Familiar Places and Faces with Unfamiliar Answers
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| WTS DMin Cohort Students |
In late April I traveled to Holland, Michigan, to conclude some work at Western Theological Seminary with an exceptional group of leaders in a DMIN cohort. I was even able to see many friends, including my friend and mentor, Wes Granberg -Michaelson (he was Alum of the year at WTS!). He also walked the last portion of the Camino with me in 2018. I coupled the trip with some work related to a Fellowship at Garret Seminary in Chicago; in the down times between the projects, I visited our cottage in Sawyer, Michigan. As I prepare for the Camino in a week or so, I revisited an experience I had and continue to have..... I am curious how this lively experience will makes its way into the upcoming pilgrimage.
My journal entry: May 2, 2022
"I am finally flying home from 10 days away from my family after completing some important work in Sawyer, Holland, and Chicago. I know these places relatively well having spent more years in these places along Lake Michigan than anywhere else. I am tired. The week was filled with projects at the cottage, walking across the finish line with doctor of ministry students, and participating in a fellowship on economics and theology. But the most important thing was the care and concern of friends who wanted to know, How is Madeline? How are you and Lindsay?"
Reflection and Preparation for the Camino
By the week's end, I was asked this question hundreds of times (or at least it felt that way). In my fatigue, I internally questioned why people were asking (Lindsay says WHY questions put people on the defensive; I was asking myself WHY in this very way). My suspicion, judgment, and resistance disallowed being a recipient of their care. In the early days of the trip, I would answer extensively with facts about Madeline: 3 days versus 8 nights in the hospital; she's back to school; the absence of stomach aches; receiving one green light from the surgeon with two more to go. I would try to find words to communicate the experience Lindsay and I are having. I found myself quickly trying to turn the conversation back on my conversation partner, by asking "How are you?" or "How is so and so or such and such?" I really wanted them to respond, partly because I was truly curious and partly because I wanted a break from thinking about the past months and fabricating a response to their caring question.
The past months have been taxing, and after several days of answering the question, I realized my real exhaustion arose from not having an answer. I honestly don't know how we are doing. I am still uneasy about Madeline. What happens if the news changes from green to yellow? I read too many articles in neuro journals to feel secure. Even more, we've lived through the rollercoaster of the past few months and two surgeries. Nothing prepared us for the first; even more a second.
The questions kept coming throughout the trip. I tried to respond with facts each and every time. By the sixth day, I realized I didn't have the answers and said so. It took dozens of encounters with the questions, How is Madeline ?and How are you? to finally get to the answer, "I don't know." One sage said to me, "You don't know how you are doing. You don't have the bandwidth to know." That was a balm to my soul.
My internal angst with not knowing turned people's honest care into a problem. I am hopeful people who asked the question couldn't feel my resistance, but I am sure many did. It wasn't until a friend said, "People really want to know about a suffering child. We care about kids; we care about your child." I believe this, but my exhaustion and lack of knowing couldn't receive their care.
Remembering Whose We Are - Being Tethered Together
My friend said this on a Saturday evening. I was preparing to join them for worship at Grace Episcopal on Sunday morning. I lived in Holland for a decade and never once had I entered the sanctuary of Grace Episcopal Church. I have good friends who worship there regularly. I have a fondness for liturgical worship. For some reason it took returning to Holland to worship at Grace, and I am grateful I did.
I entered the narrow sanctuary and felt the grandness of the space despite its architectural measurements. Worship began and we sat, stood, kneeled, and participated. The sermon concluded and the invitation to Eucharist commenced. This was one of the first times the people of Grace returned to full Eucharist with the common cup since the beginning of the global pandemic. The instructions were complex post-Covid, but remained gentle and clear.
Worship ended and I departed from the sanctuary. As I exited, Pastor Jen greeted me. She simply said, "We have been praying for Madeline and your family. This has been a long road. How are you doing?" I had not shared my reflections on the question with anyone, but tried answering honestly for the first time all week. I said, "I don't know and anything I tell you will satisfy my need for an answer and hopefully satisfy your intention in asking the question, but I really don't know. Thank you for asking the question."
She listened to my response, which felt odd for me to share. Even more, I was amazed she knew us - sure, Lindsay and I are Christians and pastors formerly from Holland but not members of her congregation or clergy in her denominational tribe. I imagine she has enough names to remember. This didn't matter; Pastor Jen was one Christian to another seeking to care and doing so by knowing our names. I felt that my family was seen and known and loved. This is not simply because Pastor Jen knew us and sent prayers to God on our behalf. Pastor Jen's question and comment were simply the zenith of my week, and her presence allowed me to receive the the care that was coming from the fullness of Christ's body - it was my moment in Emmaus (Luke 24). What she did in that moment following Eucharist following worship reminded me of who I am, whose I am, and how we are all tethered together.
The End of My Journal Entry: May 2, 2022
"However, now, as I fly home, I am trying to be held by the Spirit as I believe I needed the question of care from lots of people to come to grips with the reality that I don't know how I am doing; I don't know how Madeline is doing. It will take some time to get clear - both medically and to increase bandwidth. That's enough, and my friends helped me get there by making me respond to the same question over and again. I am becoming thankful for the question. I remain uncomfortable with the answer, "I don't know." Mostly, I am grateful for the time to return to a familiar place with familiar faces. I am grateful for love and care and prayers of good friends who know us."
Preparing for The Camino
I keep checking my Delta app to see how many days until I fly to Porto. The Camino is calling, and I feel it in my body. But I must admit that there is no shortage of anxiety within regarding the fact that I am entering the Camino largely unaware of how I am doing. I've walked alone before, and I know how the silence becomes loneliness as it opens the doors to the repressed and resisted thoughts, feelings, and experiences. But this is also why the Camino is so beautiful; it gives me space to let the repressed and resisted come alive and find release. The Camino is my time to practice Peter Levine's, Waking the Tiger.
Questions are emerging as I prepare to walk the Camino. The one alive today is - What does it mean to be a dad, husband, professor, researcher, and leader who is largely walking in the world with "I don't know" as the most common answer to daily questions? I pride myself on knowing things and having the ability to find answers quickly and carefully when questions come. I wonder if this question will remain alive as I walk in a week or so? The reality of this happening is similar to my common refrain.... "I don't know."
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| Mark, David, Wes, and Me (2018) |
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| Wes Granberg-Michaelson |
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