified through their believing wives, in 1 Cor. 7:14. I'm not exactly sure what that means but I think that H. could see that God has given A. great faith, and that some of that hope and love is streaming out to him. Her soul was clearly rejoicing in the Lord, even in the midst of terminal illness. H. lacks the Christian framework to articulate what he was experiencing, but he was visibly moved, and kept thanking us for "surrounding A. with so much positive energy."

Soon it was time to depart. Despite our protests, A. insisted on standing, as is customary in her culture, to say goodbye to her guests. Swaying, she kissed each one's hand as they left . "She's so stubborn!" H. and another friend moaned, but A. was the happiest I have seen her, and the most peaceful.

Thank you, Lord, for coming to A. and reassuring her of your love and care, so that she is not afraid to die. Please help H. to see this and wonder more about how it is possible. Please give H. and A. occasion to be truthful with each other, so that their final times together are not about pretending and false hope, but about facing reality with genuine hope. Please give H. the courage to hear things that A. needs to say, and please give A. the courage to be able to say them. Spare A. from pain, especially in her shoulder and back. Please provide for M., and help A. to be reassured that H. will raise him well. In Jesus' name, Amen.

Nearing the Finish Line: A. continues the fight, August 2

Yesterday A. had exploratory surgery that showed the cancer has spread beyond the reach of a surgeon's knife. She will be having further chemo in an attempt to buy her more time, but it will be extremely powerful and will leave her nauseated and bedridden. She is so tired of fighting! Her husband, H., is having difficulty accepting her prognosis. He believes that positive thinking will bring healing, so he does not want others around her to "be negative" or speak about death.

A hospice nurse once told me that there are two ways he has seen people die: they either resign themselves to their mortality, and choose to spend their energy saying goodbye and enjoying the time that remains; or they "rage against the dying of the light." I suppose having a son who is not yet two years old would tend to cause one to fight. May the Lord strengthen A. for this final battle.

We are also praying:

1. That H's love for A might find its ultimate expression, in allowing her the freedom to choose not to fight anymore, if that is what she wants.

2. for H's own health.

H. has not slept for days. His blood pressure is alarming, and he is having numbness and tingling sensations in his left arm. He has not been able to attend to his business much at all because he has made caring for A. his #1 priority. It's ironic. H. is not a believer, but he could well be the poster boy for Ephesians 5:28. I can think of some Christian husbands who would do well to take lessons from H. regarding what it means to be like Christ to their wives!

3. that A. might be able to see her mother.

Last week A's mother traveled from Teheran to the American consulate in Dubai, in order to request a visa to enter the U.S. to visit her dying daughter. She brought all the forms, proof of property ownership in Iran, a letter from A's doctor here in the U.S., and the $110 fee for the privilege of an appointment at the consulate.

Once in the office, the official glanced at the stack of papers, then at her, and shoved them back at her, saying the U.S. will not allow Iranians to enter. A's mother was frantic and outraged--if this was the policy, why did they string her along, and take her money? Why didn't they say so from the start? She returned home in despair, and when A. heard the news, she too was plunged into even deeper depression.

We have requested VCC members to contact our Congressman Peter de Fazio and Senator Smith regarding her mother's visa problems, but I am not sure if there is anything they can do, and even if they can, if there is enough time.

H. is desperately entertaining every alternative. He is considering having his mother-in-law fly to Cancun, and then flying there with A. for a few days; but again, I cannot see how A. can fly anywhere. She is so weak, and the chances of infection are so great...

4. for their little son M., who is now 22 months old.

When I came this afternoon, A. was on the phone with her brother in Iran. He and her mother are insisting that if she dies, she be buried in Iran, and that M. be raised by his grandmother. A. was in tears. "M. is as much H's son as he is mine," she wept. "I cannot do this. But do you think I should go back to Iran to be buried?"

I reassured her that I thought her intuitions were good, that H. loved M. and would know best how to take care of him; that M. was probably safer here than in Iran; and that she should be wherever her husband is, because according to the Bible, she and H. are one flesh, and that that relationship takes precedence over other family relations.

A. worries that M. will not remember her. That would be another reason for her to be buried in the U.S., so M. could at least see her grave. (I worry that M. will remember her, but will not be able to express and work through his grief the way an older child might so do.) M. plays happily outside with his nanny...while his mother has made his bedroom her own, so that she might be near him. At least he is unaware of her pain...

5. For A, that her pain might continue to be controlled, and that she might be at peace and surrounded with the love of her family, friends, and heavenly Father.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is te mporary, but what is unseen is eternal

A. Continues the fight: July 17

A. is continuing to have a difficult time. Her enzyme count is progressively increasing, and she is panicking. What if Jesus doesn't heal her? What will happen to her son, M. and her husband, H.? What will happen to her mother and brothers, who assured her that if Jesus healed her, they would believe in Him? She is beginning to worry that she is losing her faith.

When we are stressed we often revert to what is automatic, and what is automatic for A. is to see God as Divine Despot. For 37 years she has only known Allah, and he was a god of testing and punishment. Recently, conversing with her about our God is like talking with a hyper-calvinist. She has a wonderfully complete understanding of God's sovereignty; but just introductory experience of His compassion. "I am not human; I am an animal," she said to me Sunday, crying from a pit of depression. "God does not love me."

Her life story has been a harsh one. Every time things seemed to ease up something horrible would follow. When her beloved father died, she had to support the family. That meant she had no time for friends or fun, muchless marriage. People began to call her nasty things, because she had no husband. Her own cousins made fun of her, and her aunt never tired of pointing out her own daughters' accomplishments and social standing to A. and her mother.

Once she married H. and left her native country, she had a little over a year of absolute joy. There followed nine months of rough pregnancy; and four months after M. was born, the news that she had stage IV stomach cancer. Then chemo, which gave her several months of remission that she took for healing. But the raised enzyme levels signaled otherwise. It was at that point that her dreams began, of a man in white beckoning her to come to him. It wasn't long after that that she learned about Jesus, began reading the NT and decided to become a Christian.

Those were exciting times. Who knew what God would do next? H's relative who had converted quite a while ago sent her tapes and reading material in Farsi from her church in California. Steve and I were careful to counter some of what we suspected she was getting from those tapes, so that intellectually A. knew that trusting Christ was no guarantee for healing. But her heart must have been convinced otherwise: Jesus is God! God is love! Surely He will have mercy on me, show His power and remove all traces of cancer from my body!

Now it seems like God is not going to heal her, and Satan is exploiting the situation: "See, God is not love. This is the will of Allah. He desires that you suffer. He wants you to die. He wants your son to be without a mother. He wants H. to marry again, and M. will not ever be a Christian if that happens."

This is not the time to reason with A. "This kind can only come out with much prayer." May the Lord give me His mind so that I can pray well , and may I be able to embody Jesus' love so that A. will see Him, and not me.

And if you are still reading this, ora pro nobis.

Apropos Puccini and A.

Saturday the Met broadcast Pucinni's Il Trittico. "Suor Angelica" was absolutely incredible. "Senza Mamma" reduced me to tears, as I thought of A.

A, the Iranian woman who was baptized two weeks ago, is getting weaker and weaker. She hasn't been able to have chemo for two weeks now, and her platelets are at .5, so unless something miraculous occurs, she won't be having it any more at all.

Yesterday she wasn't there when the service began, and I wondered what was up. She stumbled in during the first hymn, tulips in hand. I settled her in under a blanket, replaced the roses with the tulips, and then held her throughout worship.

She is such a sick little lamb. She was going in and out on me, sometimes seeming to be delirious, sometimes muttering and sometimes actually speaking. My hearing isn't what it used to be so it was difficult for me to always make out what she was saying. Her breathing was rapid and shallow...H's gold cross around her neck barely moved. She was very thirsty, and drank two full cups of water. I have no idea what is going on inside her physically and can only guess at her pain. Yet at the end she snapped back when talking with Judy.

She keeps saying she is so tired. I honestly think the only things that are keeping her here are 1) Her 16 month old son, M. and 2) her desire to see her mother before she dies. Regarding 2) I'm trying to work on the possibility of skyping, so that she could talk and see her mom over the internet, the way we've been doing with Susan. That wouldn't be a problem on this end; but whether it could be accomplished on the Iran end is uncertain. Regarding 1), when her husband H. came to pick her up, he told me he was getting someone (a friend? I was unclear) from Oklahoma to come stay for the next six weeks and care for A and M. Perhaps that will help A see that her son can be provided for.

I don't want to deny the Lord's ability to work miracles, but I also want to make sure that A. is in a position to freely choose as peaceful a death as possible, if that is her choice. I know how important it is for cancer patients to "think positively." But isn't it also important at some point for them to be able to give themselves permission to cease treatment? It seems to me that A might be at that place. Am I assuming more than I should? Should I instead be encouraging her to continue fighting?

Ironic. Or better, providential. All those bioethics articles on death and dying are leaping to life around me, as well as and 1 Corinthians 15 and Plato's Phaedo. I am glad for the way the Lord has provided these texts as ballast for me in this situation, and pray he will use them in me to be a wise and comforting friend to A. Even more, I am grateful to Him and to the VCC congregation for help in shouldering this weight.

Saturday night I got to hear the Puccini Messa di Gloria at the Hult. It ends with the beautiful duet for bass and tenor:

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem.

A. has Butterfly's tenacity, Mimi's fragility, Liu's courage.

She also has Jesus.

Lord, grant A. peace.