Hope for the hurting

I have read a lot about PTSD or post traumatic stress disorder--it's a particular interest of mine--and in the course of nearly every week, I meet someone who has experienced some profound physical, emotional or spiritual trauma--and, most often, all three.  Sometimes, the people I meet are combat veterans of recent wars; others have survived rape and incest and other violent attacks.

I am moved by their stories and suffer with them. I want to take away their pain, but know that they have to work through the pain themselves and reconcile themselves to it somehow. It's a long and difficult process, and some people survive it, but others don't.

Yesterday, I read an encouraging article in the New York Times Sunday Magazine about people who are dealing with PTSD. The US Army has devoted some $25 million to caring for people with PTSD in the field and at home.

With the help of psychiatrists, psychologists, and researchers, among others, the Army has created a program for teaching soldiers how to develop "mental strength" or "resiliency" in surviving and even growing from the horrors of war. The program seems to be working.

One of the important discoveries is that PTSD can become Post Traumatic Stress Growth. This change happens when the traumatized person approaches the event--be it a roadside bombing and the loss of a limb or the death of a friend in combat-- as something from which he or she can learn and can grow, something that will help him or her become a stronger and better human being.

Yes, it sounds simple. But, no, it isn't. It's hard, painful, agonizing work.

The lessons that soldiers are learning today are similar to those that people in civilian life have been learning for a long time as they have confronted the traumas of sexual assaults, other violent acts, the tragic and sudden loss of loved ones, and much more.

Millennia ago, a man called Joseph learned the same lessons. Genesis tells the story of how Joseph was the favored son of his father, how his position in the family prompted his jealous brothers to plan to kill him, but then to sell him into slavery. Both bad and good things happen to Joseph in slavery and in Egypt.

Over many years, Joseph becomes second only to Pharaoh himself in power in Egypt. Joseph meets his brothers again. They have come to Egypt looking for food to feed their starving families, and Joseph, whom they don't recognize, treats them well and gives them food. When he reveals himself to his brothers, and they are astonished by his gracious treatment of them, Joseph says to them of the hurt they had done to him, "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good."

Joseph is a resilient person. With God's help, he responds to the trauma of being betrayed by his brothers, becoming a generous and forgiving person, a savior of starving multitudes in his homeland.

As Joseph and as many people since then have discovered, tragic and traumatic things don't have to wreck us, but can raise us up to become more than the worst thing or things that have every happened to us.

Celebrating 25 years of priesthood

The people of Christ Episcopal Church, Springfield, MO, joined me yesterday, the Second Sunday of Lent,  to celebrate the 25th anniversary of ordination to the priesthood.

My actual ordination date was the Feast of St. David, patron saint of Wales, March 1. On that date in 1997, Bishop David Reed of Kentucky ordained me to the priesthood at Christ Episcopal Church, Bowling Green, KY.

On my anniversary, I renewed my ordination vows at the Holy Eucharist at 9 am, which was followed by a beautiful reception in the parish hall.

I am grateful to the several parishioners who made it possible. They organized and publicized it. They set up the tables and spread the table cloths. They contributed the food and gorgeous spring flowers. They served the food and drinks and welcomed people.

As I said in my remarks in the parish hall, there have been many highs and lows over more than two decades of priesthood, but, on the whole, the former outweigh the latter.

Just the day before, I said,  I started the morning watching four short films at the Moxie with a group of preschoolers from church. Afterwards, we worked on crafts in the lobby. It was fun. I love the energy of the children and helping to foster the Christian faith in them.

Then, later Saturday morning, I visited with high school students from throughout the diocese who were spending the weekend at Christ Church. They were taking part in Happening, a spiritual renewal experience.

I listened to a young woman's testimony about the importance of Christ in her life. (Later on at the closing Eucharist on Sunday afternoon, I was again moved, hearing participants share their experiences of Christ over the weekend.) It is a delight to see faith coming alive in the young.

These experiences are among the joys of being a priest, and I hold onto them. They are highs that help me endure the lows.

In his famous poem, Robert Frost writes of the "road not taken." A long time ago, I could have taken a different road--a military officer, a banker, a lawyer and politician, a journalist, a partner in the public relations firm (and I did take several of those roads for a time).

But priesthood was the road I chose ultimately, or rather, that chose me. God chose it for me and called me to walk it. I have done so now for more than two decades.

I trust that this is the road God created me to walk, and that when I reach the end of it--a long, long time from now, I pray--I will look back and say, "Thank God, I took this road. And thank God, I remained on it, for this road has led me into a life of purpose, value, and joy."

Shhh

Penny and I sat in the dark cinema the other night, hoping people would settle down. They talked and laughed through the music, through the commercials and previews and, forebodingly, into the first seconds of the feature, "The Artist." We hoped the audience would settle down for the film, a silent one--and they did.

What is it about silence? Perhaps it is like a vacuum, and you know the saying: nature abhors a vacuum. And perhaps humans abhor silence. So, we pop in the ear buds and listen to music or the news as we exercise; we turn on the car radio and sing along; we wriggle in worship when there is one of those rare pauses.

We fill the silence, which is too bad. I like to be quiet. Perhaps it is because my Christian spirituality has been formed by the monastic tradition, which embraces silence and delights in it, because when there is silence, instead of my rushing in to fill it with words and sounds, or asking someone else to do the same, God will fill the silence for me with his presence.

His presence is sometimes a word-filled one--his words, not mine--or it may be a wordless presence, a feeling of deep peace or contentment or reasurrance. God knows what I need in the moment.

Early the other morning, as I was walking, I stopped thinking, stopped planning, even stopped praying. And I stilled my soul within me, as the psalmist puts it, and I let the silence of that new morning fill me up. As I drew the chilly air into my lungs, I imagined that I was breathing in the silence. And I did. With it came a deep and healing peace. And I was ready again for a world of words and sounds. And looking forward to the silence once more.

By headlights you shall find him

It's Ephiphany, that season of God's lighting up the world in Jesus.

Remember the gospel story of how the star leads the three wise men to the baby Jesus?

They see him and worship him, who is born to be the king of love and to reign in love, which initiates a new world of justice, freedom, and peace.

The wise man rise from their worship and go home praising God and telling others what they have seen, God in flesh. 

Ah, the wonder and awe of that moment.

Yesterday, a good friend from England wrote me, telling me that he had returned to church after a long absence. He was, is, drawn to church because of the music.

His return happened this way. His son had lost his mobile phone along the foothpath by the village church, and so he phoned up the vicar and asked him to look for the phone.

The vicar obliged and, by the light of his car's headlights, searched for the lost mobile. He rang my friend's house, telling his wife that he was unable to locate the phone.

The vicar said the family could recompense him by coming to church, which my friend and his wife did, attenting a Christmas choral service.

And so my friend is back in church and writing me with the news for which I rejoice.

The vicar's headlights have led him back into the light of Christ.

Thanks be to God.

Eulogizing Christopher Hitchens

I've critiqued atheist Christopher Hitchens in columns and sermons; but when I heard the news on National Public Radio today that Hitchens had died of esophageal cancer at age 62, I was saddened.

I prayed for the repose of his soul. I thought, "Now, Hitch knows the truth about God."

I imagine a "New Yorker" cartoon: Hitchens--standing before God, the Author of Life--is holding a copy of his book, "God is not Great," his attack upon God. The book dangles in his fingertips, ready to fall onto the cloud. Hitchens looks stunned. God looks amused and says, "Surprised to see me?"

Christopher Hitchens's life abounded in accomplishments: Oxford University graduate; columnist for "The Nation" and "Vanity Fair," and many other publications; George Orwell-enthusiast, author of shelves of books, and much more.

As a reporter and aspiring columnist, I used to read Hitchens's columns in "The Nation." Weekly, he skewered the Reagan Administration. Later, he directed his wrath at Democratic administrations.

I think it's unjust, in my view of justice, that someone as intelligent, insightful, and creative as Hitchens should die at such a young age. He had so much more to think about, to talk about, to write about, to debate--about politics, literature, culture, religion.

Putting aside the unanswerable question of justice, I give God thanks that Hitchens enjoyed 62 years of life and contributed mightily during that time to public discourse on things that truly matter.

It's not the quantity of time, but the quality of the time that one has in this world that truly matters.


Hitchens lived fully and fruitfully during his relatively short life. He certainly gave me and many others a lot to ponder.

God be with you, Christopher Hitchens. Now, you see God face to face, as the Psalmist writes.

And God, you're in for some lively conversation. 

God provides

I confess that I was fretting a little about church finances earlier today.

We're doing well, ahead of where we were last year at this time, but I thought we were doing much better than that; people have been responsive to the 2012 Harvest Stewardship Campaign, including people who haven't pledged before.

Still, I was worried, and worry, while human, is not what Jesus wants from me or from any of his followers.

Instead, he wants us to trust him to provide for us. Indeed, in the gospels he counsels, again and again, "Do not fear" or "Do not be anxious about tomorrow," or some variation on that theme of putting one's total trust in his love and care.

As I swam on my lunch hour, I prayed, seeking to let go of the worry. My prayer was simple: "Lord, have mercy upon me a sinner."

And I let my anxiety go, trusting God to provide for Christ Church.

He did, too.

When I got back to the office just a few minutes ago, I opened a letter from a member. He had enclosed a check for $20,000, most of which will go to our capital campaign.

Thank you, member; and thank you, Jesus.

Testimony to the power of prayer

I do a lot of praying, including for people in need.

I confess I don't know how prayer works, but I know it works.

I know it works because of all the prayers God has answered in my own life and because of all the prayers God has answered for others for whom I've prayed.

Recently, I received a card from a friend for whom Penny and I had prayed. She writes,

"When cancer returned...I was so afraid. I must confess that, in the past, I have had doubts about the effectiveness of intercessory prayer. However, I have also seen the Chumbley family 'at work,' as well as friends. I asked perfect strangers to pray for me (check-out people at the grocery store, people in elevators, etc).

"Their faces would light up when I asked and all would say, 'Absolutely. Of course.'

"Now, I have no more doubts!

"This scary time is past; cancer gone, no more discoverable!

"There is no way that I can begin to thank you--for your note, phone calls, visit--your caring.

"And your prayers."

Prayer works. Pray, in faith, and wait for God to answer your prayers according to his will, and God's will is always for our best.