Funeral Questioning

 

I went to a funeral last Saturday.

The service was lovely—

A true tribute to an amazing woman—

And the friend whom I went to see spoke beautifully as she honored her mom.

Something happened at the funeral that I didn’t expect to happen, though—

And it wasn’t just a brass quintet 😊—

The minister delivered a message that moved me and made me think.

 

Let me see if I can summarize the message:

 

Sometimes life is hard.

And sometimes life isn’t fair.

Why my friend’s parents both had to suffer like they suffered is something we will never understand.  

Her father had Alzheimer’s.

Her mother had a debilitating stroke.

My friend, age 44, has been a caregiver for 20 years.

Sometimes, as my friend said, life sucks.

And sometimes life isn’t wrapped up with a nicely packaged bow like some brands of Christianity preach.

Life is a mystery.

Life is full of questions.

And Jesus himself was the master of questions.

Jesus was asked something like 300 questions in the New Testament.

He directly answered very few of them.

Jesus responded instead with a parable or question.

He asked something like 180 questions in the gospels,

And his parables often didn’t make much sense.

But what we know that makes sense is this:

Jesus, himself, grieved when his friend Lazarus died.

Jesus, himself, told the thief on the cross that he would be with him, that day, in paradise.

(Paul later explains a different version of when the dead will rise).

And Jesus, himself, said, “The greatest commandment is this: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

 

So if we are followers of Jesus,

Then we,

In the midst all the other junk—

The questions, the doubts, the heartaches, the fears—

Should be a people who

Question,

Grieve,

Love, and

Believe.

 

That’s who my friend’s mom was.

That’s who my friend is.

May it be who we are, too.

Amen.

The Great Thanksgiving

 

I grew up in a faith tradition that didn’t much believe in written liturgy.

Even though we had a set order of worship that rarely changed,

We believed, at our core, in the spontaneity of worship.

The welcome, announcements, transitions, prayers, and sermons,

Were all led by the Holy Spirit.  

 

As I’ve gotten away from the faith tradition of my youth,

I’ve discovered the beauty in written liturgy

And I’ve become a fan of writing out my words before saying them when leading worship.

I’ve also become a fan of the predictability of written liturgy.

There is comfort in knowing the words that come next—

The confessions, the songs, the prayers, the creeds—

They hold rich meaning and depth

Just as they hold me in the safety of their routine.

 

Some of the liturgy also makes me stupidly happy!

Every week that I’m in attendance at my church,

Without fail,

I begin to grin when we come to The Great Thanksgiving.

 

The pastor sings:

The Lord be with you.

We reply:

And also with you.

P: Lift up your hearts.

C: We lift them to the Lord.

P: Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.

C: It is right to give our thanks and praise.

 

And then, at least in one version of the liturgy, she continues:

It is our duty and delight

That we should everywhere and in all things

Give thanks and praise to you O Lord

In Jesus Christ….

 

And then she continues with something that I don’t have memorized. Yet.

But I have the whole conversation above memorized,

And I burst into song with it a couple of times a week,

Singing both parts to myself,

Or singing it with a friend,

And finding hope and encouragement and happiness

Each time that I do 😊.

 

God: May we be a people who worship through both spontaneity and plan. And however we find to worship, may we simply do it. For you are good. And you are working with us to create good. And that deserves a Great Thanksgiving. Amen.  

The HeART of Healing

 

A couple of weeks ago,

I had the opportunity to lead a grief support group for a friend.

I was part of a series called the heART of Healing.

Since the event was during my weeks of no voice,

And since my main gig is music,

I had to think of something different to do…

So, I thought, why not blackout poetry?

After all, it HAS become my spiritual discipline.

 

Nervous to undertake the activity with a group,

I did my best to explain it.

In short, I said:

Think of the page’s words as your word bank.

You can keep the words in order in true blackout style,

Or you can use the words out of order and draw connecting lines in modified blackout style.

It’s up to you.

Just sit with the words and see what comes.

 

And they did.

 

And what came, I later found out, was beautiful.

 

One woman wrote and shared a poem about her grandson who died by suicide a year ago.

She doesn’t talk much about it.

It’s too hard.

But she found words on the page to express a bit of her grief.

She read aloud…

“That I could hug you one more time.”

 

Another woman saw only one phrase on the page.

She tried and tried to find something more,

But all she could see was…

“I couldn’t quit sobbing.”

In those words, she saw a reflection of her reality,

And she realized she needed help.

Uncontrolled depression had overwhelmed her.

She was drowning in her own tears but she didn’t realize it until

She saw it on the page.

She is now getting help.

 

And a man, a poet and musician,

Suffering from bi-polar disorder,

Who hadn’t really left his house in a month—

For whatever reason, came to the session.

He had never heard of blackout poetry,

Yet he connected with it and found a life-giving outlet.

 

Friends: I know that blackout poetry isn’t for everyone.

And that’s fine.

Blackout poetry isn’t really the point.

Creating is the point:

Working with God to express a thought, feeling, emotion, or reaction—

Working with God to make something not made before.

Poetry, song, fiction, blog, cross-stitch, crochet, knitting, macrame,

Watercolor, acrylic, pen, ink, tin, a coloring sheet, a garden…

Creating is a process.

It is healing and transformative.

Not everything will be a masterpiece.

But everything will be good.

Because you will have created with God,

Who called God’s creation good.

 

Oh God of Creation: Help us to create alongside you. And thank you for the heART of healing. Amen. 

And Then I Cried

 Shortly after finishing Monday’s note,

I realized that I didn’t have a picture of Kay.

As any good 21^st-centurian would do,

I took to the Interwebs to look for a picture of this woman who had come to mean so much.

The thing is?

I found obituaries and old scholarship information,

But I couldn’t find a picture.

As I continued to search,

I came across an article honoring Kay.

At the end of the article,

Kay was quoted as saying:

 

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through…I trust that you already know that my heart just aches for you…I know that all things work together for good to those who serve God. So I trust that as I act moment by moment to follow God’s leading, God will work through my decisions. In any event, I know with assurance that God is already working. God’s action is to bring about good things for you and for the body of Christ. There’s no doubt. We just have to wait. As we’ve all figured out for one reason or another, life isn’t fair and justice is hard to find. Mostly I’d like for you to get through it. It happened and requires you to work in order to get through it—but I pray that you get THROUGH rather than remain in it. So I hope you’ll spend exactly the right amount of time processing it all and doing what it takes to attend to it so that it will be well and truly over. I love you very much! You take my love and respect and appreciation with you where you go…I’m proud of you, you’ve been faithful.”

 

I screen-shotted her words.

And then I cried.

 

God: Thank you that our hearts and words live on long after we’re gone. May Kay’s words, today, bless and encourage someone who needs to hear them…seventeen years after they were written. Thank you, God, that you are already working and that your action is to bring about good in a world that seems to celebrate evil. You ARE good. And we ARE trying to be faithful. Amen.  

 

Oh! And by the way—

After thirty minutes of tears and searching,

I found Kay’s picture in a PDF brochure.

It’s not the best quality in the world.

But it will do.

😊

November 12th

 I woke up yesterday morning and noticed it was November 12^th.

At first, I didn’t realize the significance of the date,

But then I remembered:

November 12^th is the anniversary of the day that my friend and mentor, Kay Simpson, died.

 

I went to church with my band that morning in 2006.

We were warming up and preparing to lead worship when

We looked up and saw Kay at the back of the church.

Kay had been sick for a few days,

So we were surprised to see her.

She slowly made her way down the aisle and sat on the front pew,

Listening to us play all along.

She closed her eyes,

Held her hands in a receiving position,

And sat for a few moments taking it all in.

When it came time for her to leave,

We asked if she needed someone to take or follow her home.

She declined the invitation,

Said she’d be fine,

And quietly left before anyone else could arrive at church.

 

That was the last time anyone saw Kay.

She died that night.

Her enlarged heart had enlarged so much that

It finally gave out.

 

The days, weeks, and years following Kay’s death were hard on me.

The sights, smells, and memories often overwhelmed me

And left me feeling such a deep grief that I couldn’t function.

Yet now, 17 years later, while I still feel the sting of her loss and

Still remember sights, smells, and memories just like they were yesterday,

I am finally okay.

 

Grief is an odd thing.

It comes and goes on its own terms

And sometimes it leaves us flat on our backs in tears.

But sometimes, it’s just a tiny whisper about the date—

Telling us that there is something for us to remember—

Someone for whom we should stop and be grateful.

 

I am thankful for grief’s gentle nudge yesterday.

And I am grateful for Kay Simpson

And the impact that she had on my life as a minister and friend.

Amen.

Octopus

 Somehow,

And I’m not sure how,

I found out that one of my students, K, likes octopuses.

(This is the same student I wrote about a few weeks ago

Whose father died suddenly over the summer.)

Because I have a soft spot for said student,

I decided to give him an octopus book that I found in my classroom library.

 

I laid the book on my desk so that K would see it when he walked in.

He lit up the moment he did.

“A book on octopus!” he said.

“Did you know I like octopus?” he inquired.

“Yes,” I responded.

“How did you know I liked octopus?” he questioned.
“I just did,” I responded.

And then he opened the book and began to draw a shell from its pages.

 

About 15 minutes later,

Out of the blue, K said,
“Wait. Who is giving me this book?”

I said, “I am.”

He said, “You are?!”

“THANK YOU!

THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH.”

Then he came around my desk,

And gave me a huge hug.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“You’re welcome,” I said, smiling.

 

There are a lot of difficult, hard things happening in this world,

And thanks to the media,

We seem to know all about them,

All at once.

Quite honestly, it’s overwhelming.

But in the midst of all that’s bad,

There is still so much good.

There is still so much right.

 

May we be a people who try to hold to what is good and right,

Who smile at the simplicity of 1^st grader’s exclamation of their love for octopus,

And who take heart in the genuine sincerity of a child who has lost so much in his short life,

But who is determined to truly live nonetheless.

Amen. 

Overworked and Underpaid?

 A couple of months ago,

I received a bulk e-mail asking for participants in a research-study

That focused on teaching Native American music and culture.

I accepted the invitation.

Long story short,

Out of the hundreds of music teachers who received the e-mail,

Only four responded that we would participate.

Most didn’t respond at all.

But quite a few responded that they didn’t teach Native American music.

The researcher reported that people are afraid to teach it.

They don’t want to teach it wrong.

They don’t want to perpetuate stereotypes.

They don’t know where to begin.

They don’t know where to end.

So they just don’t do it at all.

Both me and the researcher found this sad.

Here we are, living on land stolen from thriving Native American tribes--

Here we are, surviving because of the contributions of Native American tribes--

Completely ignoring their history and culture because we don’t know where to begin.

 

I didn’t know where to begin either.

So I started where I was—

With a music textbook that included a song by the Haliwa-Saponi tribe in northern NC.

I learned everything I could about the tribe and introduced myself to members of the tribe at the NC State Fair.

From there, my research expanded to other tribes and continues to expand each year.

There are a lot of nuances between tribes.

A lot that I still don’t know—

A lot that I will never know because there is so much.

But I’m trying.

And I will continue to try.

Because it is worth it to me to dispel cultural myths and to

Shed light on a culture that holds so much beauty.

 

I find it sad that it’s not worth it to more people

To do the research that it takes to teach Native American music.

Yes. Research takes time, effort, and, in some cases, money.

Yes. Teachers are overworked and underpaid.

But is that really an excuse to overlook a people group who has been

Overlooked and marginalized for far too long?

 

…

 

I recently attended my first pow wow.

I danced in the circle dance,

Holding hands with strangers as we danced in a circle of unity and love.

 

May there be more circle dances,

More unity,

More love,

More connections to the earth and the Great Spirit that created her.

 

And may we be a people not afraid of beginning…

 

Amen. 

Of Course

 Last Friday, as I was making last minute preparations for the 4^th and 5^th grade program,

A parent wrote me to ask a question.

She wanted to know if her son was going to be involved in the program that night.

She had assumed that he wasn’t going to be

Because he is an EC (Exceptional Children) student,

But after school that day he told her that he had practiced that afternoon and had to go back that night.

Of course he is, I told her.

He is more than welcome to come.

So he did.

And he performed with his neuro-typical, able-bodied peers,

And we had a great performance.

 

After ten weeks of work,

Rehearsing with soloists,

Singing meaningful songs hundreds of time,

And sending out multiple parent messages,

What sticks with me the most about last Friday night’s performance

Is that parent’s message.

She was so excited when I told her that her son was invited to perform.

It’s as if it were an abnormal occurrence for her son to be treated like his peers.

And that made me sad.

It still makes me sad.

 

While we have come a long way in our EC services in the past few decades,

We still have a long way to go.

It’s hard, knowing how to embrace persons who are differently abled,

But it’s a necessity that we learn and that we stop shutting them and their families in the closet.

Taking care of a special needs child is exhausting.

Many EC parents and caregivers love their children unconditionally but find themselves with the life-long commitment of taking care of children who cannot take care of themselves.

In general, we do a terrible job supporting the families and parents of special needs children.

It takes time, intentionality, and effort…

And yet…

We are called to love one another.

 

May we strive to live in a world where parents don’t have to write to see if their child is included.

And may we work to make the playing field equitable for everyone involved.

 

Amen.