A clear-headed, moral economic understanding…
I’ve been doing some reading for a class I’m taking at Xavier, and in the midst of a wonderful essay by Wendell Berry, I found one of the clearest statements about the present economy and our economic goals. So often, you have to read the words of brilliant writers and thinkers ten times through, looking up their million-dollar words in dictionaries, to finally get their meaning. This writing, however, is clear, accessible, and easy to understand with a little bit of work. If we apply the same energy to thoughts like these that we do to clearing out our schedule to watch the X-Factor, we might find our intellectual capacities expand beyond where we thought we were previously capable.
Enjoy, chew on this gift from Wendell Berry, and let’s practice this vision of a better economy together!
We live, as we must sooner or later recognize, in an era of sentimental economics and, consequently, of sentimental politics.
Sentimental communism holds in effect that everybody and everything should suffer for the good of “the many” who, though miserable in the present, will be happy in the future for exactly the same reasons that they are miserable in the present.
Sentimental capitalism is not so different from sentimental communism as the corporate and political powers claim. Sentimental capitalism holds in effect that everything small, local, private, personal, natural, good, and beautiful must be sacrificed in the interest of the “free market” and the great corporations, which will bring unprecedented security and happiness to “the many”- in, of course, the future.
…
The economic theory used to justify the global economy in its “free market” version is again perfectly groundless and sentimental. The idea is that what is good for the corporations will sooner or later- though not of course immediately- be good for everybody.
That sentimentality is based, in turn, on a fantasy: the proposition that the great corporations, in “freely” competing with one another for raw materials, labor, and market share, will drive one another indefinitely, not only toward greater “efficiencies” of manufacture but also toward higher bids for raw materials and labor and lower prices to consumers. As a result, all the world’s people will be economically secure- in the future. It would be hard to object to such a proposition, if only it were true.
The “law of competition” does not imply that many competitors will compete indefinitely. The law of competition is a single paradox: Competition destroys competition. The law of competition implies that many competitors, competing without restraint, will ultimately and inevitably reduce the number of competitors to one. the law of competition, in short, is the law of war.
This idea of a global “free market” economy, despite its obvious moral flaws and its dangerous practical weaknesses, is now the ruling orthodoxy of the age. Its propaganda is subscribed to and distributed by most political leaders, editorial writers, and other “opinion makers.” The powers that be, while continuing to budget huge sums for “national defense,” have apparently abandoned any idea of national or local self-sufficiency, even in food. They have also given up the idea that a national or local government might justly place restraints on economic activity in order to protect its land and its people.
Unsurprisingly, among people who wish to preserve things other than money, there is a growing perception that the global “free market” economy is inherently an enemy to the natural world, to human health and freedom, to industrial workers, and to farmers and others in the land-use economies; and furthermore, that it is inherently an enemy to good work and good economic practice.“
America, worship your God
“God made us in his own image and likeness and we have never stopped returning the favor.”
In a different shade of the same habit, we have recast St. Nicholas completely in our cultural image, ascribed to him God-like qualities, and religiously sung and spoken of our mythical cultural invention for generations.
If our mythical figures are reflections of our cultural values, what does this picture of Santa Claus reveal about us?
Sermon, 2nd Sunday of Advent
Sunday, December 4th, 2011 Vineyard Central Church Norwood, OH
Main passages: Isaiah 40:1-11 Psalm 85:1-13 (though the RCL suggests Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13, which I make an object lesson in the sermon)
I think the best place to begin today is with Isaiah 40, to do the best we can to walk into the world of the author, to observe, listen, and consider what we may encounter.
As obvious as it must sound, the first thing we notice is that this is Isaiah 40.
If we sat down and read the Book of Isaiah from beginning to end in one sitting, we’d notice there is a distinct difference in tone between chapters 1-39, and chapter 40 on. The first 39 chapters give a strong message of Israel’s unfaithfulness, unwillingness to follow the way of God. The prophet reminds them multiple times that this has not gone unnoticed by God. He uses the voice of God to say piercing things,
“’I reared children and brought them up, but they have rebelled against me. The ox knows its master, the donkey its owner’s manger, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand.’ Woe to the sinful nation, a people whose guilt is great, a brood of evildoers, children given to corruption! They have forsaken the LORD; they have spurned the Holy One of Israel and turned their backs on him.”
The first 39 chapters read as a testament of the prophet using every literary device, every means of persuasion possible in an attempt to bring Israel to their collective knees, to consider their way of life, to repent, and to live differently. Along the way, a very clear portrait of God emerges that is uncomfortable and necessary for Israel to hear; and uncomfortable and necessary for us to hear today along with them.
God is not aloof, is not ignorant of what is going on. God has been patient for a very long time, hoping (desperately so), that the people he redeemed would turn back. But eventually, because God loves them, because God has called them to be a light to the nations, his anger boils over and he shatters their society, drives them into exile at great loss of life, loss of dignity, great cost. God does this, and he does this because he loves them.
So this is the immediate context we hear Isaiah 40 in today. And because the tone is so different and the way the narrator talks about God’s judgment in the past tense, longing for restoration, most biblical scholars believe Isaiah 40-55 were written about a hundred years later than the first 39 chapters. This was a common practice in the Jewish community, to continue the tradition of a prophet, to write in their name, with the community affirming the words over time as valid and truthful.
And so, Isaiah 40 gives a message of hope, “Comfort, comfort my people…speak tenderly to Jerusalem, that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid.”
The prophet uses strong language here to give his hearers hope. “Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.”
This is Hebrew apocalyptic language. It’s used time and time again in the Scriptures. “The heavenly bodies will be shaken, the sun darkened, the moon turned to blood,” one passage says. “See, I will create new heavens and a new earth,” another passage says. “The wolf will live with the lamb,” says another. The writers don’t actually mean that God hates mountains and valleys and wants everything level, don’t actually mean that the sun will cease to exist, or the moon drip with blood. They don’t mean that God’s going to throw the universe in the trash and start over from scratch. And they don’t mean that wolves are going to suddenly cuddle with cute little soft lambs.
All of those passages are the Hebrew way of saying, “God’s going to do something big again. God is going to make things right. The powerful will recognize their relationship with the weak, and they will live in community again. God will make things right.”
The prophet continues: “All people are like grass, and all human faithfulness is like the flowers of the field…the grass withers, the flower fades. (but the word of our God will stand forever)”
These words remind the hearers of their mortality, and raise awareness of how quickly we forget the restoration of God and return to our old ways that we find more comfortable. “So remember that you are like grass, here today and gone tomorrow,” the prophet reminds us. And our faithfulness, while beautiful and full of sweet aroma like the flowers of the field, is not the center of reality. The strength of human effort is downplayed. But the intent is NOT to empty the possibility of human faithfulness, to diminish the impact of serving God. No, the intent is to exalt God, to give glory to the eternal God, which draws us to fall to our knees, adore Him, and confess over and over again, “God, you know better than we do how we were created to live. We are confused, our minds and hearts are darkened, twisted by selfishness and rebellion.”
With this emphasis established, the writer can shift back again to comfort, “Bring good news,” he says. Say to the towns of Judah, “Here is your God!” See, the Sovereign Lord comes with power, and his arm rules for him…he tends his flock like a shepherd: he gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those who have young.”
God has been wrathful and condemning in his great love, and God will be gentle and compassionate in his great love.
That is a significant lesson that the Israelite people needed to hear, and we need to hear in our day as well. It is a reminder of the full love of God, which includes the full spectrum from the most gentle, affirming touch all the way to ripping entire societies apart in their unfaithfulness; death, pain, and the displacement of millions of people.
Our second lectionary passage of the day is an important object lesson that brings this issue into full focus. So if you would turn to Psalm 85 with me.
I want to say two things here about the lectionary with this being one of the readings for the day. First, I love the sense of unity felt in the use of the lectionary, knowing that millions of brothers and sisters are reading the same passages and praying together with the same themes. I love that as the Earth turns and we all experience Sunday over a 24 hour period, we are reading, praying, and thinking together on similar themes. This is a great gift. But I feel extremely frustrated at times with the lectionary because those who set it up have a knack for seeking out comforting passages and omitting, avoiding sharper passages. Sometimes, it’s hard to read their intent, other times, I’m sure I read into their selections something that isn’t there, and other times, like today with Psalm 85, it is SO OBVIOUS.
(Make a quick skim read of the Psalm and take a guess at what the Lectionary folks omitted)
When manipulating the passages so obviously like this, one has to ask, what is their purpose? I had seen this pattern before in the Lectionary and wondered when it was brought together; who shaped the passages for reading? Is this pattern several hundred years old? I wasn’t surprised to find after a bit of research that the Revised Common Lectionary was brought together in 1994. That date is telling. I also wasn’t surprised to find that the RCL was an ecumenical effort (Catholic and a variety of Protestant communions), and one of the markers of ecumenical works tends to be an appeal to the lowest common denominator that everyone can agree on.
Maybe more important, though, is the wider issue of belief. One of the most distinct beliefs across our society that’s been in vogue for at least the last 75 years or so is that if God loves you, he would never do anything that brings you pain, would never hurt you. And if that was the Biblical message, that would be well and good. But it’s not. The Biblical message is that God loves us deeply, relentlessly, desperately, and that God will stop at nothing to bring about his kingdom.
It also seems to me that the most comfortable people of the world are the ones who love to read the Jeremiah 29:11s of the Scriptures over and over again. This also fits with the shapers of the RCL being Western, powerful people. Yet those in the world without power, being crushed, used by wealthy empires to maintain their way of life; it is those people who cling to passages on God’s judgment on sin. Why? Because those passages give them an outlet for their pain, gives them questions they can ask they didn’t know they had, channel their frustration to show them how to pray so they don’t become embittered and hopeless.
We need this reminder most here in Advent. Because the people on the eve of Jesus’ birth were NOT comfortable. They were occupied by the most powerful military in the world, taxed into the ground, with the system of taxation carried out by wealthy Hebrew persons grinding their fellow citizens into the ground. The people of Israel were groaning, suffering, longing, and Jesus’ mother Mary (one of those marginalized people) didn’t offer words of consolation to comfortable people:
“He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.”Luke 1:51-55
So, I want to emphasize how desperately we need to hear the part in Psalm 85 that the Lectionary-shapers omitted. It is a voice of pleading, of weeping, of desperate humility, of throwing oneself at the feet of God, of looking unseemly, not-together.
“Restore us again, God our Savior, and put away your displeasure toward us. Will you prolong your anger through all generations? Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you?”
How does the psalmist, speaking for Israel, plan to respond to God? “I will listen to what God the Lord says; he promises peace to his people, his faithful servants- but let them not turn to folly.” Another way to say that last sentence is “God promises peace to his people- his faithful servants- IF they do not turn to folly.” Surely his salvation is near to those who fear him. There is much wrapped up in those two last sentences.
When God’s people fear him, value him, cherish his authority and voice above all other voices, obey and act on that voice, and do it together; wonderful things result.
And then comes this beautiful image, “Love and faithfulness meet together; righteousness and peace kiss each other. Faithfulness springs forth from the earth, and righteousness looks down from heaven. The LORD will indeed give what is good.”
There’s a conversation that often comes to mind for me when thinking of the tensions described above. It involves one of my heroes, Clarence Jordan, co-founder of Koinonia Farm in Georgia, in conversation with his brother, Robert. Clarence approached his brother Robert Jordan (later a state senator and justice of the Georgia Supreme Court) to ask him to legally represent Koinonia Farm. Robert responded to Clarence’s request:
“Clarence, I can’t do that. You know my political aspirations. Why, if I represented you, I might lost my job, my house, everything I’ve got.”
“We might lose everything too, Bob.” Clarence said.
“But it’s different for you,” Robert responded.
“Why is it different?” Clarence said. “I remember, it seems to me, that you and I joined the church the same Sunday, as boys. I expect when we came forward the preacher asked me about the same question he did you. He asked me, ‘Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?’ And I said, ‘Yes. What did you say?’
“I follow Jesus, Clarence, up to a point.”
“Could that point by any chance be- the cross?”
“That’s right. I follow him to the cross, but not ON the cross. I’m not getting myself crucified.”
“Then I don’t believe you’re a disciple. You’re an admirer of Jesus, but not a disciple of his. I think you ought to go back to the church you belong to, and tell them you’re an admirer not a disciple.”
“Well, now,” Robert said defensively, “if everyone who felt like I do did that, we wouldn’t HAVE a church would we?”
“The question,” Clarence said, “is, Do you have a church?”
So, like Clarence and Robert, we are presented with a couple options in our life. Do we choose a genteel Christianity that says all the right things, that goes out of our way to read comforting passages that avoid responsibility and reinforce our way of life, that stops short of a willingness to give of ourselves with all of who we are? Or do we choose a Christianity that follows Jesus and obeys him, willing to be stretched, and willing to be broken, willing to care enough about the brokenness of the world that we are driven to our knees in prayer?
This world is very, very sick; but SO full of potential for healing and joy.
May we turn our gaze off ourselves and towards our Creator.
May we have the courage to come to terms with and embrace the full spectrum of God’s love.
May we be shaped by this love to pour our lives out in service to God, to play a role in the healing of God’s world.
Amen.
I hope
The other night one of Hannah’s neighbors
couldn’t seem to settle down.
He had a keening, inconsolable kind of cry
that seemed desperate, almost.
I asked our nurse about that child.
“Drug dependent baby,” she said.
“We do our best to hold them,
but it sometimes will go on for hours.
Over the weekend we had eight.”
Her voice and face clearly displayed a certain kind of resignation,
the resignation borne of hundreds of such babies a year.
I may be reading into her words, but I suspect
she may be tempted to see a certain futility in her work at times.
I felt a raw kind of anger after hearing this.
When you do everything you can
together
to protect your developing child,
and everyone is still plunged into an extended crisis
that crushes you and forces you to radically alter your life,
you wish and hope to see the same kind of parents in the NICU.
Walking past one another,
sharing each other’s burdens
in that brief knowing smile, nod, or wave.
Weary eyes giving a window into a stressed, harried existence.
NICU parents know every moment means something.
One moment, your child seems fine,
and spending time with her lifts the heavy fog,
and even for a bit
you can breathe a little easier, sleep with more peace.
But in the next moment,
the bottom drops out,
and you spend half the day weeping, pleading,
leaving an opaque smear of snot and tears
on the plastic cover that your daughter is enclosed in.
You feel utterly helpless,
in free fall,
desperately seeking to find something
ANYTHING
to find some measure of stability.
The other parents walk past to their child,
and look over with pain,
your pain forcing them back into their trauma
that came a month, a week, a day, ago,
or continues.
Thank God, we have made it out of the worst of the trauma,
the days of catastrophe somehow blending into better days,
and Hannah growing, growing, growing.
Others have not experienced this hope realized.
We have sat in this room,
with sudden bright lights blooming beside us
a sea of blue shirts swarming around a newly arrived bed
an organized chaos of activity.
The father often stands at the edge of the chaos,
like I did,
looking adrift on a sea of emasculating pain and insignificance,
helpless to do anything other than pray, wish, or hope for the best.
Several hours later, the mother is wheeled down in her bed or wheelchair.
With dark circles under her eyes.
Exhaustion palpable,
she lifts her hand to enclose her child’s tiny hand,
realizing that even that sacred moment
represents a dream shattered.
The due date arriving.
The excited, tired call to the midwife.
The soothing music, the warm water of the tub.
The redemptive pain of labor.
The joy of the first sight of your child.
Holding your child close to your breast.
Establishing the bond in that quiet that only will deepen.
No, the mother holds her child’s hand because that is all she can do,
that small hand somehow anchoring her and giving her hope
that even amongst the shattered dream from before,
another dream can emerge.
For some, that dream ends.
The bustle of medical staff lessens to a trickle.
The doctor consults the family,
the chaplain rests a hand on a quivering shoulder,
the lights dim.
Tomorrow, that bed is empty,
the parents gone.
The eerie bare mattress ready for another emergency.
The emptiness there draws us into prayer,
for God to join the father and mother
in their unspeakable pain,
in their accumulated dreams and hopes
that must now be laid to rest.
One day those hopes will arise again,
now tinged with anxieties that were absent the first time around.
“May they find life continuing next time,” we pray.
And so, here,
this nurse tells me of these dependency babies
and their desperate cries
created by open and destructive disregard for the dignity of their lives.
Jesus chastens my desire to condemn these people
most of the time.
He does not permit me to see myself as a different class than them,
as decisions I consciously make represent a different shade of the same darkness.
Yet the sight of their beautiful child
that has somehow emerged out of the witches’ brew of substances
to be here with us, crying out for solace,
fills me with rage.
Nurses see this same disregard, and serve and care for these children,
and their mothers,
every single day,
They bear witness to a unique kind of enemy love
that desires to destroy that parent
to put them through the pain
and drawn-out suffering their child is experiencing.
But no, the nurses hunker down at that bedside,
holding the child for countless hours by the time they leave.
Investing in a life that they must eventually give back
to the person whose disregard and depravity put the child there in the first place,
and in so doing setting an example for the rest of us to invest in life
whether our energy is wasted, dismissed, spat upon, or not.
I have one word for those nurses, whether they do it with pure motives or not;
Respect.
I hope that in some small way,
we function in some form of a healing role
in the lives of these nurses.
I hope in our soft touches, holds, and giggles with Hannah,
our inquisitive questions and desire to learn,
“Is this right?” “Is this ok?” “Is this fine?”
our concerned faces and questions about their lives we come to know too,
the nurses see something that reminds them why they entered this field,
this holy vocation of care.
I hope this.
Desperately sometimes.
I want to know that something redemptive is coming forth
in addition to our precious daughter’s life that we care so deeply about.
Something that swallows up the tempting (or testing?) whisper
that Hannah suffers because we weren’t enough,
weren’t intentional enough, healthy enough, complete enough, or whatever enough.
The tears shed most often in private,
looking back over and over and over again.
Wondering.
I hope.
Hope for the future of the church in the United States…
I just began re-reading David Fitch‘s excellent book “The Great Giveway: Reclaiming the mission of the church…” yesterday. It’s been awhile since I’ve picked this book up, but the timing seemed right again, and I wanted to be reminded of Fitch’s strong critiques and hopes expressed for the church again. I remembered being captivated by his chapter titles (listed following) when I first picked the book up:
Ch 1 Our Definition of Success
When going from ten to a thousand members in five years is the sign of a sick church
Ch 2 Evangelism
Saving souls beyond modernity; how evangelism can save the church and make it relevant again
Ch 3 Leadership
When evangelical pastors end up in moral failure: the missing link between the pastorate and the virtues
Ch 4 The Production of Experience
Why worship takes practice: toward a worship that forms truthful minds and faithful experience (not merely reinforces the ones we walked in with)
Ch 5 The Preaching of the Word
The myth of expository preaching: why we must do more than wear scrolls on our foreheads
Ch 6 Justice (our understanding of)
Practicing redeemed economics: Christian community in but not of Capitalism
As you could imagine from the chapter titles, David brings a strong critique of the church in our society. Because I’m more of a contrarian by nature, I picked this book up about five years back for $1.25 in a seminary book sale. Because I’ve evolved to be less of a contrarian, desiring more to hear constructing (building) comments, and more suspicious of works that claim a “revolutionary” or “dangerous” message for the status quo, I often flip to the back of those books to see if the authors offer a hopeful way forward in addition to their critique. I inserted a church bulletin into the back of the book about four years ago in the exact place that David offers his hopeful way forward, and I was greatly encouraged to read it again today.
David’s words sharing his hopes bear repeating here in my personal space because I value many of the same things David values when it comes to church. In addition, I believe David and I share those values NOT because they come natural or seem common sense to us, but because we’ve submitted to a process of discipleship in the way of Jesus that sometimes confirms, sometimes alters, and sometimes destroys what previously seemed natural or common sense to us. It is a commitment to the Lordship of Jesus rather than the Lordship of Me.
Unlike other “manifesto”-type writings which seem to ramble all over the place, David Fitch’s thoughts have an internal consistency that help to focus thought and action. David’s desires for the church follow:
“I imagine our congregations becoming smaller, not bigger, yet teeming with the life of (Jesus’) body. And I hope there are more of them, so many of them, in fact, that they become the alternative to the Starbucks of our day.
I hope our churches become known for servanthood in the neighborhoods and warm hospitality that invites strangers into our homes.
I pray that the home of every evangelical person becomes an incubator of evangelism, inviting strangers to the gospel out of their lostness and into the love and grace of life in our Lord Jesus Christ.
I imagine real fellowship in our congregations, the kind that shares joys and sufferings and potluck meals.
I pray our leaders take on the form of humble servants who sit, listen, and suffer with real people through many years of leading them through this life in Jesus Christ.
I hope we leave behind the CEO models of leadership.
I look for our worship services to become liturgical places that form our people into faithful participants in the life of God. May we renew the sense of God’s mystery, beauty, and transcendence in our worship services through the rehearsal of his great work in Jesus Christ. In the process, may many postmodern wanderers be drawn into his life by his majestic wonder and the compelling story of the forgiveness and new life made possible by the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.
I hope our congregations look more diverse both economically and racially.
Dare I imagine that each member’s bank account becomes submitted to the King and to each other through some symbolic act as we gather around the Table of our Lord?
I long for the day we become model communities for a new politics that spreads God’s redeeming justice to the poor and the racially divided.
I hope we see small groups that renew the monastic practices of confession, repentance, reading Scripture, and prayer for our day.
And most of all, may our churches become communities that nurture and care for children in the way we conduct catechesis communally, adopt the “unplanned” children, and invite all children into everyday life with God.
To me this all sounds like a truly amazing way of life.”
Blooms of life amidst the darkness: September 23rd
A couple of weeks ago, in the second week of our daughter Hannah’s life, an idea began to emerge for us. I had been trying (as I have since Bethany’s water broke) to pay close attention to the comments and reflections of persons who have joined us in prayer and mindfulness in our crisis. I have catalogued many of those comments along the way for personal reflections later on. But I also have listened intently to what we’ve been hearing because of a deep belief that I carry: discernment of truth is best done in community.
In keeping with that belief that discernment is best done in community, ever since mid-July and the beginning of our lives being thrown violently out of whack (up until Hannah’s birth), we held intentional times of communal prayer twice a week. People gathered in our hospital room, and we would spend about an hour placing Hannah and Bethany before God, spending much of that time listening for God, letting our imaginations roam, responding with requests to God, and debriefing with one another what we saw/impressions that we gathered. So we listened deeply to one another and to God. Along the way, we observed people’s lives being transformed and hearts being softened in the times of prayer, and we also heard some very specific words from people about where God was at work. We sought to imitate Jesus’ mother Mary during a time of crisis and confusion in her life. She committed herself to a deep listening, and in response to good news communicated by shepherds, she “treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)
Since Hannah’s birth, our practice of twice-weekly communal prayer has cut short out of necessity, with extremely limited visitation and concern for infection in the newborn ICU. But this practice of listening for the voice of God in those with us on the journey needed to continue. So a friend set up a page on Facebook to centralize news and prayer for Hannah, and this became an important forum to call persons to mindful prayer and to listen to what they were sharing.
Early in the week of September 18th-24th our friend Sarah Ross had an impression that arose in her times of prayer that we may need to fast together. In hearing this, the story of Jesus healing the child afflicted by a demon came to mind for me. The disciples were upset that they weren’t able to help the child in Jesus’ absence, asking him “Why couldn’t we drive it out?” Jesus responded, “This kind can only come out by fasting and prayer.” Her impression struck me as important, and so we set aside Friday, Sept 23rd as a Day of Fasting and Prayer. Little did we know what Friday would bring, and how timely a day of fasting and prayer would be.
Over the course of the week, Hannah had been very up and down, but in the middle of the week seemed to be making slow, incremental progress in weaning off her oxygen on the machine. We were hoping Friday would be an opportunity to focus our prayer towards that same end. But we entered the ICU Friday morning, and things were not well. Hannah’s oxygen level on the respirator was up about 15% from when we had left (in the mid-60% range), and in the span of the next hour-and-a-half, jumped up to 75%, then 100%. It was like the bottom completely dropped out. We hadn’t seen 100% oxygen on the respirator since Hannah’s first day of life. It was a gigantic punch in the gut, and brought the question, “Why? Why on this day?” Some may suggest the “Why?” question isn’t helpful, that sometimes things happen and life is full of coincidences. I am that person from time to time. But on that day? Something seemed different.
I responded to the horrible turn of events by trying to do my part. I got on the other side of Hannah’s bed, laid my hands on her, and began pleading with all of her might for her. I wept as I prayed and sang songs of hope in desperation, leaving smears of snot and tears on the plastic cover of the bed. For about fifteen minutes, her vitals spiked upwards and held steady during the time of prayer, but as I continued praying and singing to her, everything moved slowly right back down to unsustainable levels. Hannah’s skin began to turn ruddy again; like the first couple days of her life. What could we do?
That question, “What could we do?” is a prominent one that has shown up over and over again in this time. I entered the crisis believing that God made creation to be one where humanity cooperates, co-labors with him for the world to be the world it was intended to be. God never intended the world to only run only His own initiative, but rather that we would obey Him to join His work of healing and joy. I did not believe God has an unchanging will, and I did not believe the solution to the crisis was all on God’s shoulders. And so I proceeded accordingly with times of intentional prayer, we went on a crash course of figuring out what natural supplements would ensure Bethany’s immune system remained strong and would create lots of healthy bacteria in her womb, and Bethany committed to drinking lots and lots of water to stay hydrated. All of this came out of a desire to cooperate with God in giving Hannah the best chance possible. And, as it happens, nothing has happened in this crisis that has challenged that belief. The pinnacle of this came on the fateful day of Hannah’s birth, when all seemed lost at 2 am. Instead of being hands-off and “letting go, letting God,” we bucked the medical staff’s two options, choosing the third option to held Hannah. That night was a beautiful example of the power of human touch and the power of God’s touch uniting to bring about healing. God used us, used our voices, our song, our struggle, our pleading, our smiles, our action in spite of feeling empty and spent, our touch on Hannah’s forehead and hands…all of these things!
What we did mattered, deeply so! What an important lesson, and an important gift! And so on the crushing day of Sept 23rd, that was all I knew to do. “What can I do, Lord?!” my inner being screamed. And as Hannah’s vitals remained low, my spirits sunk further and further down. Bethany came in and with one look, told me, “You need to get out of here. You need to know this doesn’t all depend on you. God made a promise to us, and today we need to trust Him with that promise.” Her words brought a jolt to my reality. I realized that the awareness that God does call us to work with him in relationship is not the only truth. God also has revealed himself to work many times by His own raw, unrivaled power; so that humanity is reminded who is the Creator. Bethany reminded me of this; that when God promises, God can be counted on. I had turned God’s use of us into a rigid law; that because our presence had worked in Hannah’s healing, that we needed to be there all the time to ensure the healing continued.
Bethany and I took a walk across the street to Burnet Woods Park, and sat on a bench. We prayed together, and I repented of twisting God’s invitation and God’s desire to work with us into a fundamental distrust, a disbelief that God would follow through. This also brought tears, and Bethany held my hand through it all. She was a clear voice of truth that day, and set me free from the shackles of desperation and distrust. We returned to the hospital, and though Hannah’s vital signs remained desperately low, the situation felt fundamentally different for me. I continued to pray, but my mantra over and over and over again was the lesson Moses and Joshua had to learn; “Only be still. The Lord your God will fight for you.“
We had set up the day of fasting and prayer to run roughly from dawn to dusk (8 am-10 pm specifically). At 7 pm, a new nurse named Jan relieved the daytime nurse. She was a nice lady, but sensed the tension in the room immediately. When she saw that the machine was turned up to 100% already, she knew much of what nurses can do to bring ease to the baby (bumping up the level of oxygen to give them greater comfort) was out the window. But she told us she practices “Healing Touch,” (an intentionally broad term she uses with the wider public) which as we talked further is for her, as a committed Catholic a form of prayer. It involves a deep discernment of where the pain or discomfort is in the patient’s body (negative energy) and focusing healing in that area (positive energy). I was a little put-off at first, but I said I was ok with it, and sat by the bedside observing her in action. I even put my hand over Hannah’s head between Jan’s hands and was surprised to feel a distinct heat there. I’ve often associated a mysterious heat with the work of God in prayer, and so I quietly sat in prayerful silence. Again, nothing really fundamentally changed. Hannah seemed to like it, but her vitals didn’t tick upwards in any consistent way (this may have been related to the baby crying in the station right next to us).
Little did we know how quickly things were about to turn for the better.
At about 9:30, I turned toward the computer to read email for a little bit, and came upon the following story from a friend, Amanda Wheelock;
“I have been praying today, on & off all day. But this evening Matthew had me go out to get some coffee while he put the little ones to bed.
While I was driving & praying, specifically for Hannah’s lungs to grow, to not stop, and for protection over various parts of her body, I kept seeing an image of her lungs on fire. just flaming. And then, while I was praying, in an instant so quick I had to actually stop the car for a minute, the image changed into bright, blooming lilies (specifically pink ladies, otherwise known as surprise lilies). They are absolutely beautiful & pink, actually. It was so powerful I had to stop & collect myself for a minute, and there was also the words “heaven stands” that came to mind immediately after.”I just wanted to share this image — it was very powerful & encouraging, and a reminder to me that there is a chance every second, every minute, every hour & every day for change, for growth, for Life! And sometimes it comes when everything looks like it’s dying. My aunt Jan planted these 30 years ago, and these lilies always show up in our garden after everything else has bloomed & is getting brown, and all the foliage is starting to turn.”
And then Amanda showed us a picture of those beautiful flowers in their own garden that I’ve placed below.
What a timely word to receive from Amanda! The sentence, “These lilies always show up in our garden after everything else has bloomed & is getting brown, and all the foliage is starting to turn,” struck me the deepest. I was reminded that the present circumstances and everything seeming to descend further into chaos was not the final word. This was a part of the process, and had not become a definite conclusion. I read the passage out loud to my mother, and Bethany messaged me that she had read it at home.
If the encouragement we received from the note was the only purpose it served, it served a tremendous purpose. But also present in Amanda’s prayer story was the powerful and sudden shift in images that took her breath away, and caused her to pull the car over to try to assimilate what she had just heard. “I kept seeing an image of her lungs on fire. just flaming. And then, while I was praying, in an instant so quick I had to actually stop the car for a minute, the image changed into bright, blooming lilies.”
Was that image just a helpful one to guide Amanda’s prayers for Hannah going forward? Was it coincidental? Did her subconscious knowledge of her lilies and her deep desire for Hannah’s healing create an image out of desperation for her? Or had God given Amanda an image to show what He was going to do? Could the transcendent God of the universe have given an intimate message straight to Amanda?
I read Amanda’s story for the first time shortly after 9:30, and by 9:45 had shared it with my mother and Bethany. I told Jan too what Amanda had seen, and we both found it interesting that Amanda had the image pretty close to the time where Jan had focused her “Healing Touch” as well. I sat back down, wondering if God was going to give a gift to us at the end of this day of fasting and prayer at 10 pm. All day long, Hannah’s oxygen saturation levels were very low, ranging from the 50s to the 70s for the most part, only venturing into the 80s for short periods of time. But as my mother and I sat there, and as Jan watched, Hannah’s oxygen saturation levels steadily marched upwards into the mid 80s, then the upper 80s, then the low 90s, then the mid 90s, and then the upper 90s! And they just sat there at 98 and 99, not budging. Jan waited a bit to see if it was a lasting phenomenon, then turned Hannah’s oxygen down to 98%. She left to go to another baby, and when she came back, Hannah was again “satting” in the high 90s. As I sat there in disbelief, I remembered the moment the night of Hannah’s birth where I looked at Bethany and said, “This could be our miracle!“ Jan turned her down to 96% on her oxygen, and she stayed steady with her oxygen saturation in the low 90s. We had agreed to leave at 10 pm, but this was such great news that I stayed a bit longer as mom and day waited out in the waiting room. After whispering a short prayer of thankfulness, I left Hannah’s bedside, met mom and dad, and we headed home.
Early in the morning (about 3:30 am) when Bethany needed to pump breastmilk for Hannah, we called into Jan to check in on Hannah. Jan said, cheerily, “I’ve made an agreement with Hannah that I won’t turn her oxygen down until she’s consistently satting about 96%! I’ve already turned her oxygen level on the ventilator down to 86%, and I’m about to turn it down again.” We were tired and bleary-eyed to be up early, but Bethany and I both had grins on our faces as we got off the phone.
God has a way of bringing hope, of bringing brilliant colors of beauty and goodness, into very dark times. Those times, while we may not choose them ourselves, have a tremendous capacity to bring about personal transformation. We desperately need others around us (whether they share impressions in prayer or strong words to keep us accountable) to be able to discern what is true and good in any given situation.
2nd Day of Fasting and Prayer for Hannah, Sept 30th
Hannah is saying, “”Join me!!!!! Let’s dance with God together!” 
We would like to invite those who are able to join us, like last Friday, in a Day of Fasting and Prayer for Hannah tomorrow, September 30th. It will run from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. (roughly dawn to dusk). Some will choose to spend the day fasting, others will take a meal, and others will find a chunk of time during the day to devote to prayer.
We seem to have emerged from the worst of the crisis with Hannah over the last week, but as many of us have learned from experience and growth, our capacity for prayer, for deep communication with God, is handicapped when only practiced in times of deep crisis. Or, said differently and more bluntly, if we primarily pray in deep crisis, our relationship with God will constantly be at the level of a baby crying in distress to a parent. The baby doesn’t know how to communicate well and is frustrated, the baby lacks the ability to listen because they only know what they want, and the parent is frustrated and frazzled by the constant noise. It’s important that the baby is communicating, and the parent hears, but neither wants to stay there. When we move out of immediate crisis and into less traumatic times, the child can either take things for granted or choose to settle into the strong arms of their parent. And there’s just as much communication in that eye contact and soft embrace as the fearful cry.
I suspect, personally, last Friday God may have been a bit frazzled by me. My experience on Friday involved needing to learn the lesson of easing off the throttle, quieting my voice, and allowing myself and Hannah to be held by God. After all, God did make a promise to us. Would I learn to rest in it, to trust His power? For others, on Friday, you may have needed to learn the lesson of stepping up. One friend mentioned the phrase, “praying back the darkness.” As was said earlier, “Our prayer in this crisis will sometimes be more offensive, other times actively trusting God’s unrivaled power, but NEVER will be passive.” For each of us, the following words of Richard Foster in his classic work Celebration of Discipline are timely:
“Although the physical aspects of fasting intrigue us, we must never forget that the major work of scriptural fasting is in the realm of the spirit. What goes on spiritually is much more important than what is happening bodily. You will be engaging in spiritual warfare that will necessitate using all the weapons of Ephesians 6. One of the most critical periods spiritually is at the end of the fast when we have the natural tendency to relax. But I do not want to leave the impression that all fasting is a heavy spiritual struggle- I have not found it so. It is also “…righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit” (Rom 14:17).
Fasting can bring breakthroughs in the spiritual realm that will never happen in any other way. It is a means of God’s grace and blessing that should not be neglected any longer. Wesley declares, “…it was not merely by the light of reason…that the people of God have been, in all ages, directed to use fasting as a means…but they have been…taught it of God Himself, by clear and open revelations of his Will…Now, whatever reasons there were to quicken those of old, in the zealous and constant discharge of this duty, they are of equal force still to quicken us.”
Now is the time for all those who hear the voice of Christ to obey it.”
Thank you for joining us however you may, and may the experience be a part of the transformation God desires to bring about in you, and in our world!
Day of Fasting and Prayer for Hannah, Friday, Sept 23rd
Hello friends.
In conversation with one of our friends, she (Sarah Ross) said during a time of prayer for Hannah, the word “fast” kept popping into her head, and she wanted to pay attention to it. She wondered about a day where we could fast and pray together. Both to honor God sharing with Sarah wisdom and guidance, and because fasting has a way of clarifying our time and our focus in prayer. When we remove something that can be a distraction, or a way to cope with other things, and instead hone in on prayer, we can find a stronger inner attentiveness to God for a period of time.
So, tomorrow, from dawn to dusk, we will engage in a day of Fasting and Prayer for Hannah. Some of us will choose to fast the whole period of time. Others of us will give up one of our meals. Some with medical conditions or other circumstances will just choose to focus a chunk of the day and devote that time to prayer.
So, how ’bout it? We’ll start the fasting and prayer at 6 am and continue until 9 pm.
For those who haven’t already done so, it would be helpful to have an assist for times of prayer. Bethany has an album of Hannah’s pictures on her Facebook account, and you could pick one that helps you to visualize and focus your prayer.
I’ve also set up an account on Ustream, and I’ll have the computer webcam pointed towards Hannah’s bed from 9 am on. So we’ll be streaming the video straight from the bedside to you, live! For those who use this tool, it will give you an opportunity to pray for various caregivers over the course of the day as you’re on, and join those praying intentionally over Hannah in those times too. I (Nathan) will have my hands on or just over Hannah in “typical” mealtimes that fit with times that nurses aren’t working on her (9-10 am, 1-2 pm, 7-8 pm) and other times too. Click this underlined sentence that is linked to the Ustream account so you can follow the video if you’d like. Again, it will get started “broadcasting” at 9 am.
As always so far, if you feel comfortable sharing, let others know, either through the Facebook page, or this blog post, what you’re experiencing/seeing/hearing/impressions during your times of prayer. Your participation and guidance from God helps us to know how to pray, and how to shape our times of prayer. Sarah has already done this! So, thank you, Sarah, and everyone is invited to the Day of Fasting and Prayer, as you feel led.
Holy moments…
Here’s a couple of glimpses into Hannah’s journey in the NICU I thought would serve as an encouragement:
“For the typical baby at 26 weeks, the chances of survival are about 75%. Because of what she has been through, and our concerns about her lungs, I would put her chances at about 5%.” The doctor giving us a pre-delivery consultation.
“She’s exceeding all our expectations” Two different nurse practitioners
One nurse practitioner’s face showed her amazement on day 3 as she sat with us looking at Hannah. She had overseen Hannah’s care the first night at the worst time. She didn’t say much, but her face said it all on that third day. Intermittently, she would shake her head in looking at Hannah and smile. I hope this experience renews her passion for why she’s a nurse; that nursing is a holy vocation, a wonderful opportunity for hands-on love; especially with the children in the ICU who are visited very little. As I’m writing, there’s a nurse sitting in a rocking chair to my left with a child we have not seen visited once. The child often cries, but the nurses come by to touch and to let the child sleep on their shoulder, and he calms right down.
“We want her to get to 40% oxygen or less on the ventilator, but her lungs just can’t support her” a nurse said the first night when she was at 100%. Hannah hit 40% oxygen early Saturday morning, with a low of 38%. She’s bumped up and down a bit from that point, but she’s generally holding steady at 40-42%.
“We’d like the ‘mean’ of her blood pressure to be at least her gestational age (26), but we’d love for it to be at 30 or more” spoken the first night when her blood pressure mean was in the mid-teens. Hannah’s blood pressure rose after the first night, and now the “mean” consistently measures anywhere from 38-43, excellent for her age.
“We’re going to start feeding her breast milk today. Don’t be surprised though if she doesn’t digest it, or has significant problems. Almost all our preemies have trouble from the very beginning.” Said on Thursday. She’s been fed 15 times since then, with only two times where she didn’t digest the milk because she was on her back.
And below I’d like to share a little summary of quotes, encouragements, and other words from friends affected by this crisis. Each of these are reminders we are always changing (for better or for worse), and crises have a way of sharpening that change; who we become results from the decisions we make. I’ve seen many people growing in their ideas and practice of prayer especially. People have realized that prayer, seriously practiced (especially when carried by a community), changes the world. Period. Here is the summary:
“God is showing you Himself in your suffering and prayer and you’ll never be the same again.”
“Each day of Hannah’s life, we praise you! we praise you!”
“I’m so thankful that we serve a God who can wrap us close and give us comfort in times like this.”
“I have lost 10lbs and dropped 20+ points on my bottom number for blood pressure… Lord, I’d like to donate those pounds and points to Hannah Myers. Thanks & Amen.”
“She was swaddled in a blanket, but I think just being that close to our voices and feeling our breath….there was just something supernatural about it! God is faithful!”
“The night she was born God had me read Exodus 14:13. It’s talking about the Egyptians. Moses had brought the children of Israel out and they were asking him, “Did you bring us into the desert just to let us die?” He told them not to be afraid. The egyptians they saw that night they would never see again. God told me that was for Hannah and her situation and that what we were seeing that night we would never see again.”
“May these tough days soon pass into weeks and months of steady growth, and later become a powerful story of God’s strength and mercy.”
“Prayers flow with tears words cannot express.”
“I am sitting in Bethany’s hospital room after having just spent some time with our precious Hannah…. She was ever so sweetly laying on her side, spontaneously grinning and it was the sweetest thing you’ll ever see….”
“I woke up at 3 this morning and prayed for Hannah. I trust I’ll get to meet that little miracle someday.”
“Life has a way of feeling ordinary. But this situation makes everything brighter.”
“They said they were losing her and wanted to know if Nate and bethany wanted to hold her before she passed away…. well, God wasn’t done yet…”
“How this situation appears does not dictate the outcome. “No, despite all these things, OVERWHELMING VICTORY is ours through Christ who loved us.” Romans 8:37″
Before Bethany’s water broke, when she was experiencing serious bleeding and complications, in a discussion in a men’s group about intercessory prayer, a friend shared: “I’ve never really practiced, or felt drawn to using the imagination in prayer.” About an hour later, after fifteen minutes of quiet prayer together, he said, “I don’t really know what to do with this, but while we were praying, I saw two people. One was definitely Bethany, the other I assumed was you. Bethany had a round, full belly, and all I felt was joy, joy, joy.” (this experience is where Hannah got her middle name)
And now, for you. What are you learning through participating in a proactive way in this crisis?
