Zen and the Short Pencil, Chapter Three

 

CHAPTER THREE: FAITH SEEKING UNDERSTANDING

“Zen and the Short Pencil”

 The third month of my journey with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis featured my first out-of-town trip. My seventh grandchild, Elijah James Soard, was born August 26th. When he was a month old, Liz and Eric said they were ready for a visit. So, on September 26th I loaded up my oxygen apparatus and drove the 375 miles to Clarksville, Tennessee. This would be my first excursion since leaving the hospital July 8th.

Being on supplemental oxygen 24/7 means you learn how to get around with all the extra stuff that keeps you breathing and out of the hospital. Inside the house I have what is known as an oxygen “concentrator.” This thing plugs into the wall and somehow squeezes 95% pure oxygen out of the air and delivers it via a nasal cannula attached to a 50-foot plastic tube that follows me around the house and stays with me as I sleep. That would need to be loaded into the car so that we could plug it in at Liz and Eric’s house. It weighs about 35 pounds. Beyond that, I loaded up six of the small tanks that I carry in my backpack and one that I call a “tall boy” which is about 2 1/2 feet tall and is like the ones you see on the little carts at the hospital.  The tall boy would stay in the car and provide all that I would need for the 6-7-hour trip each way, and the smaller tanks would go with me to the other boys’ ballgames, church, and the coffee house or restaurant. 

So, yes, I learned right away that from now on it will take a bit more time and effort to prepare to go on a trip, but once I got behind the wheel and pointed toward Tennessee, nothing could take my joy! I was going to see my newest grandchild.

I do LOVE to drive and have been known to make solo drives from Arkansas into Canada or out West in pursuit of bears, walleye, and wild native trout. Something about the open road and the solitude seems to put me right where God wants me in order to get my undivided attention!

I thoroughly enjoyed almost a week with the boys and family. We went to the boys’ ballgames and then I helped Kaleb build his sailboat for the Boy Scout Raingutter Regatta (he came in 2nd). I got to spend time with all four boys, with Liz and Eric, and of course, their dogs. At church there was a baby shower for Elijah, and we went to a nice restaurant after.

The last night of the trip, we went to a Chinese buffet, which was something I had not been to since the beginning of the pandemic. I was a bit leery about going there, but we were very careful and managed to keep our distance and stay safe.

At the end of our meal, we were brought the customary “fortune cookie.” Usually a bit of a joke, nobody really paid much attention to theirs.  When I opened mine, I found it had a message that I found very odd.  It said:

            “A short pencil is usually better

               than a long memory any day.”

Like most people, I usually pay no attention to these things. But for some reason, I kept thinking about this.  It’s like it was haunting me.  Why was I giving this even a second thought? Maybe it was the reference to a “short pencil.” I asked, almost out loud, “What in the %#$ does this even mean? And what, in particular, does it mean to a 67-year-old-man who just received a dreadful diagnosis?”

“Faith Seeking Understanding” is a phrase given to us by St. Anselm of Canterbury (1033-1109) who probably borrowed it from St. Augustine (354-430) and basically means that people of faith like to understand what they believe. This was the thumbnail definition of theology for hundreds of years. For those of you who study the Enneagram, I am a “five,” which means I like to think things through, I like to figure things out, and I like for things to make sense. However, my deeper self is fascinated by other things that defy logic and don’t “make sense” from a rational point of view. In other words, my outer person is a “thinker” and my inner person is a mystic.

The fortune cookie confounded my rational mind, but it intrigued my mystical spirit. Its message was not a philosophical statement. It was more like a Zen koan. In other words, you won’t understand it until you stop trying to make sense of it. Then the meaning comes to you.

Now I am not an expert on Zen, and it doesn’t interfere with my Christian practice in any way.  In my view, Zen Buddhism is not a religion per se but a way of comprehending and accepting aspects of reality that don’t make any sense to the rational mind. This is the approach I have taken to interpreting the Eastern-sourced fortune cookie.

If you have read the biblical book of Job, you will remember that the dialogue is comprised of the flailing efforts of Job and his friends to understand, explain, and justify the predicament that Job found himself in. (“Why is this happening to you?” “Have you sinned?” “You MUST have sinned!” “Maybe your parents sinned.” “Maybe God is trying to ‘teach you something.’”) Unexplained suffering is the hardest suffering to bear. Even Jesus on the cross cried out, “WHY?” (Matthew 27:46). Job and his friends never got the answer or explanation that they were seeking. The only relief came when they let go of their striving and decided to “let God be God” because God was going to be God anyway.

In the third month of my journey, I was still trying to “get my head around” what had happened. I asked some of the same questions that Job’s friends had asked. The word “idiopathic” literally means “unknown cause” which was not very satisfying to me. So I studied. I did some research on the disease and on various breathing exercises. I prayed. I listened. I continued to practice mindfulness and gratitude which are two of the most therapeutic things I know of. I deeply treasured the present moments with Liz and Eric and my grandsons and saw each day as a gift. But still I wondered…what is God up to? Does God have a purpose for all this?

I know now there is a reason that I had no specific plans for what my life would look like in retirement, and that the Spirit had led me to leave that rather “open-ended.” In the past six months I have had opportunities for ministry beyond what I would have had time for in the past, and God is still using me. I have heard from friends asking for counsel, spiritual direction, and prayer, and now I have the opportunity to write without having to write a sermon every week. 

I don’t know how long or short my pencil is (I personally know two people who are still here and have lived well beyond the 3-to-5 years postulated), but I am convinced that God wants to use it to help others. What does the fortune cookie message mean? My memories are precious, and I’m thankful for them, but my pencil is what I have in this present moment and one thing that I have a modicum of control over.

“We can learn a lot from our suffering, and there is always something we can do to transform it into joy, into happiness, into love. It is only by having the courage to encounter our own suffering that we can generate the clarity and compassion we need to serve the world.”

        – Thich Nhat Hanh, Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet

        (Harper Collins)

So, my next team update reflected a little bit of my struggle and continued commitment to embrace the present moment

            Update:

It’s been a while so here’s a new update after my FOURTH pulmonary function test (the dr didn’t believe the last two). He said my latest pulmonary function test showed some “slippage” i.e. I’ve gotten a little worse. He’s putting me on a new med; It will take a few weeks to get started. There is no cure for ild/ipf; the med helps slow the progress in most patients and alleviate some of the symptoms. It can extend life, and I am hopeful for that.

 

Still praying for a miracle; but also for the continued mental, spiritual and physical strength to enjoy the gift of each day with gratitude and hope.

 

So I vacillate between deep grief and overflowing gratitude. And THIS IS OK.

It is my new normal, to fully experience both the depth of the grief and the joy of the gratitude. Both make me alive.  The colors and textures of the present moment are more intense, more vivid - and each one is treasured for what it is.

 

So will this next chapter of my life consist of a sad and bitter denouement or the learning of a new way of living?  I’m committed to making a writing contribution and I’m praying for the years to see my grandkids grow up.

 I believe the beginning of a new way of living is the way to go.

 

Zen and the Short Pencil, Chapter Two

 

Chapter One: Welcome to Retirement (“This is Not What I Had in Mind”)

Chapter Two: The Difference Between Hope and Denial (“The Gift of Ambiguity”)

Chapter Three: Faith Seeking Understanding (“Zen and the Short Pencil”)

Chapter Four: The Practices That Keep Me Going (“A New Rule of Life”)

Chapter Five: From Team to Tribe (“The Necessity of Companionship”)

CHAPTER TWO: THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HOPE AND DENIAL

“The Gift of Ambiguity”

 The second month of my journey was what I might call road-mapping. It meant trying to figure out where I was, where I might be going, and what resources were available and needed for the trip.

 On September 9, I sent the following update to my team:

 Wednesday September 9

First of all, thanks again for being one of the folks who know of my respiratory condition and have agreed to be on my team. Your support and prayers mean a lot to me and I pray for each of you daily. (Again, mercifully, this is not sent to you as a “group text”

 

It’s been a month since I first wrote to all of you in August so here is a little update on my current condition:

 

I’m still on track to go for another pulmonary function test and CT scan on September 20 and a visit with the pulmonologist on September 23 to hear a final diagnosis. After that I will reach out and let you know the result.

 

In the meantime, I have continued with my physical exercises, breathing exercises, and spiritual exercises and my overall well-being is good. I am mentally and spiritually strong and am becoming physically stronger.

 

Pulmonary function has improved but has plateaued and is not near 100%.  Sitting still I am fine, but any kind of exertion requires the supplemental 02.

 

I’m learning how to get around with the little tank which is good for 3 or 4 hrs of activity. I’m getting out for walks with the dog, shooting my bows, and have even done some fishing from the bank. I’m meeting regularly with a covenant community for prayer (online) and I’m engaged in a ministry of spiritual direction via Zoom and FaceTime.

 

I am eating well and have started gaining weight and my overall functionality has greatly improved. However, I still have many of the “signs” and there is no known cure for ipf, so we are still praying for a miracle.

Little did I know that the pulmonary function test would be so inconclusive that the doctor would not believe the results and would order the test to be REPEATED a month later. This happened twice in the first six months. This made for a lot of long waiting for an answer.

I came to see the ambiguity of my diagnosis as a blessing. As long as there was some doubt that it might not be what the “signs” pointed to, I kept hope alive for a better possibility. I found out that I had a lot to learn about hope. I also learned that I had to consider the difference between hope and denial.

First of all, as a trained and experienced pastoral counselor and spiritual director, I have read Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (On Death and Dying, Macmillan Pub. Co.) and am familiar with the five “stages” that we all go through when we encounter really bad news: Denial – Anger – Bargaining – Depression – Acceptance. I have walked with many of God’s beloved through all of these, have experienced them myself, and I know what they look like. In September and October, they came to me like a kaleidoscope of emotions erupting from the depths of the subterranean landscape of my soul.

As a matter of honest self-awareness/self-examination: How did I really feel at first?

CHEATED. That’s how I felt. Cheated. It’s the way we feel when life throws something at us that strikes us as bitterly unfair. After spending my entire adult life living in a fishbowl, moving from place to place and trying to be faithful to my calling, this is what I get in retirement?

I also felt JEALOUS. Yes, jealous, watching all those folks on TV and in the store and in their everyday walk of life just walking and running and jumping without a care in the world while I’m literally tied to a rubber tube in my nose all day and night, and I can’t walk to the mailbox without gasping for breath. Do they not realize how blessed they are?

But wait. In a moment of self-awareness, I felt differently. I listened to what I just told you and then I felt ASHAMED. And GUILTY. Who was I to feel “cheated” or “jealous?”

ASHAMED. GUILTY. I know, the Universe does not “owe” me anything, nor does God, the creator of the universe. I had no right to feel “cheated” or “jealous” when I thought of my two clergy colleagues who passed away this past year, one with cancer and the other with Covid; or my two friends and former church members who died suddenly from heart attacks, younger than me and with no warning; or the seminary professor who retired in May and died from a heart attack in October.  Short retirement for him, was it not? Or how about the dear spouse of my young friend who died last year with stomach cancer, less than a year after his diagnosis, barely 40 years old, leaving behind his wife and two precious little ones? I really deserved to beat myself up, which I felt was the ONLY thing I deserved. Let the self-flagellation begin!

After the self-flagellation, the shame and the tears, there comes the time to ask: what have you learned, or can you learn, from what you just saw?

I began to recall that feelings of being cheated or not getting what we feel we have earned or deserve comes from the transactional nature of so many of our experiences and relationships. “Study hard and make good grades so you will get a good job.” “Put this cream on your face and it will cure your acne/make you beautiful.” “Give money to charity or the church and God will bless you.” “Make your sales quota and we will give you a bonus and/or a raise.”

Quid Pro Quo. Transactional.

How about this one? “Trust Jesus as your Lord and Savior, and you will go to heaven after you die.” True, and thanks be to God, but also TRANSACTIONAL. I believe God wants more for our experience with God than this. God wants our experience to be not just transactional but also, and primarily, RELATIONAL. I want to love God not for what I will “get out of it” but because God is God after all and is worthy of my greatest love, in a relationship that is based on love and not on any kind of transactional offer or arrangement.

Come to think of it, all healthy relationships should be this way.

Upon reflection on my relationship with God in this light, I began to make a list of things that I’m thankful for. I’m thankful that I have lived a good life, have been blessed with meaningful work and with good friends all over Arkansas and way beyond, and that I am now here in my house, safe and quiet with good neighbors in a friendly neighborhood and town and by God’s grace I made it here. I’m thankful for my dog Dixie, my constant and loving companion who is helping me heal. I’m thankful for my peace lily which was a retirement gift from the West Memphis church. I’m thankful for all the beautiful cards and well wishes from so many friends in all my churches and other places who have wished me a happy and fulfilling retirement. I’m thankful for my medical care, my medications and the oxygen therapy that keeps me breathing. I’m thankful for the spiritual practices which I have learned and taught over the years, and which are now sustaining me. I’m thankful for my son Matt and daughter Liz who both have godly spouses and are serving their churches and communities. Matt is a better man than I ever was, and Liz is like her mom – compassionate, freckled, fearless. Their mom would be so proud of BOTH of them, as am I. I’m thankful that I got to baptize all seven of my grandchildren. I am, in this present moment, a most deeply blessed man.

So my team update that month ended with two spiritual practices that have been strong for me, mindfulness and gratitude:

It may sound ironic, but a central feature of my life right now is gratitude.

 

Each morning I am thankful for THIS day, and for all that God has blessed me with. I’m thankful to be in my house with my canine companion and good neighbors; for friends and family who have prayed for me, shopped for me, checked on me, and took me to the hospital; for the medical care I have received and for the supplemental oxygen that helps me to breathe; for safe and healthy delivery of newest grandson Elijah on August 26; for the gifts of hope, joy and peace that reside in my relationship with God and friends of God; and for the power of Christian mindfulness to appreciate the here-and-now, as Jean-Pierre de Caussade described as “the sacrament of the present moment.”

 

I could go on and on with my gratitude list, but I just want to add that I’m thankful for your prayers and support especially in the next two weeks. Blessings to all!

 So I walk the line between the already and the not-yet, which is how Jesus referred to the Kingdom of God. I found with greater attention to the here-and-now, the colors of nature are brighter; the veil shimmers and sparkles with an intensity that I would not have noticed before.

 Kubler-Ross noted that through and beyond all of the “five stages,” hope continues to endure.

 “But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” – Romans 8:25

 Next week: Faith Seeking Understanding

 

 

 

Zen and the Short Pencil, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME TO RETIREMENT

“This is Not What I Had in Mind”

I came to Arkansas in 1990 after finishing seminary and having been ordained in the tradition that I grew up in. I served 31 years in full-time pastoral ministry, 29 of those years as a United Methodist.

Over the years in pastoral ministry, I became known as a “fixer” (I prefer the term “healer,” which is what the INFP personality type is often referred to in Myers-Briggs nomenclature) and was sometimes sent to congregations that had experienced disruption or distress. Some of the churches I was sent to were churches where others didn’t want to go because of the church’s history or reputation. But I was committed to go where I was sent. That is the promise we make when we are ordained as elders in the UMC. When Philip the Apostle went to Samaria, he went where nobody else wanted to go (Acts 8) and look how that turned out!

I am told that in one cabinet meeting where they were deliberating about whom to send to a particular church, one cabinet member spoke up and said, “Bill Buchanan hunts bears with a bow and arrow. Let’s send him!”

I have had the privilege of serving with saints and sinners in churches large and small, city and country, and in-between. Upon leaving, I have always tried to leave behind a well-functioning, as-healthy-as-possible church for the next pastor to serve so that he or she would not have to “reinvent the wheel” administratively in order to lead the church. It was always my goal to leave each church better off than I found it, and to make a contribution to the community as well.

Sometime in 2020 I began to pray about retirement. Our conference year begins July 1, and July 1 of 2021 would be right after my 67th birthday. Age 67 is the “sweet spot” from an actuarial standpoint in terms of return on Social Security funds and a few other things. The church I was serving was on an even keel administratively, and we had a fresh new mission plan which unfortunately had to be temporarily suspended due to the pandemic. By early summer we had weathered the worst part of the pandemic through teamwork of staff and church leaders, loving cooperation of the congregation, and without a lot of silly tantrums or financial hardship. The time was right for me to retire.

So, In the spring of 2021 I announced from the pulpit that I would be retiring from parish ministry as of July 1, 2021, after 29 years of service in the United Methodist Church and 31 years in ministry total. I also posted my announcement on Facebook:

“Thirty-one years ago, in March of 1990, I finished my first round of seminary and moved to Arkansas responding to a call to pastoral ministry. A couple of years later, I accepted my first appointment in the North Arkansas Conference of the United Methodist Church. Now after 29 years of serving in United Methodist churches in Arkansas, it’s time for me to share that I will be retiring from parish ministry as of July 1, 2021.

 

What an honor and a joy it has been to companion with so many people in some of the most profound and meaningful times of your lives - birth, death, marriage, baptism, spiritual formation, mission and ministry, great adventures, triumph and tragedy. Thank you to the many friends, families and congregations all across Arkansas who have invited me into your lives, trusted me, believed in me, encouraged me, walked the journey with me and helped me grow in ministry. 

 

Be in prayer for the Bishop and Cabinet as they meet in the coming weeks to discern who will come to serve among the good people at West Memphis First UMC.  Also, keep in touch - as I will continue to be in ministry in new ways.

 

Grace and peace,

Bill B.”

 Oh my goodness the response both in person and on social media was humbling, sincere, and touching. I was in tears greeting my parishioners in person and reading the comments online.  That was an extraordinarily special day.

This began four months of intense planning and packing. Unlike all those earlier church-to-church moves through the years, this one involved some additional steps like applying for Social Security, insurance and pension. A lot of things which I would no longer need had to be gotten rid of. Even with that, there was a lot of packing, and all that stuff had to be handled.

It all went pretty well until I began to notice more than the usual fatigue about two weeks before my move. I began to run a low-grade fever and found myself a little short of breath while moving stuff or taking my dog on our daily walk. I knew these were not Covid symptoms, so I just thought I was pushing too hard and stressing out a little. I just took some cold meds and got some rest. Tomorrow would be a better day, I said.

I made it through my last two Sundays and was blessed to see friends from miles away who came to attend my last Sunday. I was further blessed by a wonderful retirement dinner the next night (Monday). On Tuesday morning, June 29, I loaded up the dog and drove to Conway. The next morning, I was flat on my back in the hospital.

That morning I woke up desperately short of breath and I knew something was seriously wrong. Being newly back in town, I reached out to a couple of local friends for advice on local urgent care clinics. One friend, who is a nurse and works at the local hospital, told me that with these symptoms I should go straight to the emergency room rather than an urgent care clinic. There they would be able to take the necessary x-rays, CT scans, and other tests. This was a good call.

In a few minutes another friend came and gave me a ride to the emergency room where they took my vital signs and immediately put me on 4 liters of oxygen (my pulse-ox was 76 – stroke territory). Before the day was over, they had taken x-rays and an echocardiogram and admitted me. The initial x-ray indicated pneumonia and also enlargement of the heart suggesting congestive heart failure, so they put me on an array of antibiotics and Lasix for the first day. 

The next day, July 1, a CT scan was run and the doctor said it suggested interstitial lung disease. These are diseases that are characterized by irreversible thickening of the tissues in the alveoli that facilitate the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide in the blood. A quick Google search indicates an average life expectancy of 3 to 5 years. That is NOT what I wanted to hear on my first day of retirement.

Then a pulmonary doctor was called in and he said he thought it might be idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis but was not 100% sure. After 8 days in the hospital, they sent me home to figure out how to live with my new reality.

I knew I needed support in prayer and practical help but was too shocked and too much of an introvert to share much publicly, at least until I knew more about what I was dealing with.

On Friday, August 6, I sent the following memo to my family and about ten closest friends:

To begin with, please forgive me for the rather long message. I am sending this to you because you are one of the few people who know of my current illness and have been helping and praying. You are my team. Mercifully, this will not be a “group text” because I am aware that no one has time for that!

 

Today is the 30th day since I was discharged after 8 days in the hospital with acute respiratory distress syndrome. Two weeks after discharge I went for a pulmonary function test and follow-up with pulmonologist Dr. Lee. After that you might have received this report from me, saying Dr. Lee thought I sounded better (my function was 30% - had been 20% in the hospital) and through the bronchoscopy and biopsy he was not able to conclusively verify the preliminary diagnosis of idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis even though “all the signs point to it.”

 

The report from the scan said it might be ipf but it also said to watch for “Superimposed viral infection, autoimmune disease, toxic exposure.” Kind of like a Covid overreaction but not Covid.

 

This little opening, along with some other signs, gave me hope (not denial) and I am not giving up. Dr. Lee said it helps that I have always been active and in pretty decent shape other than this. He encouraged me to keep walking the dog and watching my diet. He wants me to come for another pulmonary function test and scan on September 20th and see him again September 23rd to evaluate where we are at that point. Prayers requested.

 

So until then I’m at home with oxygen 24/7 with a tube that follows me all over the house (and thankful for it) and a portable tank that enables me to go out and take Dixie my dog for a walk which we both really enjoy. I can drive, but I’m getting out on a limited basis. The prednisone has suppressed my immune system so I’m not going near groups of people in close quarters.

 

I’m engaging in an array of physical exercises, breathing exercises, and of course spiritual practices which I will be glad to share with you if you are interested. I’m in the process of writing a few essays on these.

 

Everyone who has seen me recently has said that I look better (color better, stronger) than just a week or so ago.

 

I’ve kept this mostly quiet from my most recent former church for a reason. I did all I could to encourage them to welcome their new pastor, which they have done. They gave me a sweet send-off with lots of cards, gifts and good wishes and we had good closure for my ministry there. I do not want them to now be distracted by me, but I want the new pastor to succeed. This may be right or wrong but it’s the way I feel about that.

 

Again, I apologize for this being so long but I’m fighting for my life here and it means a lot for you to be on the short list of my team. Thanks for your love and support.

When I announced my retirement back in the spring, I told the congregation that I would not quit on them early and just coast the last couple of months, but that I wanted to “leave it all on the field.” How could I have known how prophetic those words would be? After 31 years and more than 1,600 Sundays, God gave me all the strength I needed all the way to my last Sunday.  I literally could not have preached another Sunday. That was a God Thing if there ever was one!

So, this is what the first month of my journey was like. I began to take stock of all the spiritual, mental, and emotional resources that I had available to take into this battle.  I will share more about that in the next installment.

Ash Wednesday Follow-up and Invitation

 

On Friday, March 4, I posted the following on Facebook. 

For everyone who is following my “watch this space” post on Ash Wednesday:

“It’s an Ash Wednesday story that begins on a hot day in July when you retire after 32 years and on the first day of your retirement you are told you have 3 to 5 years to live.”

“Now it is Ash Wednesday, 245 days later, and my Lenten journey has never been more important. What would God have me do for the next 40 days? How would God have me live the rest of my life? What do I have to offer in the time that I have left?”

Dr. Nadia Chaudhri did the Banghra dance from her hospital bed for her thousands of followers and raised money to fight ovarian cancer. Dr. Paul Kalanithi wrote a NY Times best-seller chronicling his final journey. They were both very inspiring.

Unlike Dr. Nadia and Dr. Kalanithi, I don’t necessarily want to become another public person with a terminal diagnosis seeking to make a maximum impact with my humble pencil. But like them, I do want to tell My Story, for what it is worth, in hopes that it might help someone.

I will commit to share a brief essay, as I am able, each week throughout Lent. Links to the essays will be posted here. Let me know if you wish to be tagged. I hope you will be blessed. Thanks for listening.

I plan to share part of my journey each week throughout Lent, before Friday of each week beginning the week of March 9. The links will be to this blog. The chapters will be titled as follows:

Chapter One: Welcome to Retirement (“This is Not What I Had in Mind”)

Chapter Two: The Difference Between Hope and Denial (“The Gift of Ambiguity”)

Chapter Three: Faith Seeking Understanding (“Zen and the Short Pencil”)

Chapter Four: The Practices That Keep Me Going (“A New Rule of Life”)

Chapter Five: From Team to Tribe (“The Necessity of Companionship”)

Ash Wednesday 2022

 

I posted this on Facebook the evening of Ash Wednesday, 2022:

This 30th Ash Wednesday has been different from any other. Every year at the beginning of Lent we are called to deal with the two inescapable realities of sin and death: our imperfections and our mortality. In other words, I am told that I am a sinner and I am going to die. Then we spend the rest of Lent thinking about how God has dealt with these two realities.

But for me, this time was like no other.

More later. Watch this space.