Well this is Shit!

 

Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock.

The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear.

The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.

For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord.

And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

Luke 2:9-1

It was time to bring out an old favorite Christmastime teaching for my spirituality groups. The reading from Luke describing the circumstances of our Savior’s birth.

I asked my patients why they thought Jesus was born in a manger?  Most of the answers were predictable and correct – to demonstrate humility, that we are all equal, even a king can be born in dire conditions.

Then I asked my patients if they really thought about what a manger was like?  Animals, in the case of Jesus’ manger, lots of animals surrounding his crib.  What comes with animals?  Crap.  That’s right – our beautiful, loving savior was born into crap.  I asked them to imagine the smell.

Why would the will of our God be to be born there?

Two thousand years later, we sometimes let ourselves go to unholy places, we do very unholy things or have unholy things done to us.  Does the shit in our own lives keep us from relationship with God?

If it does, if we erect barriers based on our sinfulness or others’ sinfulness toward us, we can remember that our king was born into filth.  That stable did not stay filthy! 

And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Luke 2:13

 

Glory came, joy arrived, in the birth of a baby, came hope for a broken world.

Two thousand years later our Jesus can still bring glory, joy and hope to each one of us.

It was time to pick our music.  Music is a vital part of the spirituality groups I conduct.  Patients get to choose what they’d like to hear – within very broad limits.  Once I had a patient request Eminem, only to find me five seconds later frantically searching for the pause button as a stream of f-words came out of the chaplain’s speaker!  Eminem was banned.

One of my patients said, “Let’s hear ‘Well This is Shit.’”  She patiently explained, “Well we’re talking about crap.”

Shit is my favorite epithet.  I try giving it up for lent every year since it does appear unseemly for a chaplain to be saying, “shit” at any given moment but there it is.

I polled the room. Would anyone mind hearing, “Well this is shit?” Not a single dissent so there began a jubilant time, patients laughed and I laughed, a tech came in, he laughed.

Listening to the jaunty ballad, I realized why my patient loved this song.

 

You’re trying to be helpful, and that is always nice

But right now all logic only grates so don’t try to give advice

I need someone to rant at who’ll not judge or take offence

At my incessant f’ing swearing and my unfiltered sentiments

So stop the pragmatic intervention just nod and say you’ll understand

Pretend I’m not being an unreasonable arsehole and hold on to my hand

Well this is shit

Oh this is shit

I’m not expecting answers, because they’re out of your remit

I’m not looking for solutions just for someone to admit

That this is shit

This is shit

This is shit

 

Kudos to Thomas Benjamin Wild, Esq. for brilliantly summing up what many of us need during a crisis, someone to “hold unto our hand.”

Many years before as an enthusiastic trauma chaplain I would want to try somehow to fix unfixable solutions.  Years later I realized my “Martha-like” sentiments were not always the most helpful.

When I began a concentration in behavioral health ministry I quickly became aware of how vulnerable my patients were.  People who have physical ailments are often treated with respect, dignity and kindness by the world at large. 

You’ve got a walker?  Here let me get that door for you. You have cancer?  Let me bring you food.  Let me take you to the doctor’s.

“You have schizophrenia? Let me get to the other side of the street.”  “You’re depressed.  Call me when you’re in a better mood.”

Acts of kindness to people physically impaired are commendable and hesitation to embrace the mentally ill is understandable.

We are human.  Many of us do not want to see our fellow humans in trouble.  What can we do when all that can be tried has been and just hasn’t worked? -- when we’ve prayed and the answer we wanted didn’t materialize? 

Understanding that just our presence can be invaluable begs us to realize that we, despite our brokenness, are precious to and beloved by God.

Then Jesus said to them, “My soul is sorrowful even to death. Remain here and keep watch with me.” He advanced a little and fell prostrate in prayer, saying, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will.” When he returned to his disciples, he found them asleep. He said to Peter, “So you could not keep watch with me for one hour?

Matthew 28:38-40

Jesus did not need the disciples to fix what was going to happen to him.  He needed their presence.  Much sympathy goes to those apostles who presumably just couldn’t stand watching their Jesus, their teacher, their friend, facing the unthinkable.  The story would not have changed if they had been present but the apostles’ presence would have shored him up to face his fate.

 

The next time we are tempted to try and fix something that is beyond us, it could be incredibly helpful to know we can just be present and say, “This is shit.”

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cE4lpSFNFUE

 

The Love Bank

 "And the Greatest of these is Love!" 1 Corinthians 13:13

                    💜💛💚💙💗💜

The war in Syria was raging.

The small Catholic community hospital where I am a chaplain prayed. We prayed consistently but a tugging in my heart said we need to do more.

Part of that urging was prompted by the many Syrian employees I met every day and of course the Syrian patients who came to the hospital. What could we do as a hospital? We are an institution founded by Missionaries of the Sacred Heart, brave women who came to Allentown in the midst of a diphtheria epidemic -- fueled by a need to mirror the love of their Jesus to all those they met.

Could we adopt a Syrian family, as an institution? Could we surround one family with a blanket of our love?

After getting the blessing of our kind President I began informally polling our staff about whether they would be willing to help a Syrian immigrant family. I was met with overwhelming enthusiasm. People stepped up offering to volunteer; willingness to donate household goods, time to tutor children; transportation. It blew my mind!

Next came contacting the different agencies who could help connect us with a family. There began the problem – a big problem for the newly created Love Bank. Immigration had ground to a halt.

That left a very real dilemma. Where can we channel this love so beautifully offered by our kind, generous staff?

I was discussing this with the head of our Parish Nurses. Our parish nurses are formidable! They venture into the depths of the poorest places in Allentown to provide much needed medical care, teaching, and maybe most important of all, direction. They dish out hope when there is none to be found.

Deb suggested that there were dramatic needs right here. Could we possibly redirect energies to our immediate neighborhood?

One of our parish nurses runs a laundry ministry. Every Tuesday for many years Jacqui and a crew of volunteers have gathered at a local laundromat to serve the poorest of the poor of Allentown by providing free laundry services. It is a beautiful dignity-providing act of love.

The laundry was the Love Bank’s first venture into local service and wow! – employees responded with an abundance of quarters and laundry supplies.

Through the years, the Love Bank has served three basic functions. Bolstering the good parish nurses’ ventures; helping our neighboring parish – located in a very impoverished area; and lastly but maybe most important of all, outreach to our employees who need a helping hand.

While still primarily supported by employee contributions, news of the Love Bank has grown and very good, very generous people from the community have pitched in to lend material help to the work of the Love Bank.

One beautiful woman from the community and her husband have provided case after case of granola bars, cartons of socks and other items for years. Granola bars are in big demand because they do not have to be cooked – a real plus for our neighbors living in tents.

A physician has given the Love Bank thousands of dollars to keep those washers and dryers running at Jacqui’s laundry ministry.

An employee tithes her salary so she can make a substantial contribution each month. That money is kept as a fund for when impoverished people need big help like a security deposit so they can get housing before their first paycheck arrives.

We ran a tent drive and my office soon filled with tents of all sizes to help poor people with much needed shelter.

Many people anonymously slip gift cards under the door.

There is such joy working in a place where people eagerly help!

Once, the parish nurse from the church next door asked if the Love Bank could help with a highchair. I sent out a public email and by the next day we could have supplied about a half dozen highchairs!

This year has proved to be a great one for the Love Bank. One kind woman gave us the ability to buy fruit every week and bring it to the laundromat. Many homeless people get by with help from the soup kitchen but fresh fruit is in very short supply. Because of this woman’s generosity people who really need it can munch on grapes, bananas and oranges while getting their laundry done.

The Love Bank is awash in my prayers. Sometimes donations do get scarce, then God is hearing my constant nagging, “Come on, this was your idea – how about sending some help?” Invariably – eventually – help does arrive. I also pray in thanksgiving, holding the people receiving and the people giving close to my heart as I pray.

God does answer these prayers. Not usually dramatically but last week I was overwhelmed with God’s loving response to my irreverent request.

We have begun accepting all kinds of clothes. For years I refused clothing donations because I just had no place to put them. Recently Jacqui volunteered to distribute them at the laundromat. God bless her!

Simultaneously Deacon Ricardo, one of two beautiful deacons, who serve our hospital, began bringing in clothing donations from his church. Two large garbage bags just missed the Tuesday ministry and were on top of a cart in my office.

Isaiah, one of my patients who returns to the hospital with a certain amount of frequency, came in looking for a couple of specific things.

“Sister Karroli (think cannoli but with an r), I need some glasses so I can read the word. I need a belt, size 36.”

“Okay, Isaiah. I can pick you up some glasses but the belt might have to wait until tomorrow”

What I honestly was thinking was, “Oh s**t, when the hello am I going to find time to go to Walmart.” I thought I would look in those bags to see if there was anything that could hold him over until I could get to Walmart. I shouldn’t be, but I am a bit of a cynic when it comes to God’s direct intervention in my life. I believe in a powerful, loving God but I think he leaves a lot of things to us and maybe once in awhile he inserts a divine touch.

When I opened the huge garbage bag and saw a size 36 beautiful men’s belt right on the top of all the other clothes, this old cynical chaplain was stopped in her tracks. Wow! Thank you Jesus!

And thank you to all the people that have made the Love Bank flourish, beautiful, generous people who have consistently lifted the poorest of the poor in our Sacred Heart neighborhood. Thank you to St. Luke’s who when they took us over, not only didn’t shut us down but continued the Sacred Heart practice of paying for any incidentals associated with this venture so that I can proudly say 100% of donations go to the intended recipients.

💜💛💚💙💗💜

 The Love Bank 

St. Luke’s Sacred Heart Campus 

421 Chew Street Allentown, PA 18102

610-776-4524

Lilacs

The Mary altar looked especially beautiful this year.  My new young neighbor allowed me to cull some lilacs from his yard.  The beautiful aroma filled my house.  Through the years lilacs had become my favorite flower.  The promise of spring brought to fulfillment.

This year spring was especially important.  Covid-19 had been wreaking its damage on the world, my relationships and sense of peace.

This had been a bit of a haul.  Our director of pastoral care at the hospital where I’ve served for the last 19 years as chaplain had been very ill and the last place he needed to be was a hospital full of Corona Virus.  Our volunteers had been sent home early in the pandemic so that left me to try to do what I could to offer spiritual support to a hospital full of frightened employees and patients.

By the 51st day of this marathon I was feeling broken.  I did not think there was enough of me to go around this Catholic hospital.  My fear is always that our Catholicism will get swallowed up in the zeal to be the biggest, the best and the most profitable of the two competing hospital chains in our area.

A big part of my mission was to fly that Catholic banner high by overhead prayer through our intercom system, the rosary in the chapel, and to help facilitate the daily Masses we had special permission to have celebrated.  That meant sanitizing, getting priests to celebrate, and announcing the good news that it was happening.

Additionally I conducted 12 spirituality groups a week for our behavioral health patients.

Angry, sad and overwhelmed, it had all come to a head on this sunny Tuesday.  I came in extra early to pray at the hospital’s town meeting.  I hadn’t slept well. Spontaneous tears were manifesting themselves causing me to stop and pay attention to what was happening with me.

I bopped in and out of the chapel.

Normally these ventures to the chapel were filled with purpose – liturgical duties, promised prayers. 

Today was different.  I left my cell phone in my office, usually along with me to provide music and to help with the recitation of the rosary every day.

Today I just went in and in my normal irreverent way told God he needs to send some help, something to boost up my flagging spirits, more tears.

I went back to my office, took off my damn mask and sat down.

Appearing at the door was one of our hardworking cafeteria ladies.  She presented a bouquet of lilacs to me saying, “These are for you.  I know what you do around here.”

Then I really cried – in thanksgiving for an ever present, ever loving God made visible through the beautiful flowers and heartfelt wish of one of his people.

Thank you, God!

Our Lady of Sorrows

I am grateful to him who has strengthened me, Christ Jesus our Lord.

1 Timothy – Reading for the Day, Our Lady of Sorrows

St. Joseph by the Sea, where I had spent the last week in retreat was a perfect setting to renew my body, mind and soul. Long walks along the ocean, Mass every day, reading and eating terrific food in an atmosphere of silence, those were my days.

Friends still texted me. Sacred Heart Hospital, where I am a Catholic chaplain, is in the process of being taken over by one of the two health networks we stood between, a small Catholic, community hospital serving the very poorest of the poor.

Economic realities have forced this alliance. My friends were worried – whether I was retreating or not. Personal crises happened. A beautiful aide’s daughter was found dead. Another friend’s niece was born at 25 weeks and in very critical condition. All of these concerns accompanied me on my walks on the beach. I brought these needs and my weakness to our loving God.

Confession is part of this retreat. I made a very frank confession and received a cogent response from a not at all warm and fuzzy priest. “Do you want peace or do you want torment?” I picked peace. Decidedly. And peace flowed over me.

I woke up early the day after I came home, ready to go to my beloved hospital.

It is so much a home to me. Jesus is there in the tabernacle. My patients are there, my friends. People trust me to look after them. They look after me. It is a place of love.

I was dressed in my funeral clothes ready to be at least a face of love and support to my friend at the service for her daughter.

Part of what I do as chaplain is pray a morning prayer overhead. It’s a way for us to say who we are, a place of faith-based healing. I attempt to interject real petitions, sometimes even humor, an invitation to God to join us in our daily work. Today I prayed also through the intercession of Our Lady of Sorrows, it was her feast day, never one of my favorites.

I went to the cafeteria and was asked by my friend whose niece was born prematurely to visit the baby and her sister at a neighboring hospital. No other answer but, “yes.”

She told me what hospital, ironically the one that was soon to swoop in and acquire us. That hospital was directly across from the funeral home where I was planning on attending the service for my friend’s daughter.

I negotiated the hospital’s parking lot and found my way to the NICU only to discover the baby and mother were in another site of the hospital, close to my home.

I still was foolishly thinking, “I can do this. I’ll just swing by the funeral home, pay my respects, hit the road, and go to the other hospital.

For probably the first time, I encountered a funeral usher who was truly a crab ass. “Lady, you can’t go in there. Park in that overflow lot down the street.”

I patiently explained that I had an emergency. Could I possibly just park and quickly see the bereaved?

I was told in no uncertain terms that was unacceptable. I began to park in the other lot when I got another text from my friend asking whether I was with her sister yet?

Deciding to drive away from my other friend and all of my friends on her unit who love her too was a hard decision, but one I felt compelled to make.

After what seemed an interminable time driving, I finally arrived and traversed the hospital until I got to the extreme other end where the NICU was located. I entered the unit and before I even got a chance to introduce myself I was greeted with, “Thank God, you’re here. They are right this way."  I assumed they noticed the big old chaplain on my ID.

The nurse who led me in told me the baby had just died. I walked into a curtained cubicle where a mother sat rocking, cradling her very tiny, dead baby. I knelt down and said, “Rosa, I’m Carolee, your sister sent me. I am here to help in any way I can.” I told her that my friend had said she would like her baby baptized. I asked if she would like that. “Yes, I want her baptized.” I said okay, “Let’s baptize Bianca.” “That’s not her name,” she said. I was surprised. Then the nurse told me the mother’s name was, Linda, not Rosa.

“Oh shit,” is what I thought but I knew her identity was irrelevant, only that she needed me and what God could do to help her.

I was still kneeling and I asked Linda what the baby’s name was. “I don’t have one,” she replied tearfully. I looked right into her eyes, and I said, “Linda, it will help you so much if you can give your baby girl a name, is there a name you would like to call her?”

“Grace,” she replied. Thank you God for letting me keep it together. As I baptized little baby Grace, I couldn’t help but think of my own daughter, Grace, born 27 years ago.

It was then that the young chaplain resident arrived. The one who I am sure the staff had expected when I waltzed in instead. She was obviously as confused as I was but I talked to her privately and told her what had happened. She thanked me profusely for being there and shared it was only her second week in training.

I then saw Rosa in the cubicle next door. Bianca was still alive but barely. Her color looked terrible. She was expecting me and we prayed. I actually just stood by this woman as she pleaded with God for her daughter’s life. I was next to her with my arms around her as a neonatologist clumsily explained her daughter’s precarious condition. Rosa looked dazed at the onslaught of information she was receiving.

A family friend arrived and I departed.

I had debated about returning to the funeral home where my friend’s daughter’s funeral was in progress. I decided she had so many people to love and support her I would bring love and food to her home where maybe I could be more helpful. I was also well and truly shot to shit. As soon as I got to the hospital I went to the little nun’s room and sobbed.

The rest of my day was spent performing duties which bring me great joy – taking food, toothpaste and sanitary napkins from the hospital’s Love Bank to the parish next door; seeing some of my beloved psych patients; changing used candles; preparing the altar for Mass.

My phone rang a little before Mass. It was Rosa’s hospital. Bianca took a turn for the worse. “Could I come?”

As I waited for my son to come and bring me, I went to Mass. I heard Father Hilferty’s wonderful homily on Our Lady of Sorrows. I asked our Blessed Mother to be with all three women of sorrow, suffering so very much today. 

When I entered the NICU for the second time that day, another sobbing, suffering woman greeted me, holding her dead baby girl. This time I prayed in thanksgiving for life; for Bianca, and her parents, her dad, there now, clearly numbed by the ordeal; and for the sympathetic nurse, standing by the parents of her patient she so lovingly tended.

When my son picked me up he was kind. I knew I needed some time and privacy to process this feast day of Our Lady of Sorrows. I headed to our secret garden, a tiny bit of beauty at the top of our hill. I sat on the rough stone bench and wept.

For so long I have felt distant from our Blessed Mother. I didn’t use to – I nursed my own baby Grace as I watched the rosary. The milk and repetitive prayer lulled her happily to sleep. Events and my own sinful decisions caused me to be almost embarrassed to go to her. I knew Jesus was there to forgive me and love me no matter what but Mary was quite another story.

Our Lady of Sorrows is my least favorite manifestation of Mary. I know she deserves the love and respect the name brings but in embracing her pain I am forced to look at my own sorrow, and I would really rather not. Today though I am fervently praying to her to take care of the three women who met their sorrows today and all the other ladies of sorrow who have dealt with losing a child. Mary pray for them, intercede for them!

Fireflies

We only do it once a year, its very simplicity sets the stage for a memorable evening.

“Firefly Picnic” has become an annual tradition. A salute to summer with just my two neighbor children, a boy,11, and a girl, 7, and myself. They are marvelous, intelligent, kind children.

Other family members wander in and out but it is really just the three of us. We eat happily, waiting for it to get dark enough to temporarily gather the magical insects then release them to continue to light up other summer evenings.

We frequently lie back and do some serious cloud watching while waiting for the first blips of magic to appear.

This year we went right to dessert and had huge sundaes with mounds of whipped cream before we went out to greet the evening. My dog happily accompanied us as we meandered to the elementary school near our houses. We found fireflies everywhere – under trees, against the stone wall, in the grass and even near the building.

Part of this yearly ritual is devoted to celebrating ourselves – for doing it – for taking time to experience the wonder of fireflies and our friendship, all wrapped up in the warmth of a summer night. This year we talked of how we hoped our tradition would continue even into my young neighbors' adulthood and my doddering old age.

It is treasured time. I thank God for it.

***

Harry, my dog, and I walked along the train tracks above the park. I knew I wasn't going to stop this time until I saw it.

Woods on either side of the tracks made for a beautiful walk. There was a trestle over the wide creek where I scooped Harry up into my arms and carried him, worried that his little paws would slip through the spaces between the ties.

Tears welled and my chest clenched as we walked on through the evening.

The sun brought solace as its diminishing light lit up the water with a hopeful glow.

It was so real to me, that magical night 18 years ago.

Holding hands as we walked – we happily talked about our lives, soon to be joined in marriage. The warmth of our joined hands was as important to me as the beautiful love making in which we reveled.

And then he spotted them, what seemed like hundreds of fireflies lighting up the grove next to the stream. He was from England. He said he had never seen them before. I loved that he was enchanted by them. I loved him.

Firefly meadow – that's what he dubbed that beautiful spot.

Harry and I were almost there. Then I saw it -- the beauty had not diminished. Lush green, helped by lots of early summer rain, framed the space. The tears were no longer welling, they were now gently streaming down my face.

It was too early for fireflies. I didn't linger long.

I don't linger in that pain, that sorrow. In the beginning when his betrayal was made manifest I just needed to find a way to keep going through the onslaught to my senses, my reality. There was sobbing hysteria but I wouldn't call it sorrow. I was helped by good, loving friends and family.

In the grove I met sorrow, a deep grief. 

 My fear of hurt will not let me entertain, or at least not for very long, even the thought of allowing someone to bring me to that place of love, to feel a large hand encircling mine--  to experience God through a firefly, sharing deep excitement at a tiny gift.

As we walked out of the grove I was startled by a young deer, just yards away, leaping over the tracks to the other side and up the wooded hill. Her graceful dance was beautiful to watch.

Another gift. When we walked back, beyond the meadow, she was just standing quietly, now assured that we meant no harm.

I will always be grateful to my God who did not abandon me.