Zen and the Short Pencil, Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR:

THE PRACTICES THAT KEEP ME GOING

“A New Rule of Life”

By the time the next leg of my journey came along, it was early fall of 2021. I was figuring out how I was going to do a little hunting and fishing with the help of others, coming to grips with the fact that it would no longer be safe for me to go on the short-term solo wilderness excursions that had been part of my lifestyle for half a century. Losing that part of my independence so suddenly was sort of a big deal, but I was thankful that I had Matt and a few trusted friends, and that I could still get around pretty well as long as I had my oxygen with me.

This would also be my first Thanksgiving, Advent, and Christmas without being a pastor in charge. Christmas Eve was always the fullest worship service of the year, and family members would drive across the state to join in worship wherever I would be preaching that night. This year, it would be different.

It was also a time for me to develop a pattern for how I would continue the spiritual and physical practices that had gotten me through the initial trauma and which would be the foundation for this next part of my life (a word of advice for whoever needs to hear this: please don’t wait until you are in crisis to develop your spiritual practices! I would have been bouncing off the walls at this point if I had not had some spiritual grounding).

About ten years ago I wrote a curriculum piece called “Hands-On Faith” in which I enumerated some 40 well-known spiritual practices, then I cautioned: 

It is important to always remember the spiritual practices are not ends in themselves.  Paul advises the Philippian Christians to “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:12-13).  The incarnational paradox is such that our faithful spiritual practices are by no means an effort towards a “works salvation” but are merely a means by which we place ourselves at God’s disposal so that God can do the work in us.  We make ourselves available to God, we make “space” for God, we submit to God and we cooperate with God.  Thomas Merton once said the biggest part of prayer is showing up.  Through the spiritual practices, we “show up” for God.

 Someone once asked in a class I was teaching on spiritual formation: “What is the difference between spiritual practices and spiritual formation?” I replied, “Spiritual practices are what we do; spiritual formation is what God does.”

Ever since St. Benedict, the pattern for how we practice our spiritual lives has been referred to as our “rule of life.” In her popular book Soul Feast: An Invitation to the Christian Spiritual Life, Marjorie Thompson writes of the importance of having some intentionality and structure in our spiritual lives:

Certain kinds of plants need support in order to grow properly.  Tomatoes need stakes, and beans must attach themselves to suspended strings.  Creeping vines like clematis and wisteria will grow on any structure they can find.  Rambling roses take kindly to garden walls, archways, and trellises.  Without support, these plants would collapse in a heap on the ground.  Their blossoms would not have the space and sun they need to flourish, and their fruits would rot in contact with the soil.  We would be unable to enjoy their beauty and sustenance.

When it comes to spiritual growth, human beings are much like these plants.  We need structure and support.  Otherwise our spirituality grows only in a confused and disorderly way.  The fruit of the Spirit in us gets tangled and is susceptible to corruption, and the beauty of our lives is diminished.  We need structure in order to have enough space, air and light to flourish.  Structure gives us the freedom to grow as we are meant to.

There is a name in Christian tradition for the kind of structure that supports our spiritual growth.  It is called a rule of life.

            --- Marjorie J. Thompson, Soul Feast: An Invitation to the Christian Spiritual Life (John Knox Press)

A Rule of Life is the development of “holy habits” that provide a supporting structure for our spiritual lives.  It is the way we order our lives to assure that we are always making the space for God to work and help us along the way to being conformed to the image of Christ.  I like the way Marjorie Thompson reminds us that structure is not something that confines us, but that “structure gives us the freedom to grow as we are meant to.”

My new set of circumstances – my physical location, retirement status, and dealing with my illness – would necessitate arranging my daily life in a whole new way. It called for a new Rule of Life.

My Rule of Life has been described in general terms on my blog as “Pray. Be. Enjoy.”  This general statement remains the same; only the underlying order of things is new. Herein are the practices that I have come to regard as essential for this time of my life:

Centering Prayer, both solo and in small group

A—C—T—S Prayer with “Protestant Rosary” Beads

Walking: in nature, in the neighborhood and on the labyrinth

Worship

Mindfulness

Gratitude

Reconciliation

 Here is a brief description of how I practice these:

 CENTERING PRAYER. This is my starting point for prayer every day: Centering Prayer as revived, shared and taught by Fr. Thomas Keating, Basil Pennington, Cynthia Bourgeault, David Frenette, and others. I practice alone and also with a small group that meets once a month online for centering prayer and lectio divina. It is silent, meditative, contemplative prayer, to begin simply showing up to be in God’s presence prior to any discursive or dialogical prayer.

 A—C—T—S Prayer with “Protestant Rosary” Beads. Have you ever lost your place and wondered if you had forgotten something you wanted to pray about? These bead sets were made popular a few years ago by the best-selling book A Bead and a Prayer: A Beginner’s Guide to Protestant Prayer Beads by Kristen Vincent. We had a lot of fun making these little sets of beads when lots of people were doing this, and I still have a couple of sets. They provide a physical, tactile way of engaging our bodies in our prayers. They consist of four rows of seven beads, separated by a larger bead. I use the ACTS model as follows:

           1.       Adoration: the best place to start a prayer is with words of praise. Good places to find these are the psalms and our praise songs and hymnals.

          2.      Confession: When I realize that I am coming into the presence of God for prayer, I may get a feeling that I need to ask for grace and forgiveness before proceeding.  The model I use is the Seven Deadly Sins as described by St. John of the Cross (1542-1591).  They are pride, anger, envy, lust, greed, gluttony, and sloth. These were described in spiritual terms by John but they can be applied in more fleshly terms as well. I simply go one-by-one and ask the Spirit to reveal to me any known or unknown sin that needs to be dealt with (see Psalm 19:12-13).

          3.      Thanksgiving: I could go on and on about this….

          4.      Supplication: This is (finally) where I get out my “prayer list” and go one by one, name by name, to pray for those who are especially on my heart. I also pray for my family and for my team, who have been so faithful to pray for me and check on me. Then I will pray for myself.

Walking.  I have always loved walking; it’s been my favorite exercise. But now, walking any distance is HARD. I still do it as much as I can, and I am sorry that I ever took it for granted. I walk in the neighborhood, at the city park and once or twice a year on a labyrinth.  I have walked labyrinths all over the place and they are a wonderful way to pray. A labyrinth is not like a maze: a maze is designed to get you lost; on the labyrinth, if you stay on the path, you will eventually go into the center and back out again.

Worship. With the pandemic going on and my diminished lung capacity and immunity, I have avoided most in-person worship but am slowly returning. Whether in-person or online, worship is indispensable to the spiritual life.

Mindfulness. This has been one of the most important resources for me throughout, and I am so glad that I learned something of this practice before I got sick. I try to practice this all day as much as I can, for it is the best way I know of to “pray without ceasing.” Be sure and look at my friend Amy Oden’s book on Christian mindfulness.

Gratitude.  Again, one of the most therapeutic things I know.

Reconciliation. You might not have thought of this as a spiritual practice.  But I have seen too many people leave this Earth with unresolved matters which left a lot of pain behind. As much as possible, if there is anyone who needs to be forgiven, I want to forgive them, with God’s help. If I have wronged someone, I want to ask their forgiveness while I am still around to do that. If I appreciate the positive influence someone has had on my life, I want to let them know. And I don’t want to miss an opportunity to tell my loved ones that I love them.   

So, these are the practices that God is using to carry me through, along with the support of trusted friends (Feel free to contact me about any of these: spiritual practices are pretty much my wheelhouse). Everyone’s practice will be different; the main thing is to pay attention to where God is leading.  

New Year’s Eve 2021 represented six months in.  Six days later, I sent this to my team:

Thursday, January 6, 2022

 

Update January 6 Epiphany 2022

 

On Friday, New Year’s Eve, I drove to Heber Springs to check on my boat which is docked there. Only once since I got sick in June-July have I felt like going. It had been my plan to spend my first day of retirement relaxing on the boat. As you know, I spent that first day and the next eight days in the hospital instead.

 

Anyway, on my way back I passed an Episcopal church that has a sign which invited the public to stop and walk the beautiful labyrinth on their grounds. I’ve passed that church lots of times; this time I stopped.

 

As I stood at the entrance to the labyrinth, I knew what I needed to do with this particular walk. Last year was such a threshold year for me, I knew I needed to take some burdens to the center and leave them there. I took more than 30 years of my cherished roles in parish ministry, along with the shell-shock of receiving such a sudden and abrupt terminal diagnosis, along with an assortment of self-blame and regrets from the past, and pressed my hands into the ground in the center. After a few minutes I rose and walked the circuits outward to begin the next part of my life. There are many forms of Healing.

 

On this Epiphany evening I have two prayer requests for you my team (in addition to the regular miracle prayer):

 

Today I have received the special medication that it took so long to get. It’s called ofev and it’s known for two things: it’s astronomically expensive [] and potentially dreadful side effects. But this is one of only two treatments that are known to slow the progression of the disease and prolong life. My pulmonologist has helped me apply for and receive a foundation grant to take care of the cost, which would have been prohibitive. For that I am thankful!

 

So my two prayer requests are:

One, that the medication is effective and that I can continue to function as well as I am now, or even better;

Two, that my body will tolerate the medicine without serious side effects.

 

As always, it means a lot for you to be part of my prayer/support team and I’m here for you anytime.

Lots of love,

Bill B

 

Next week will be Holy Week.  My prayers are with you, my readers, and with all the churches and pastors who have led their people through Lent and who will be preparing to proclaim the Crucifixion and Resurrection of our Lord. 

The theme of next week’s missal will be “From Team to Tribe” (“The Necessity of Companionship”), with an added mention that I believe I may have stumbled upon the actual Meaning of Life. 

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.

The Cup of Blessing

 

The celebration of Holy Communion on Maundy Thursday evening during Holy Week is unique, even if your church administers the sacrament regularly and often. This time, it is the night when we most closely remember the actual Last Supper of our Lord before he went to be crucified. One such Maundy Thursday night ended in a way that gave it a special place in my memory.

It had been a very meaningful Maundy Thursday service and now it was late and everyone had gone home. I walked through the now-empty building as I usually do at the end of the day, readjusting thermostats and turning off lights and making sure all the doors were locked. As I walked back into the sanctuary, I noticed that the little glass cups from the Communion service were still there, standing up along the chancel rail as if in formation. Our people had gotten a little sloppy that evening, and the juice had spattered here and there, with little drops spilled along the wooden rail like the blood on the doorposts of the Israelites. In the bottom of each little cup was a crimson spot where the last dregs of the precious liquid lay. Since I didn’t want that grape juice to stay in the cups overnight, I decided to take them into the kitchen and wash them.

I didn’t mind. I felt I would enjoy the quiet time in the kitchen: no phone ringing, no emails to answer, no one demanding my attention. Just me and God in the kitchen. A nice mid-Holy Week respite.

As I spread out the cups to wash them, I thought of putting them in the dishwasher but decided against it. It seemed to me the best way to wash them was one by one, picking up each cup individually, washing it out, then turning it over to dry.

After I got started, I began to think about the medieval monk known as Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection. Brother Lawrence was a very godly man, a person who had given it all to go and live in the monastery and serve God all his days. He took his vows, made his commitment, and got his initial training in the kitchen. Now the kitchen was the last place Brother Lawrence wanted to be! He reportedly said to himself something like, “Oh, I could be so much more useful to God anywhere other than in this kitchen, peeling potatoes and washing dishes and cutting cabbage and boiling onions! Why me? Why here?”

We all want to be great for God and sometimes think we should get to choose our places of service. But we forget that even Jesus showed his greatness by washing the disciples’ feet and by giving his life for others. Brother Lawrence learned to practice the presence of God wherever God put him, and he found God in the kitchen. Likewise, that night in that church kitchen I found God unexpectedly among the dozens of tiny shot glasses stained with grape juice.

What happened was this: as I picked them up and began to wash them one by one, I counted them. There were about 110, and I was a little disappointed in the number. But continuing to wash them and place them on the towel to dry, the total number became less important to me. Gradually the cups began to look different, and as I handled them individually, I began to look closely at each little cup. It dawned on me that each and every cup represented a life, a person, a human being, someone I know, someone for whom Christ died. Suddenly the total number didn’t seem to matter as much. What mattered the most at that moment was each individual little cup and the beloved child of God who had partaken of its contents.

You’ve heard it said that sometimes we can’t see the forest for the trees. True, but the reverse is also true: sometimes we can’t see the trees for the forest! We see the numbers and the unified whole but we overlook the precious individuals that it contains.

I’m glad to be reminded that we have all the little cups that make the sacrament possible even in the pandemic, and that we serve and partake of Holy Communion individually, one by one. Christ died not just for the church but for each life, each soul, saying, “This is my body, given for you.” There is a cup with your name on it. Thanks be to God.