Good News

After nearly five years of volunteering for a for-profit hospice organization, I am taking the next step in my path to becoming a hospice chaplain.

Last week, I met with the volunteer director of a local free-standing hospice provider and she invited me to meet with the chaplain about joining the pastoral care team.  I spoke with him on the phone and then met him today . . . and I'm in!  I'll be a volunteer with the pastoral care team, a big step on my way to being a hospice chaplain.  I'll have more information about everything I'll be doing later, but it will run the gambit from visiting, conversation, funerals, even the odd wedding.  Altogether, though, it's about sitting with patients and families to give them space and a listening ear to explore the journey they're on.  I worried that I wouldn't pass muster with a senior chaplain because of my "knowledge gap" in theology (while I have a passing familiarity with various Christian denominations and their differences, I haven't read the whole Bible.  I know most of the stories through art.)  But, even after five years of volunteering elsewhere, I've never had a theological discussion with anyone who was dying; most want to talk about their families, relive memories, even those surrounded by Bibles, Christian hymns, prayer cards, and rosaries.   Closet I've come is singing "Amazing Grace" and reciting the Lord's Prayer.  Still, I know I have a lot to learn and I'm looking forward to companions on my own journey.  And if I'm not cut out for hospice chaplaincy, it's good to know before I go get anoter degree! (Yep, to be a real chaplain--accredited and all--I need a Masters of Divinity.)  If it is the right place for me, well, I'm excited to find that out.

It'll be rigorous, though.  At my initial interview, I was asked if I'd experienced a momentous death.  I never thought losing my dear Aunt Sis would come up in an interview, but I was able to talk about her death--how it was highly medicalized, with hospice only at the end, but that seemed to be her preference.  Of course, then later, my uncle and cousin died.

Then, in a cold call (which I never should have answered, being sick and half asleep on the couch), the chaplain (a Christian) asked me how I had been called to spiritual care.  Of course, I don't think of it as a divine "calling," not being called by anything but my own spirit.  Which I explained, along with my own path to Unitarian Universalism and hospice (Do you know what you call an atheist with children?  Unitarian.  Plus, there are my leanings to Buddhism.  And my own experience with pain and isolation.)  But I should've known that chaplains have seen it all.    These are not the questions I've had on other interviews. But I answered and was honest and it went well.

Still, I was glad to have practiced with Mama the night before--running through questions on strengths (comfort with people from different faiths and backgrounds; I've been told I'm a good listener) and weaknesses (that theology gap! also sometimes a tendency to avoid conflict and confrontation, though I'm better if I'm advocating for a patient.)  Also, what I want from my new organization--a mentor, a community of hospice workers, experience in a facility dedicated to hospice, more skills in sitting with people.  I could talk about my relevant experience--hospice volunteering, lay ministry at church, community service, mindfulness practice, non-violent communication (NVC) training--and my own practices such as Zentangle, Yoga Dance, meditation, reading poetry and history, even crocheting prayer shawls.  And, of course, clarifying my own beliefs--I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of all people, the interconnection of all beings, the importance of a variety of sacred teachers and wisdom sources, each person's responsible search for truth.  Yep, those are the UU principles.  Nothing about heaven, hell, or even God.  I'm focused on the world I know.  I do not know beyond that, though I tend to believe there is a spark of life but no divine plan, no cosmic engineer controlling fate and destinty.  Religions are created by humans to help them understand and cope with the Mystery; as humans are flawed, so are religions.  I don't think we come close to comprehending the world around us (just look at how wrong we've been about margarine!)--there are things we do not understand or can explain--I don't think the Mystery will ever be fully known--though, moments of grace show us glimpses.  So, for me compassion is the guide through our experiences; some call it Love.  And that is what I want to bring to people as they or their loved ones are dying; just as I hope I am surrounded by love, compassion, and family when I die.

And NONE of that came up today!  It was a quick discussion--he was comfortable with me and must have seen something he could work with--and I clean up nicely, in new clothes approrpriate for the place.  So there we go.  I have some HIPPA hoops to jump  through and then I'm on my way.  Soon. (I'll do the TB test and have my photo taken in two weeks; they're also checking references and doing a background check.)  I can't wait.

Last note:  I was meditating yesterday in preparation for today, and came up with the metta meditation I could use with hospice patients (the whole safe-happy-healthy-live in peace progression isn't quite right), or really with anyone:

May all beings know joy.May all beings know hope.May all beings know comfort.May all beings know peace.

A Different Number

26.

The number of victims at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown.

26 angels inspiring 26 acts of kindness.

Except there were 28 souls lost that day.

Because I count the mother of the shooter and even the shooter himself.

After much reflection and some passage of time, I wanted to post about the number 26 and the other two.  Of course, I am not a family member of any of the victims and would totally understand and respect if they couldn't bear to mention their loved ones in the same breath as the shooter.  Just as families of victims at Columbine, Aurora, Virginia Tech, even Oklahoma City and September 11 focus on the lost innocents and not the criminal perpetrators, so it is right that the families of Newtown do, too.

But I am speaking of and to those of us who are unrelated bystanders, witnesses you may say, of this tragedy, for whom this loss while intense and painful is not personal.  For it is we who are spared the emotional trauma of the shocking loss of a loved one, we who have the distance from the tragedy needed to reflect upon it at large.  As a religious person, following the principles of Unitarian Universalism which focus on the inherent worth and dignity of all people as well as the inter-connectedness of all life, I cannot forget the shooter or his mother.  And while the majority of my thoughts and prayers and tears are with and for the lost first graders and their teachers and all of their families, friends, and community, as well as with the first responders, I have also been thinking of the other two.

I cannot blame the shooter's mother for her own death nor for the actions of her son, even if the guns were hers and she knew of his mental health challenges.  As for her son, about whom I know very little, I do recognize how he must have been so alienated from the human community and from his own worth and dignity to take the lives of children, teachers, his mother, and himself.   While this in no way explains, excuses, or condones his actions, it allows me to feel compassion for him and for her and for their family and friends.

And compassion is what we need right now, for the victims, the survivors, and ourselves, as we begin to heal and especially as we begin to engage with the issues that contributed to this tragedy such as gun control and mental health treatment.   Separating the shooter and his mother as the "other," as evil, as undeserving of compassion, even as somehow inhuman, only serves to create an illusion of safety, albeit one that we, especially parents, would very much like to embrace right now.  If he is an example of evil, we can condemn, hate, even erase him.  Then we do not have to address the very human circumstances, within all of us to some degree, that led to this tragedy; we do not have to recognize or admit our own complicity in this violence, however minimal or indirect via gun and healthcare laws, media and culture, etc.

But it is through compassion for all of the lost souls, all 28 of them that day, that we as both individuals and as a society will perhaps come one step closer to healing from this tragedy and to preventing another similar one.

Religion, Part II: On Compassion and Codes

Going back to the conversation I had with two friends this week regarding religion and a moral code,  I've been reflecting on two recent articles in the NYTimes exploring empathy and compassion.  Both are important to me in my own life and in raising our kids.  The articles suggest both are in short supply and not always the motivation for right action that we expect.


In "Becoming Compassionately Numb," Benedict Carey suggests that, with the abundance of crises, we're experiencing fatigue--limiting joblessness benefits and disaster aid, cheering executions while booing a GLBT soldier (both of those at recent Republican debates! In fact, aren't all four of these from Republicans??), slow and minimal responses to Somalia, Darfur, Rwanda, etc.  People in the help professions have long recognized such fatigue, especially when they see the same chronic, seemingly hopeless challenges.  Interesting, he mentions the evolution of compassion as evolving to protect the household and clan; chimpanzees and monkeys also show compassion. Of course, we're more likely to respond to individuals in crises than larger entities, mainly because it is easier to relate to a single person than to an entire country, which is why non-profit pleas for compassion focus on single suffers to greater success.  However, it has been found that first responders and doctors must actually silence their compassionate reactions to be effective in overwhelming circumstances; otherwise, they too would become numb and fatigued.


The second article, David Brooks's "The Limits of Empathy," discusses the actual disconnect between feelings of empathy and action.  As Carey noted, Brooks's finds that empathizing with another doesn't always lead us to act compassionately, especially if there is a significant personal cost.  Brooks's article focuses on what does: a sense of duty, not compassion. "People who actually perform pro-social action don’t only feel for those who are suffering, they feel compelled to act by a sense of duty. Their lives are structured by sacred codes."  He continues, 

Think of anybody you admire. They probably have some talent for fellow-feeling, but it is overshadowed by their sense of obligation to some religious, military, social or philosophic code. They would feel a sense of shame or guilt if they didn’t live up to the code. The code tells them when they deserve public admiration or dishonor. The code helps them evaluate other people’s feelings, not just share them. The code tells them that an adulterer or a drug dealer may feel ecstatic, but the proper response is still contempt.

This is why doctors, social workers, oncology nurses, and the other professions Carey mentions are able to respond--they have a professional code to which they are duty-bound that motivates them to act.

I have found that embracing the Unitarian Universalist principles  or "code" has provided me with a clearer since of moral action than I had previously.  As I've posted before (and here), it also allows me to communicate those rules to the kiddos more effectively and efficiently.  We're always pointing back to the principals--"turn off the water because we protect the web of life" and "don't hit because we respect individuals."  And while I couldn't explain this to my friends last week, it's why I take the kids to church, why I take myself.  I don't doubt that they can teach their kids to be moral, upstanding, good people without church--I would be the last to say that religion makes a person good--but I find it frankly easier to do with a church, a code, and community support.  As Brooks states,

"The code isn’t just a set of rules. It’s a source of identity. It’s pursued with joy. It arouses the strongest emotions and attachments. Empathy is a sideshow. If you want to make the world a better place, help people debate, understand, reform, revere and enact their codes."

Is it coincidence that we are becoming a less compassionate nation, if Carey is believed, as we have lost our connection to traditional religious codes?  Or when those codes become perverted by fundamentalists who seek more to punish their neighbors than to love them?    Karen Armstrong, author and TED recipient, espouses in her book, Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life,that a true return to the Golden Rule, a version of which is found in all moral creeds and religious codes (including UU principal #1), would lead to a better world.   With enough compassion for everyone.

A Good Day for Compassion

I didn't watch the televised memorial for the victims of Tuscon's shooting, with President Obama, last night. But I'm reading about it this morning (here and here and here and here and here).

And I am inspired.

“At a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized, at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do, it’s important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not in a way that wounds. . . .

"So sudden loss causes us to look backward – but it also forces us to look forward, to reflect on the present and the future, on the manner in which we live our lives and nurture our relationships with those who are still with us. We may ask ourselves if we've shown enough kindness and generosity and compassion to the people in our lives. Perhaps we question whether we are doing right by our children, or our community, and whether our priorities are in order. We recognize our own mortality, and are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame – but rather, how well we have loved, and what small part we have played in bettering the lives of others. . . .

"The loss of these wonderful people should make every one of us strive to be better in our private lives – to be better friends and neighbors, co-workers and parents. And if, as has been discussed in recent days, their deaths help usher in more civility in our public discourse, let's remember that it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this tragedy, but rather because only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to our challenges as a nation, in a way that would make them proud. . . .

"I believe we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here – they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us. I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us."

We can all use a little more compassion in our lives, a word I'll use instead of civility, which strikes me now as almost too politicized. Compassion is the act of listening to and for the feelings and needs of ourselves and others in order to connect with each other.

And despite all the focus on talk radio and politicians, the public, national, political forum isn't the only arena that requires more compassion. We've all bemoaned drivers' manners while merging, people's attitudes in parking lots and grocery lines, neighbors' disagreements about yards and mowing. And of course, too much yelling and bossing in the family. But it's not just "them." I know, because I've been both complainer and complained about.

So, this morning, our second snow day, as I stand and read about tragedy and sadness not only in Arizona but all over the world, I embrace my family and re-commit myself to compassion. (But, as for talking to the kiddos about Tuscon, I won't be unless somehow they hear about it; see here.)

And, though we have no rain puddles in the Connecticut suburbs today, we're going to go play in the snow later today. In honor of Christina Taylor Green and with hope and compassion for us all . . .