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2012年12月5日水曜日

旅人との付き合い


『明るい窓』(病院職員ニュースレター)9月号
チャプレンからのメッセージ

「病院」というのはそもそも教会から生れたものである。4世紀から盛んに芽生えていく修道院がその発祥となる。慌ただしくて貪欲に満ちた世間から退き、厳しい修行と絶えない祈りをとおして自らの心を清め神に向け直し、イエスさまの模範に倣っていくのが修道院の本来の目的であった。

しかし、早くから旅人に対するホスピタリティにも心を配るようになったようである。「旅人をもてなすことを忘れてはいけない。そうすることで、気づかずに天使たちをもてなした人たちもいる」(ヘブライ13:2)という聖書のみ言葉をきちんと受け止め、修道院に足を運ぶ人一人一人へのもてなしを神聖な責任として励んでいたのである。

しかも当然、旅人は色々な状況でやってくる。旅路で追いはぎに襲われたり、体調を崩したり、怪我したりする旅人への接遇は、必然としてあらゆる手当ても含まれる。こういうケアも最初から崇高な務めとして見なされた。最古の修道会の創立者である聖ベネディクトが作った戒律に次の文章がある:「病人のケアはどんな仕事よりも優先させるべきである。病人に仕えるのは、キリストご自身に仕えることの如き」(36章)。

こういう流れの中で、修道院はどんどん医学的知識を高めていき、たまたま現われる旅人だけでなく、治療を求めに来る人も増えていく。今日世界中、教会によって病院が建てられているのも、こういう歴史に端を発しているわけである。
+   +   +
数年、乳がん発覚当初からその寛解まで時々会って話を聞かせてくれる患者さんに、先日、またお会いした。最近の定期検診で「またか」と疑われるような要素が出てきてしまって、精密検査の結果待ちで不安でしょうがない、という内容を涙ながら話してくれた。そこで彼女は「祈ってほしい」と僕に頼んだ。

一瞬戸惑う。医療者でない僕は、「再発か」と思うとちょっと動揺する。現状からあまりに離れたような祈りをしたくない。が、しかし、神の助けを頼りにしようとしている患者さんの思いに合わせるのも大事なことだと思う。「どうか、結果がすべて陰性でありますように」、とためらいがちに祈ったら、向こうの表情が若干安堵したように見える。

またその数日後、彼女は僕のオフィスに寄って来た。「再発してない」という一言の吉報をもたらしてくれたのである。

チャプレン室の真ん中に立っている二人の収まらない笑顔と長い、長い無言の握手...
+   +   +
僕にとって、聖路加における仕事の多くの喜びの中の一つは、こういった「人生の旅」をしている人との付き合いができることである。

本来、何のつながりもなかったはずの人と出会い、人生の最も重要な場面にところどころ立ち会えることは、不思議で仕方がない。ずっと旅路に付き添っているわけではなくて、時折会って、不安も望みも、喜びも悲しみも分かち合えるのが大きな恵みに感じる。

こういう付き合いを神聖な責任として受け止めて、励んでいきたいと思う。

2012年7月11日水曜日

the end of the world: an email exchange


I received the following email from a friend, a young Japanese woman who is a new Christian. She wrote in English. I have changed all names except mine and edited her email to take out information that might help identify her.


From: keiko tanaka
To: kevin seaver
Date: 2012/7/11, Wed 01:55
Subject: Ultimate question

Hi Kevin

I've been thinking the end of the world lately. It has been always on my mind.

And I just had a interesting conversation with my close friend, Joanne. She was told once that she could have sight, visions, and she told me about her dreams about the end of the world over and over.

I used to have a dream about it too. But not like hers. Not that detailed. But was about the end of world. That it will happen.

Lots of people were saying that December 21, 2012 will be the end. What is your honest opinion about that as a servant of God?

I personally wish it will come soon. So that we don't have to suffer any longer and the kingdom will come soon for the younger people and for all of us.

Like I told you I had a kind of crisis a little while ago. During that time, I went through very strange period. I had visions about the end of the world. Exactly like it was said in the Bible, in Revelation...I just wonder if I experienced this because I knew what was written or if it was a real vision.

Your honest opinion will be highly appreciated. 

Love and Peace,
Always your younger sister,
May God always be with you,
Keiko xoxoxoxo
+  +  +
From: kevin seaver
To: keiko tanaka
Date: 2012/7/11, Wed 10:57
Subject: Re: Ultimate question

Hi Keiko,

In Matthew 24, Jesus talks about the end of the world. And then he says: "But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father" (Matthew 24:26). Not even Jesus himself knew.

Again, before he ascended to heaven, Jesus said to his followers: "It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority." (Acts 1:7)

It is good to think about the fact that there is an ending to the story of this world, that human history will not go on for ever and ever. And it is good to think about the fact that it is a VERY happy ending because God's will finally will be done on earth as in heaven.

And, like you, I long for Jesus to return soon, so that all the cruelty and suffering of the world would be over and I would stop having to struggle against temptations.

But it is pointless and maybe a little presumptuous (厚かましい) to try to know the day and hour of the end. If even the Bible doesn't tell us when, we certainly shouldn't pay attention to ancient Mayan calendars or modern day "prophets" who claim to know more than God has allowed us to know.

Not even Jesus knew when the end of the world would happen. He didn't need to know. Neither do we. All we have to do is to live our lives each day so that when the end comes, we will be ready to greet our Lord with joy and thanksgiving.

Because we know, we have been promised, that when the end comes, those who have believed that Jesus died and rose again, those who have entrusted their lives to the mercy and grace of God, "will be with the Lord forever" (1 Thessalonians 4:17). We have hope, because we know Jesus, and Jesus has shown us the heart of the Father, who is the Author of History, in command of all things.

C.S. Lewis, who wrote the Narnia books, was once asked what he would do if he knew the world would end tomorrow. He said: "I would plant a tree." All the "trees" we plant in this life--all the little acts of kindness, mercy and love that we show, all the beauty we help create, all the prayers we raise up to heaven for people in need, all the temptations we resist for God's sake--all of this will have a place in the new creation. Nothing good will be lost.

So, I think you and I should live our lives so that, if the end comes tomorrow, we will be ready. But we should really LIVE our lives--"I came so that they would have life, and have it abundantly," Jesus said (John 10:10). God wants us to enjoy life, enjoy Him, enjoy our fellowship with His Son, enjoy our fellowship with each other.

If your visions or thoughts about the end of the world rob you of this joy, that might be a sign that they are not "of God." Christians of all people ought to live lives radiant with joy and thanksgiving and hope. Because we know! We have been promised eternal life. And "in keeping with his promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, where righteousness dwells. So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with him" (2 Peter 3:13-14).

Go well, my friend.

Peace with Him,
Kevin

2012年7月6日金曜日

two highlights

Highlight 1:
The other day, I met a woman I've known for years, from the time she found out she had breast cancer through to its total remission. There were some signs that the cancer might be back. She was waiting for test results, nervous. "God, may all her results be negative" I prayed with her, even as my mind filled up with all sorts of scenarios. Yesterday, she stopped by my office with great news: "No relapse." We just stood there for a long, long time, grinning like monkeys and shaking hands.

Highlight 2:
For the past six months I've enjoyed getting to know a patient in the palliative care unit, an elder brother in Christ. A Protestant, he loves Mass, and often took part in our Sunday worship, hospital bed and all. He was quietly called to be with the Lord this morning. When I went to say goodbye, the realization that I would no longer regularly be seeing him or his family made me suddenly sad. I went back in the afternoon for the send-off. And, just as if the patient were still alive, the family and nurses and doctors and I all gathered around his bed, laughing and smiling as we took one last photograph. No, not "just as if"--he IS still alive. "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.” (Revelation 14:13)

2つの嬉しいこと


数年、乳がん発覚当初からその完全寛解まで時々会って話を聞いている女性に先日またお会いした。またか?と疑われる要素が出てきてしまって、検査結果待ちで不安。「どうか、姉妹の結果がすべて陰性でありますように」と、いろいろな思いが駆け巡っている中で祈ってあげた。そして昨日、僕のオフィスに寄って来て「再発してない」という吉報をもたらしてくれた。二人の収まらない笑顔と長い、長い握手。


半年知り合っている緩和ケア患者さんで、キリストにあって大先輩。教派は違うけどミサが好きで、よくベッドごとで日曜礼拝に参加してくれた。今朝、穏やかに天に召された彼とのお別れに伺うと、ご本人とも、ご家族とも、今までのようには頻繁に会えないな、と思いがけない寂しさを感じる。だが午後、病棟からの見送りに立会うと、亡き患者さんがまだ生きているかのように、ご家族もナースもドクターもチャプレンも病床を囲んで笑いのあふれる記念撮影を。いや、「かのように」ではない。今も生きているのだから。『今から後、主に結ばれて死ぬ人は幸いである』(黙示録14:13)

2012年5月23日水曜日

finishing luke (maybe)

The every-other-Thursday Bible study at the hospital, after three years, is finally going to finish Luke's Gospel tomorrow. Maybe. The group of about 8-10 men and women, of which I'm the youngest, is pretty good at going off on tangents. We get to talking about late husbands and new maladies and the like. One person brings in Hebrew trivia. Another exclaims "It's all over my head!" You know, we have fun. So there's a good chance we actually WON'T finish tomorrow.

But it has been a good journey, I think. And the final thing that once again strikes me is this: "joy" is a key word.

"They returned to Jerusalem with great joy" (Luke 24:52). Luke's Gospel begins with joy (Luke 1:14, 44, 58) and ends with joy. The angel tells Mary "I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people" (Luke 2:10).

The "Son of God" (Luke 1:35), the "Savior and Messiah" (Luke 2:11) was sent from heaven for just this reason: ultimately to bring joy to all people. He came to take the tragedy of a world ravaged by evil and sin and turn it into a comedy (as in, a story with a happy ending).

And this joy, which no hardship, no wile of the devil can ever extinguish, continues to grow and grow in the community of believers bound to Jesus (Acts 2:28, 8:8, 13:52, 14:17, 16:34).

The One who constantly brings us this joy is the Holy Spirit, acting in Jesus' stead: "And the disciples were filled with joy and with the Holy Spirit." (Acts 13:52).

I pray that all who read this are filled anew with the joy of the Holy Spirit this Pentecost.

明日、ルカの福音書を終わる(はず)

病院で、隔週木曜の聖書勉強会では、この3年をかけてやっと明日聖ルカによる福音書を終わる。はず。小職が最年少者となる男女8~10人のメンバーで、よく脱線したり、亡父の話や体の不調の話をしたり、ある方はヘブライ語の豆知識を持ち出したり、ある方は「話はさっぱり分からない!」とつっくんだり、いつも楽しく進めているので、終わらない可能性もなくはない。

でも良い旅だったと思う。そして最後に改めて気づいたのは、「喜び」のキーワードである。

「彼らは...大喜びでエルサレムに帰った」(ルカ24:52)。ルカの福音書は喜びで始まり(1:14, 44, 58)、喜びで終わる。天使がマリアに言った:「わたしは、民全体に与えられる大きな喜びを告げる」(2:10)。

天から遣わされた「神のみ子」(1:35)「救い主、主メシア」(2:11)が世に来られたのは、最終的にすべての人々に喜びをもたらすためであった。悪や罪に苦しんでいるこの世の悲劇を喜劇に変えるためであった。

どんな苦難、どんな悪魔の策略でも打ち消すことができないこの喜びは、今度イエスに結ばれている人たちのコミュニティの中でどんどん広がっていく(使徒言行録2:28, 8:8, 13:52, 14:17, 16:34)。

この喜びを常にもたらしてくださるのは、イエスの代行である聖霊なのである:「弟子たちは喜びと聖霊に満たされていた」(使徒言行録13:52)

皆さんも、聖霊降臨日で改めてこの喜びに満たされますように祈っている。

2012年5月9日水曜日

snapshot of a patient visit

I get a call from an Internal Medicine Resident about a patient, an American woman, who would like to speak with a chaplain.

I don't get all that many requests from patients, and almost never from English-speaking ones. I'm worried about my English sounding natural enough!

I go in the late afternoon and find the patient sitting up in bed, reading. As she tells me about her terminal-stage brain cancer, I am looking at the cover of the book, a detective novel by Elizabeth George called "This Body of Death." Hmm...

I sit with the patient for as long as it takes for her to get around to her real issue. She wants to die well, to "hold it together" until the end, and is finding that she lacks the emotional resources to do that.

No easy answer to that. God, I worry about the same thing. Dying like an ass. Afraid I'll be found out for what I really am.

I listen for a long time, praying for grace in one part of my brain.

The patient is Catholic, so at the end I offer to pray with her. We say the Hail Mary together and she is sobbing and shaking.

Later, I suggest to the medical team that they get a Psych consult. She still has time left. Maybe some drugs can help restore a bit of balance, so she can reconnect with the person she is or wants to be, just a little more resilient.

2012年2月14日火曜日

Chi-chan

It's been three years since my friend Chi-chan died, at age seven, after an unsuccessful bone marrow transplant. "Chan" in Japanese is the diminutive form of "san," kind of like Lil' in English. Used for children, especially girls. The poem refers to a hidden skylight in the hospital's small chapel called Teusler Hall. The skylight can only be accessed by ducking under a low-hanging wall. It is too narrow for someone with broad shoulders to stand up inside.

Careful when you make that face, I say
It might freeze up like that
That’s okay, you say
I’ll just pour hot water on it

You, the bed, the world entire
Mother moon encircling
Love's gravity stirring the soul's deeps
Never alone, you were
Never left to your own devices

A father's marrow
Red sun hovers low on the horizon
Love pouring down into your bones
Terrible gift you gave to him
A father's burden
   and greatest honor
     Truly this is bone of my bone,
     Flesh of my flesh

Tongue-tied love's calligraphy
smoothly penned in blood
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秋高し
母娘(おやこ)の涙
神を問う
Vaulting autumn sky
Mother daughter tears streaming
Querying God’s grace
 
Everyone else got to go home
Why me? Was I bad? Did I sin?
Child theodicy like a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus
 
No, no little one, no and a thousand times no
  Neither hath she sinned, nor her parents:
  but that the works of God should be made manifest in her.

He is always with you, Come what may, never apart
Your tears rend His heart
 
That all you got up your sleeve, Chaplain?
This the full extent of learned divinity?
All for this?
+   +   +
words fail, falter, fall out of joint and so
I show you the secret place in Dr. Teusler's Hall
the only way in is to be small
the kingdom belongs to such as these
 
tunnel dug straight up into the sky
discovery's smile
tongue tip darting out as ever
small enough to stand tall
here alone, beloved child, autumn cascading quick-silver
over your bald crown
heaven's delight a mantle on your slight, titanic shoulders
+   +   +
The blanket on your death bed
Pooh gazing fondly at a flower
  "Thank you for blossoming for me."
 
       Oh, my kingdom for a cup of hot water…

2011年12月28日水曜日

our citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20)

I am a huge fan of Brooke Fraser, a young kiwi singer who is also an articulate and passionate Christian poet. In her spare time, she also gets access to clean water for dozens of impoverished communities in Ethiopia and advocates for Rwandan children. You know, that sort of thing.

I've been thinking recently of her "C.S. Lewis Song." In it, she does an astonishingly good job of condensing and putting to music one of Lewis' arguments for God, heaven, faith: namely, that our desire for something higher, better, more permanent, etc. implies the reality of the object of our desire.

Just as the ability to feel hunger and want food implies the existence of food, our longing for union with God, heaven, divine joy implies the existence of those things.
If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy,
I can only conclude that I was not made for here
If the flesh that I fight is at best only light and momentary,
then of course I'll feel nude when to where I'm destined I'm compared

In other words, it makes no sense for us to have an ingrained desire for something that has no objective reality.

I think atheists would agree: Yes, it makes no sense. It is senseless.

But it takes a lot of blind faith to believe in that degree of senselessness. I'll stick with the much more likely probability that the desire has a real relationship to the thing that can satisfy the desire.

And so if all our money and material comforts can't satisfy us, if success can't satisfy us, if even romantic love and family don't entirely fill up the hole in our hearts, it must be because the hole is God-shaped.

Of course, Lewis was taking his cue from St. Augustine:
"You have made us for yourself, Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you."
But maybe I'm most psyched by the fact that Brooke Fraser knows Lewis and likes him enough to write a song about one of his ideas. He would be well chuffed* to know that--in fact, I imagine he is.

My admiration has almost nothing to do with the fact that she is also stunningly beautiful...

* "chuffed" is New Zealand slang for "pleased and excited"

2011年12月6日火曜日

reflections on a girl's funeral

I took the stairs down to the hospital mortuary feeling slightly nauseous. It was probably not so much the dread of seeing Sara (not her real name) as fear of facing the grief of her family.

When a child dies, nobody "comes to terms" with it. None of the soothing platitudes make a good fit. "It was her time." "She led a full life." "At least she went peacefully." I've never heard somebody try to put a positive spin on things. Nobody's okay with it.
+   +   +
When I saw her lying there, the breath went out of me like I'd been sucker punched.

She was so small, and still.

Not too long before, we had been exchanging slightly wary nods on the ward. I find it hard to establish a rapport with the girls in the peds ward, at least the older ones. I never know what to say. No more than I did when I was a teenager.

Plus, most of the time the girls stay behind their pink curtains, which might as well be as thick as castle stones. Their own worlds. I can never think up a good excuse to intrude.

So whenever I do get the chance, I make eye contact and nod and smile, and keep waiting for God to create opportunities to be helpful, if I can. Meanwhile I pray, every day, from the sidelines.
+   +   +
The blown-up picture showed Sara with Luke, her beagle. (Her mother said it was "coincidence" that she happened to choose to give her dog the name of the hospital where she would spend the last years of her life. Yeah, right.)

In the photo she was maybe eleven or twelve. Sitting on grass, a park somewhere. Smiling unself-consciously, just because she was with Luke, and it was a good day.

In the photo, there was not even the hint of a shadow of cancer in her eyes.
+   +   +
At the wake, I was looking out at all of Sara's schoolfriends who came. Pretty much all of her classmates from middleschool, I learned later. All the way from out in West Tokyo, more than an hour away by train.

Now, except for Sara, they had all gone off to various highschools, as freshmen, so they were wearing different school uniforms. But they all looked pretty much the same. Most of the girls' skirts were too short. Most of the boys' hair was too long and scruffy. Typical high school kids, in other words.

As each one came up to lay a flower in front of Sara's picture, pretty much all the girls were crying. Some were in bad shape. All the boys looked uncomfortable. A few of them had "deer in the headlights" expressions.

As I watched them, I felt a kind of anger welling up inside. Or maybe it was sadness, or frustration. I don't know, really. A tightening in the pit of the stomach.

"These kids' shouldn't have to be here," I thought. "They shouldn't have to be here, and Sara shouldn't have to be in this pine box up here. She should be out there, with them. They should all be hanging out in a park somewhere, or at MacDonald's. Copying each others' homework. Girls talking about boys. Boys talking about sports. Nobody should be here."
+   +   +
The funeral was quieter. Most of Sara's friends were back in school.

I nearly lost it halfway through the sermon. I was talking about Sara's courage, and the courage of her family. And suddenly I was struck by the sheer unfairness of what each of them had been called to deal with. And for what end? All that sacrifice and determination and and love-in-action--and still she died.

Tears sprang into my eyes. I couldn't see my sermon text. My nose started running. I felt like an idiot. Somehow I pushed on and got through.
+   +   +
Sara's father and little brother rode in the Hearse to the crematorium. Her mother drove herself. Somehow, that struck me as strange. So quotidien.
+   +   +
While waiting at the crematorium, the girl's mother told me she found out from the Chapel website that she (the mother) and I were the same age. We both smiled at that. But under the surface of that smile, feelings so shadowy and complex that I couldn't begin to sort through them.

Two forty-somethings, sitting down having tea. Her oldest child in a furnace downstairs.
+   +   +
As I watched them put Sara's bones into the white ceramic urn, I thought: Well, we finally managed to destroy this particular batch of cancer cells. And all it cost was...
+   +   +
Blessed Mary, you know the pain of losing a child. Yea, the sword of grief has pierced through thine own soul also. Pray for the family of Sara, and for us all. Pray for your Son to come again, and soon.

2011年11月9日水曜日

Sveiks! to my Latvian readers

From time to time, I check the record of traffic to Still a Long Way Off.

As far as I know, there are about four people in Japan who know about this blog. One of them is my wife. And even fewer people in the States (although my friend Anne at An Undercurrent of Hostility kindly linked to me from her blog--I will return the favor when I can work out how to...)

With the global reach of Internet search engines, I'm not surprised to get the occasional random visitor. I seem to get a lot of Japanese-language visitors who are searching on particular Bible passages.

I get the occasional European or Latin American visitor.

I get a fairly steady, tiny trickle of visitors from South Korea (감사합니다)

But I am mystified as to why I suddenly had 30--thirty!--visitors from Latvia last week. Or maybe it was one Latvian guy who kept coming back for seconds? Or better yet, a beautiful Latvian maiden desperate for theological enlightenment?

Seriously, why the sudden interest? Did my secret past as a CIA spy operating in Eastern Europe suddenly turn up on Wikileaks? Does the word "Kevin" mean something amusing in Latvian? Did I do something horribly offensive?

Well, all I can say is: Paldies! Let me know what you think, and why I had the pleasure of your visit.

Uz redzēšanos! Ceru, ka drīz atkal tiksimies!

2011年10月14日金曜日

the soccer ball

One of my young friends wrote a story, called "The Soccer Ball." Her aunt puts books on computer for people with vision disabilities, and now the story is on You Tube, too. It's a story about an ethical dilemma, and holds some real tension at points. The author is also reading the story. Someone else did the graphics.


Check it out!

2011年10月13日木曜日

back to india

Mari shows me pictures from last year's school album. She was eight then, and had long, dark hair. She's nine now. Her smile hasn't changed at all. She's smiling all the time, with her eyes and her whole face.

Mari was going to an international school in India before she got sick. She has three best friends. One is Japanese, like Mari, and the other two are Korean.

It turns out that the Japanese girl used to school with a boy who was also treated for leukemia at St. Luke's. "It's a small world!" Mari and I say it at exactly the same time. She giggles, and I am very happy.

"India is a country of wonder," she says in Japanese (fushigi no kuni). She mostly speaks English with me, though. Neither of us has other people to speak English to.

She has an unidentifiable accent, a little British, a little American, and little Indian, a little Japanese. Her English is miles better than her Mama's, but I can tell they enjoying sharing a foreign language. They can both speak a bit of Hindi, too. I am jealous.

Mari waxes poetic as she describes Indian food. She's okay with spicy hot, she says proudly. She's very careful to distinguish North Indian from South Indian cuisine. I wish I were more cosmopolitan so I could understand the difference better. Nan versus rice, is about as much as I could pick up.

Mari has finished all her chemo. It went well, and we're all just waiting for her white blood cell count to return to normal. She doesn't know how to say "white blood cell count" in English. Of course. She never had to give it a thought before. Nine year old children shouldn't have to learn such words.

All this waiting, and praying...it is a river of anxiety, half-born sorrow that flows through our lives, just under the surface. We all silently agree not to acknowledge it very much. It could drown us.

Merciful God, please keep the light of Mari's smile shining in this world. In Japan. In India. In my heart.

2011年10月2日日曜日

me and mr. st. james

As a hospital chaplain, I never know what I'm in for when someone calls to make an appointment.

Last week, I got a call from a woman I vaguely recalled having met once before. "I want to ask you about 19th century Evangelicalism in the Church of England."

Yeah, right, I thought, I've heard that one before (?). I made the appointment, figuring we would talk for a few minutes about Wilberforce and Spurgeon and then she would unload about her horrid recent diagnosis, or her shattered relationship with her boyfriend, or her grief having lost her mother, or her conviction that "They" were planting bugs in her bedroom.

But no. She wanted to talk about...19th century Evangelicalism in the Church of England. For a research paper on Jane Eyre. Jane's relationship with her Calvinist cousin, Mr. St. James.

Well, it's easily been 25 years since I read Jane Eyre. But we had a good time talking about Wilberforce and John Newton, the Continental Reformation and Puritanism, as well as John Henry Newman. We both shook our heads and tut-tutted at the grim doctrine of Total Depravity. I gave Calvin’s concern for the sovereignty of God its due five minutes and then went all Armenian on the subject of free will.

But as we were talking I realized something: Whatever their stripe, all those Evangelicals were tapping into some kind of huge energy source. Wilberforce’s tireless, decades-long campaign against slavery. Charles Spurgeon’s impassioned, prodigious preaching. A whole army of Christians setting out across the globe into hostile, unpleasant, sometimes lethal situations to spread the good news of Jesus Christ.

They had all discovered some secret spiritual dynamo that gave them the courage, the endurance, the eagerness, the creativity to do all these things.

And I knew what that dynamo was: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.

The knowledge that God, the Creator of Heaven and Earth, the Righteous and Holy Judge, would bother to notice, much less reach down and lift up...even one such as me.

Then it clicked. I may not be a five-point Calvinist*. But I am a forgiven sinner. And knowing that I am a sinner, and knowing I that I have nonetheless been forgiven extravagantly by a gracious God--yeah, that knowledge is for me a source of actual energy and encouragement, even in the daily grind of ministry.


* The five doctrinal points of Calvinism are represented by the acronym TULIP:
Total Depravity (the unaided will is incapable of doing good)
Unconditional Election (God doesn't look into the future and see our choices before electing us)
Limited Atonement (Christ's atoning work only extends to the elect)
Irresistible Grace (I'm just a sinner who cain't say no)
Perseverance of the Saints (once saved always saved)

2011年9月21日水曜日

この時のためにこそ(エステル記)

夕の礼拝 2011年9月18日

古代文学の中でも、エステルの物語は本当に優れたものとなっています。

この物語に出て来るおもな登場人物を紹介します。次の4人です:
  • ペルシャの王、クセルクセス
  • その妻となる、ユダヤ人の超美人エステル
  • エステルを子供のころから育ててくれたいとこのモルデカイ
  • クセルクセス王の高官ハマン
エステル記の設定は、紀元前4世紀。その前、エルサレムがバビロニア王国に壊滅させられ、多くユダヤ人がとりとしてバビロニア各地へ強制移住させられた(=いわゆる「バビロン捕囚」の時代)。後にバビロニアはペルシャ大王国に征服されてしまいます。ペルシャ(現在のイラン)はインドからエチオピアまでわたる大王国でした。

だから、ユダヤ人がペルシャの支配下になった時代がこのエステル記の設定になります。

ストーリーの中で、ペルシャ王クセルクセスの高官ハマンはユダヤ人の虐殺を図りました。なぜかというと...

王宮で働いている一人のユダヤ人がいました。それは、エステルを育ててくれたモルデカイでした。(エステルは幼子のとき両親を亡くしたようです。)

ちなみに、エステルはものすごい美人でした。聖書は、人の外見を詳しく描くことはあまりしませんが、エステルについて「その姿も顔立ちも美しかった」と書いてあります(2:7)。そうとうの美人だったようです。

実は、エステルは王宮の美人コンテストで優勝して、クセルクセス王の王妃に選ばれた人です。

エステルは、モルデカイの指示を受けて、自分がユダヤ人であることを隠していました。

とにかく、ハマンという人が高官になったときのことです。クセルクセス王の命令で、新しく高官の立場に就いたハマンが前を通ると、必ずひざまずいて敬礼しなければならないことになりました。

しかし敬虔なユダヤ人であるモルデカイはそれ拒否します。ただの人間を神扱いしてはいけないからです。

これに気づくハマンは激怒します。そしてハマンはクセルクセス王に次のように言います:
ユダヤ人という民族は自分の法律(つまり律法)があり、「王の法律には従いません」(3:8)

すごい大げさ!モルデカイという一人のユダヤ人がハマンに敬礼しないことだけで、ユダヤ人全体が破壊的な存在だ、というのか。傷ついたプライドから生まれる怒りは恐ろしいものですね。

とにかくハマンはこういった嘘をついて、クセルクセス王にユダヤ人を滅ぼすようにけしかけます。そして王の名によってユダヤ人民族浄化の勅書を公布させます。

大王国の至るところにユダヤ人の間で大混乱が起こります。モルデカイも、この勅書の話を耳にすると「衣服を裂き、粗布をまとって灰をかぶり、都の中に出て行き、苦悩に満ちた叫び声をあげた」のです(4:1)

そしてモルデカイはいとこのエステルにメッセージを送ります:「王のもとに行って、わが民のために寛大な処置を求め、嘆願するように」(4:8)

しかし、これまでに「隠れユダヤ人」だったエステルは嫌がります。ユダヤ人を代表するつもりはありません。自分なりの生活、立場もあります。しかも、実は危ないことを頼まれています:
「この国の誰もがよく知っているとおり、王宮の内庭におられる王に、召し出されずに近づく者は、男であれ女であれ死刑に処せられる、と法律に定められています。しかもこの一ヶ月わたしにはお召しがなく、王のもとには参っておりません。」(4:11)

話を聞いてもらえる立場ではない、と断ります。

そこでモルデカイは次のような返事を送ります:「他のユダヤ人はどうであれ、自分は王宮にいて無事だと考えてはいけない。」(4:13)いずれお前も危ないぞ、ということです。

そしてモルデカイは言います:「この時のためにこそ、あなたは王妃の位にまで達したのではないか。」(4:14)

エステルはこの言葉に心が大いに打たれます。モルデカイに返事します。「急いで、首都にいるすべてのユダヤ人を集め、わたしのために三日三晩断食し、祈ってください...このようにしてから、定めに反することではありますが、わたしは王のもとに参ります。このために死ななければならないのでしたら、死ぬ覚悟でおります。」(4:14, 16)

エステルは勇気を出して、おののきながら王のもとに参ります。「女性パワー」なのか「神の摂理」なのか(両方なのか)分かりませんが、王は彼女の話に耳を傾けます:「どうしたんだい?願いとあれば国の半分なりとも与えよう。」(5:3)

ストレートではなくて、「もし王のお心に適いますなら、今日わたしは酒宴を準備いたしますから、ハマンと一緒にお出ましください。」(5:4)そして酒宴の場で、みんなが盛り上がっているところ、王はエステルに言います:「何か望みがあるならかなえてあげる」(7:2)

エステル:「もし特別なご配慮をいただき、わたしの望みをかなえ、願いを聞いていただけますならば、わたしの命とわたしの民族の命をお助けいただきとうございます。わたしとわたしの民族は取り引きされ、滅ぼされ、殺され、絶滅させられそうになっているのでございます。」(7:3-4)

突然こう言われたクセルクセス王は憤慨します:「一体、誰がそのようなことをたくらんでいるのか、その者はどこにいるのか?!」と聞きます。

エステル:「その恐ろしい敵とは、この悪者ハマンでございます!」(7:5-6)ジャジャーン!

すると、ハマンはひどい目に遭います。モルデカイをつるそうとして、ハマンが立てた柱に自分自身がつるされてしまいました。いい気味だ!

ユダヤ教では、この出来事を記念に、大きな祭りが行われます。プーリームという大祭りは、3月あたり、春を間近に迎える時期の祭りです。子供も大人も仮装をしたり、にぎやかな遊びで盛り上がる。悩みが喜びに、嘆きが祭りに変わったときとして、この出来事をお祝いする...
+   +   +
「この時のためにこそ...」

神はその人、その人ならではの使命を与えます。自分が置かれている状況の中で、自分が持っている賜物をもって、自分にある関わりを通して、やることが与えられているのです。

エステルのようにその民を虐殺から救うという大きな仕事ではないかも知れません。でも自分でないとできないこと—困っている友人に元気付ける言葉をかける、患者さんへのさり気ない証をする、PTAでの意義を唱える、仲間はずれされている人への優しい態度を示すなど—自分でないとできないこと、自分が立っている立場でないとできないことはあるのです。

「いつどこでも神に用いられるかも知れない」ということを念頭に入れつつ、少し勇気を出してその日その日を迎えますと、きっとワクワク感のある、生きがいのある人生につながります。

2011年9月15日木曜日

doing it right

People involved in parish ministry risk becoming near-sighted. Immersed in the small world of your own people every Sunday, you tend to forget there are other ways of doing things. Slowly, imperceptibly, you can fall into the "always done it like this" mindset--the same mindset that probably drove you a little crazy when you first arrived.

So it's instructive to visit other churches from time to time. Even if the church sucks, you're bound to encounter differences that make you think about the status quo in your own congregation.

How much better, then, to visit a church that seems to be doing many things extremely well. Last Sunday, I had the pleasure of worshipping at Church of the Good Shepherd in Binghamton, New York. My old spiritual war buddies from seminary, Matt and Anne, co-pastor this church. Boy, was it exciting!

I'd had a meeting the previous day in the southeastern part of the state, so I drove 150 miles over mountain roads and through pelting rain to get there for Sunday Eucharist. There was a moment of panic when I discovered that most of the entry points to Binghamton were under several feet of water. Thank God for GPS navigation systems.

There were so many good things going on at Good Shepherd, I'll only list a few of them:

An active, well-attended Adult Sunday School program. I got to the church at about 9:45 a.m. Finding the sanctuary empty, I went downstairs. There, flooding notwithstanding, I found a room full of maybe 50 people, ranging from college students to octogenarians, median age probably around 35. There were several different ethnicities represented, and an even number of men and women.
Okay, this is the Bishop, not Matt, but you get the idea...

When I slipped in, they were all listening attentively to Matt. He was pacing furiously around the front of the hall, using an exposition of the Great Commission (Matthew 28) to talk about the mission of Good Shepherd.

People asked questions, made comments. They answered Matt's occasional Bible knowledge questions! Matt was enthusiastically painting a picture of a congregation embedded in local communities, looking outward, eager to show God's love through service and gospel proclamation.

At one point, Matt asked: How many of you have been at this church for more than three years. Maybe half a dozen people raised their hands. Then he asked, how many have been here for more than a year and a half. About three-quarters of the people raised their hands. Talk about new growth. Something is drawing these people in.

Reverent, joyful worship. The whole service, with readings and hymns, was printed attractively in a booklet. Hospitality trumps tree conservation!

Before the service, Matt reminded the congregation, which apparently includes many new or not-yet Anglicans, to pray the words of the liturgy attentively. I suspect liturgical inculturation occurs through little catechetical moments like that.

There were maybe 130 people there (fewer than usual because of the flooding), but it felt smaller because the sanctuary (a former Catholic church) is so huge. Who knows? Maybe it will be filled one day--in the not so distant future, if current trends continue.

The music was a mix of standard Anglican hymns and praise music. A band consisting of the music director on piano, bass guitar, and bongo, acquitted themselves fairly well without drawing too much attention to themselves. I enjoyed singing.

Especially considering Matt's strong Reformed Anglican commitments, the worship style was fairly High(ish). There was a procession, with two torchbearers and a crucifer as well as a Eucharistic Minister. The altar team genuflected at some of the right places (i.e. the words about the Incarnation in the Creed) although I don't think anybody else did. A few older folks crossed themselves. Matt wore a chausuble for the Ministry of the Table. A sanctus bell accompanied his reverent elevation of the consecrated elements.

There were informal moments, too. Matt greeted us at the beginning, while Anne came to the microphone at announcement time holding the baby. The passing of the peace was a lengthy, boisterous affair.

They've just started having a person at the back of the church standing by to pray with people at any point if needed.

Solid preaching. When I get a chance, I catch Good Shepherd sermons online, so I've come to expect passionate, orthodox preaching tied closely to the biblical text. In fact, Matt and Anne's expository preaching has inspired me to do more of that with my own congregation, which has been well received (somewhat to my surprise).

Matt changed the readings in light of the week's devastating floods. It was a variation on the theodicy (=seeking to understand the place and meaning of suffering in the will of God) message that Matt has preached before, such as after the massive earthquake in Haiti.

I was again struck by Matt's refusal to let God off the hook. "God allowed this flooding to happen." Given his understanding of the inviolable sovereignty of God, that's pretty much where you have to end up. But Matt also followed that declaration with a very definitive "and we cannot know all the reasons why." Seems to me that Job would agree.

I also liked this line: "There have been many floods. God spoke about only one." Meaning: The story of Noah doesn't allow us to say that all floods are punishment for human wickedness.

Well, go read, or better yet, watch or listen to the whole thing. In fact, tune in to Good Shepherd's sermons every week. You are sure to be edified.

Also: Matt's sermon went on for more than 30 minutes, and NOT A SINGLE PERSON was looking at their watch impatiently. In an Anglican church. Nobody. They seemed quite content to sacrifice the 0.29% of their week it took to sit and listen to somebody preaching the Word of God.

Outward-looking ethos. During the floods, the church had been providing food as well as shelter for a handful of displaced families. Good Shepherd already runs a soup kitchen.

In Sunday School, Matt expressed his vision of all Good Shepherd members becoming Kingdom agents in their own communites. There was a huge, hand-drawn map of Binghamton on the wall, with parishoners' houses marked. The goal is to have various local mission groups take responsibility for their own neighborhoods, in terms of service and evangelism.

In Sunday School, and even more pointedly in his sermon, Matt was really calling on his people to go out in service. We're not social workers, he said. What we do is different. When people ask us why we're doing what we do, we say "Because God loves you and He told me to do this."

Well, there's more I could remark on. But it is clear that God is blessing the faithfulness of Good Shepherd, and that He has blessed them with passionate, clear-thinking pastors in Matt and Anne.

I'm excited about the future for this church. Especially in the wake of this flooding, which comes as a serious blow to an already economically depressed city. What better environment for the gospel to flourish in?

2011年8月30日火曜日

celebration

Tatsu, a little five-year-old boy I first met in the peds ward, stopped by my office today. Apparently he insisted that his mom bring him here, after his check-up.

The circle bandaid on his arm told me that he had blood drawn. "Did you cry?" I ask. "No," he said, like the question was ridiculous. Sheer pride is the only thing that stops me from crying when they take my blood. How many times must Tatsu have been poked in the past two years...

When I first met Tatsu he was almost totally bald. Now he has a full, thick head of hair, sticking out from under the chic beige riding cap he was sporting. He starts back at kindergarten on Thursday, and can't wait.

Tatsu left the hospital a few months ago. He's been having every-other-week check-ups ever since. He has stopped by the chaplain's office before. But today, the doctors told him he could change to once every three weeks.

Hooray! "So far, so good," said his mother. I wonder if the day will come when she will finally and truly be able to breathe easy, no longer afraid that the shadow of cancer will fall again over her little boy.

"Good job!" I squat down and hold up my hand up. Smack! A good, solid connection, the sound of life and vigor. The manly high-five of a little boy with a future.

2011年8月26日金曜日

friday afternoon at the crematorium

I had the privilege of accompanying a family to the crematorium this afternoon, after the funeral of their 82 year old mother/grandmother at the chapel. She was a Christian, who died last Tuesday in the hospital.

I always say a final prayer over the body at the entrance to the oven. Then the men with white gloves and limousine driver hats shove the coffin in and close the golden doors and push a button. Then...we wait.

It takes about an hour to thoroughly burn the body of a non-obese adult. There are waiting rooms upstairs at the crematorium. As the priest, I'm always expected to lead the group, which includes maybe 10-20 relatives and close friends. A close family member carries the blown up photograph of the deceased.

The staff always tells us to watch our step on the escalator. Why is that? Does any sighted person actually stumble when getting on to an escalator?

As we enter the waiting room, we are handed a paper o-shibori, I guess because even being around a dead body is icky. Various cakes, chips, rice crackers, as well as bottles of drinks are on small tables around the room. Oolong tea, orange juice, beer. They come around later with pots of hot green tea.

This hour of waiting with the family is different every time. Sometimes, the family is shaken and subdued. Sometimes there's a lot of tears and sniffles. Sometimes they want to tell me about the person who has died. Sometimes they want to talk about anything else. I've had some really fun and interesting conversations at such times. Occasionally, it can be quite jovial and raucous, almost a party.

Once, I even got an acupressure treatment right there at the table.

The worst, though, is when a child has died. Bleak, raw pain, more or less well masked by the formalities of conversation. Once in a while, I get the big questions. Is my baby in heaven? Is he lonely? Why did she die? Will I ever feel all right again?

Today was a little...businesslike. The woman who died was a dedicated wife and mother and then grandmother, who spent her life supporting and caring for her dentist husband and all those around her. Her best friends were her classmates at the girl's high school she attended. They went through the War together, working and sleeping at a factory more often than studying. Three of the ladies were there.

I enjoyed talking with her granddaughter, a first year high-school student and cellist. We swapped orchestra stories. They are practicing every day during the summer, from 10:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m.

The girl's father and mother were moving around most of the time, making arrangements for the post-cremation dinner and taking care of other business, I guess.

Finally, an announcement tells us it's time to go back down. I'm in the lead again.

We return to the oven, and the men with white gloves pull out the fireproof slab. I'm always surprised at how little volume of bone there is. They transfer it all to a stainless steel box, and take it to another table where there is a ceramic urn with the person's name on it.

Family members pair up and use oversize chopsticks to pick up a bone fragment and put it in the urn. Two people, two pairs of chopsticks, one piece of bone. That's the reason why you can never use chopsticks to pass food directly to another person in Japan. You invite the spectre of death if you do that.

Finally, after using a powerful magnet to suck out all the coffin nails, the main bone packer guy goes through a practiced shpiel about what bones are what. He arranges the skull parts to go on top. He always points out the top spinal vertebrae, which is supposed to look like Buddha sitting lotus position. (Today, he stopped himself and said, "Oh, but you guys are Christian" which was actually a wrong assumption. Besides me and the one going into the urn, I don't think there were any Christians present.)

Sometimes they even put the person's eyeglasses in the urn. If I go to heaven, or the Pure Land, or get reincarnated or what have you, do I really have to keep my physical defects? I want to come back with an Adonis body, serious abs and 20-20 vision.

Then they close up the urn and bow for about the 18th time. And, with urn and photograph in hand, everybody loads up the microbus to go have dinner.

May the souls of the faithful departed, by the mercy of God, rest in peace.

2011年8月24日水曜日

人の悪口

「彼から人の悪口を一度も聞いたことがない。」

先々週、礼拝堂で尊敬すべき年長の聖歌隊メンバーが亡くなった。その葬儀は僕がアメリカにいっている間に行われたので、残念ながら立ち会うことができなかった。

この方は病院のもと職員でもあった。経営管理に関わる立場で、病院の成長に伴うさまざまなトラブルが発生する時代を過ごした。よくそういうトラブルの矢面に立っていたようである。

強い意見を持ちしばしば衝突し合っていた管理者の中にいたはず。決して穏やかな環境ではなかったと思う。

それにも関わらず、先日、亡くなった方の同僚から上記の言葉を耳にした。

そう言われてみると、チャペル委員会(礼拝堂の運営委員会)や聖歌隊の飲み会など、いろいろな場面でこの方と接する機会があったけど、いつもポジティブな話し方をしていたよね、と今になって気づいている。

「人の悪口を一切言わない。」そういうポリシーを徹底できる人はそんなに多くはいないと思う。少なくとも、そう思ってもらえない自分がいる。

ところが、聖書によれば、悪口を言わない人でない限り、神に近寄れない。
 主よ、どのような人が、あなたの幕屋に宿り
 聖なる山に住むことができるのでしょうか。 
それは、完全な道を歩き、正しいことを行う人。
 心には真実の言葉があり 
 舌には中傷をもたない人。
(詩編15編1-3)

まさに、僕はstill a long way off だね。罪深い心が新たにされるのは、いかに時間がかかるか!

2011年7月7日木曜日

Masu smiled

I sometimes pray with a man on the hospice floor, I'll call him Masu, who has some of the saddest eyes I've ever seen. I often suddenly recall his eyes when I'm in the middle of doing something else.

In clinical terms, Masu isn't depressed per se. He's just profoundly uneasy, feels lost in the cosmos. His wife passed on several years back, and, I don't know the details, but his daughter is not a supportive presence in his life now.

Masu has some church background, though probably not so strong. When I pray with him, he often puts his face in his hands and cries quietly.

He's a grown man, but something about him reminds me of a boy who got left behind somewhere by accident. Time has passed, the panic and hysterical wailing have died down, and now he's just tired, and sad, and scared, and wondering if he'll ever get home again. Wondering if things will ever be all right again.

Today, there was a small celebration of Tanabata, the Star Festival, in the ward. Tanabata is a typical Japanese syncretic mishmash of Chinese legend, wish-making, and laid-back summer celebration.

We--me and the music therapist, a female student doctor, some volunteers--sat around the ward Common Room, singing Japanese folk songs and drinking cold green tea. At first, no patients came. Everybody's energy level is pretty low at the moment.

But the music slowly drew them. First, Kubota-san and his rheumatism-ridden wife, both in wheelchairs. Then the taciturn Kawai-san and her middle-aged daughter. Then Masuda-san, looking bewildered as usual, accompanied by his wife and four thirty-something people whom I guess are his children.

And then Masu came in, pulling his IV pole. He's really tall! He's always sitting in bed when I see him, so I didn't know. He was looking quietly sad today, too.

There's a whole culinary category in Japan of "sweets that go well with bitter green tea". So there was a small spread of 'mizu-yohkan' (sweet redbean paste jelly), and dried apricots. There were also these cute little pastel colored cubes of sugary powder wrapped in tissue paper called 'o-higashi'. They melt in your mouth.

At first, Masu just sat, listening. I asked him if he had any song requests, but he didn't. He didn't want tea, either, but the volunteer brought him a glass anyway. He didn't touch it.

And then the student doctor offered him one of the o-higashi cubes. At first, Masu just let it sit in front of him.

As I listened to the next song, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Masu carefully unwrapped the tissue paper and put the sugar cube tentatively in his mouth. He seemed to stop moving for a moment. Then he took a sip of the tea he had refused earlier.

And then, he started to reach for another cube. The student doctor noticed, and said, "Tasty, aren't they?"

And Masu smiled. Like a golden glow that suddenly broke out all over his face. The sheer delight of the sweet delicacy, a perfect complement to the cool green tea. "Yes, it is," he said, and he looked pleased and even slightly naughty as he quickly put a second cube into his mouth to melt.

Amid all the sorrows of hospice, there are clear moments of joy, small happinesses that would probably pass unremarked in normal circumstances. I hope that today held such a moment for Masu.

I know that seeing him smile was a joy to me.

And I am grateful for the power of delicious food, which can sometimes reach even the saddest heart.