Life’s Final Earthly Chapter for My Mother (still being written)

Well, it’s Wednesday and I’m sitting in a hospital room in Kalamazoo, Michigan where my mother is nearing the end of her almost 89 years of life. Let me say first of all, that being in this situation as a son is entirely different than any of the times I’ve been “here” as a minister. Still, Healthy Liberal Christianity is not of much value if it is not useful at times like these.

So please indulge me as I reflect on this particular son’s experience.

I’ve been washed over with waves of amazement that this little woman lying in a hospital bed, having lost the power of most movement and speech, actually brought my brother and me into this world. What a miracle! I call it a miracle even though such things happen all the time. I’ve also been celebrating how many people she touched in her life with her musical talent. She retired from her career as a church organist and choir director less than four years ago – when she turned 85! She was a talented musician, but in my estimation, her greatest gift was her ability to help small, untrained choirs – adults and children alike – to sing beautifully. She created participants in music, not spectators. This, too, is miraculous.

I’m reminded that life doesn’t have to be the result of some supernatural intervention to be totally miraculous. Life itself is miraculous. It is a miracle that we are here, that she and I share memories that span more than sixty-two years, that she had a life, a purpose, relationships, talents, and meaningful experiences before I even existed.
(Just in case you’re thinking that I’m making this experience be all about me, well, I am because I can’t do anything else. You see, I actually don’t have direct knowledge of anyone else’s experience beyond what they tell me. And, besides, this is my blog, after all!)

As I see it, it’s a miracle to learn that life is not just about me. I’m not even the main character. While that statement may seem like just another example of how I have “a firm grasp on the obvious,” remember that we all have a front row seat only for our own life experience, so I cannot assume that anyone else experiences life exactly the way I do. I believe this humble statement to be one of the foundational elements of any “liberal” perspective: that I am neither qualified nor authorized to assume understanding of the experiences of others. And, therefore, I am in no position to judge the validity or “righteousness” of someone else’s experience. I can walk with them, learn from them, and perhaps help them find a way to talk about their unique experience, but that’s about as far as I can go.

Back to where I am today. I spent last night with my brother and niece in Mom’s hospital room listening to her breathing. I would doze off and then awaken abruptly when the sound would change. I have been hoping and praying that her death would come quickly, but I am reminded for the gazillionth time that birth, life, and death tend to have their own timing, and I have no right to demand that things happen for my convenience.

I can see that she is getting ready. She has always held onto life with astounding tenacity. She’s a fighter, and this sacred ending of her life will be no different. She will do it her way as much as she can. Still, it brings up all kinds of strange feelings in me when I pray for her death to be quick and easy and at the same time wanting to honor how much she has always valued life. I get it that she needs to do it her way and according to her own timing.

Tender moments are happening frequently during this vigil. This afternoon, I returned from a much needed nap at my brother’s house to find the whole family in tears. My niece had just said “good-bye” to her grandmother and was about to return to her home because she has to work tomorrow. Everyone in the room was moved by the beauty of the moment. We are all truly part of one another’s experience here.

A short time ago, I read a couple of Psalms to Mom (with quaky voice and eyes blurred with tears). It’s always meaningful when I read Psalm 23 or 139 in worship or at someone’s funeral, but let me tell you, when you read those words to your dying mother, they take on a totally new depth of meaning. Every time I recite those Psalms in the future, I will remember this moment.

Everything is sacred about this time here in the hospital: the tears, the hugs, the incredible eye contact my mother is able to have with us from time to time, the uneasy naps, the hospital food, the knowing glances that pass between family members, and the many ways that we support my mother and one another.

You may be wondering what all this has to do with Healthy Liberal Christianity. First of all, openness to the unique paths and experiences of the individual is normative for this “healthy” brand of religion. It is not necessary to force people into using particular words or symbols to talk about their spiritual experiences. Life experiences are more like experiments than tests. When we listen deeply and respectfully to one other, we all have improved opportunity to deepen our own spiritual lives and understanding. This is good in and of itself.

But what about the “Christian” part? I believe that Liberal Christianity listens carefully to Jesus and puts his words into the context of his life and ministry. He taught us not to worry about our acceptability to God. Rather, we can be encouraged by that incomprehensible Love to face life’s challenges and to live lives of compassion that are not restricted by unnecessary anxiety.

My mother has been anxious a lot in her life, and I understand where a lot of that has emanated from. But, as I watch her sink into the end stages of life, preparing to embrace death, my faith in eternal Love is bolstered.

I pray not only that her passing can be untroubled, but that I can learn from her example. I’ll need it someday when my own transition comes.

Thanks in advance for your prayers,

Wayne
“No matter who you are or where you are in life’s journey, you’re welcome here.”
The United Church___of Christ