Made Whole

What if we weren’t alone after all?

What if you were really a fragment of a

Great and glorious mind

Like an individual wave

Is part of the magnificent ocean?

Then anything would be possible.

This poem, by Joan Borysenko, captured my feeling as I left our Service for Healing of Body, Mind and Spirit yesterday. During the service everyone had the opportunity to write prayer concerns that were then shared during an intercessory prayer at the end of the service. The mounting of concerns – Haiti, cancer, marital difficulties, financial concerns, and more – could have been overwhelming to some, but I experienced it differently. As I watched person after person bring forward their concerns, and I had the honor of giving them voice, I was reminded of how every single person faces challenges. Every single person present had something weighing on his or her heart. Often we bear these burdens silently, but yesterday we named them out loud, and I felt us pulling together. Through this process, I felt a deeper connection with all who were present. I also felt a sense of hopefulness that God will help bring us through our personal and collective trials and make us stronger.

As I prepared for this healing service I was very aware that there were some people in our midst who were praying for cures so that they might be made well. I share in their hope and prayer, but I also have found myself reflecting on what it means to be well, what it means to be “made whole.” As I looked out on the congregation I saw persons who are filled with vitality, creativity, and a love for life who happen to have a disability. I saw persons who move a little more slowly and need to have some things repeated every so often because they are losing their hearing, but whose very lives embody love and wisdom. I saw persons who live with cancer, diabetes, multiple sclerosis, and Parkinson’s who exude an inner peace and a reverence for life that bears witness to the living Christ within them.

My favorite communion chalice is a cup that appears as though it was broken and put back together again. For me, it resembles not only what happened with Jesus but happens with all of us. God welcomes and loves us, however it is that we are; God takes all of the broken pieces, nurturing and shaping us into something that is perfectly whole and all the more beautiful. Today, I am giving thanks for all of the people who make up this community of faith, who through sharing their brokenness as well as their strengths, make a beautiful whole.

Nana

Some wise person once said, “We are living in someone else’s dream.” I discovered the truth of this statement anew this past Thursday.

Thursday I went to visit someone in Dublin Riverside Methodist Hospital. It was the first time I had ever entered this relatively new hospital and as soon as I arrived I found myself thinking about Nana, my maternal grandmother. I remember my Nana as a vivacious, energetic, hard-working, creative, optimistic, and faith-filled woman. It wasn’t until more recently that I realized that Nana was a woman of great vision. She could see what other people could not. Back in the 1950’s, Nana had dreamt of Dublin Riverside Methodist Hospital.

Nana was the head Registered Nurse for a hospital in Chicago. She would go to work in her pressed and starched white uniform, white stockings, and cap, and she would work in a hospital that was sterile and austere; hygiene was a huge priority!

Intuitively, Nana appreciated the importance for a more holistic approach to healing. When she would come home at night, she would often journal about how hygiene alone doesn’t heal. Through her writing she would paint vivid images both of the sterile environment in which she worked and how she envisioned hospitals could be. She dreamt of natural light and elements of nature – plants and trees and running water within close sight so that patients could draw strength from nature, and from God’s creation. She dreamt of more human touch, and sounds that would soothe rather than irritate patients who were trying to muster their own internal strength to get well.

As I entered Dublin Riverside on Thursday I felt like I was entering a greenhouse, and I immediately thought of her. Pictured here are the living trees and wall of water that are found in the lobby, a flower in a vase that is outside every patient door, and a tree made of glass that is in one of the many atriums.

In the 1950s we didn’t get it; but we do now. Entering this hospital was a resurrection moment for me. It made me wonder what else God may be creating in our midst that I just can't see right now.