Stars

Let me introduce you to Cassiopeia A.

Isn't she beautiful? Too bad, she's dead, eh? She is a supernova remnant, the remains of a star, very much like our sun, that died a dramatic death about 11,000 years ago (though we only received word of her passing in 1680).

Not only is she beautiful, she is is mysterious, too. She first flirted with occupants on our planet as she died about 330 years ago. She briefly flashed her light and caught the attention of English astronomer James Flamsteed, but then she coquettishly disappeared, hiding for centuries behind a veil of cosmic dust.

Then in 1999, NASA launched the Chandra X-Ray Observatory, and we got to see the beauty behind the veil, since the x-rays she radiates can penetrate the cloak in which she had shrouded herself. The first Chandra image released to the public revealed Cas A's tremendous beauty, and further intrigued scientists with her enigmatic personality. She obviously didn't want to be fully known, and she refused to divulge secrets of the very nature of her being. Was she a neutron star? A black hole? Nobody could figure her out; she defied all expectations.

For ten years, she continued to tease, extending her enigmatic nature. She closely guarded the jewel at the center of her being, and remained taciturn when it came to revealing her secrets. Then in the summer of 2009, she allowed herself to be known as she permitted two brilliant scientists to unravel her mystery, and through various investigations, to uncover her identity as a recently deceased star, in a sarcophagus adorned with diamonds. (In other words, she's a young neutron star with a carbon atmosphere.)

I tell you of this rare, mysterious beauty because Cas A has been a guest in our lives for the past few months, and I feel as if I have gotten to know her quite well. You see, my Beloved is one of the two brilliant, young astronomers to whom Cas A has chosen to reveal herself. He and his collaborator have been studying her and trying to discern her seemingly impenetrable nature. And the revelations of Cas A's true nature have now been published in the journal Nature.

And now, my Beloved is a star. Not a dead one to be studied. But a living one, to be interviewed. He's on TV and the radio, in our local paper, and various media around the globe. It's been a fun week watching him shine.

Some belated thoughts on Dr. Tiller's murder

The murder of Dr. George Tiller has evoked a strong emotional response within me. First of all, I feel anger and outrage that anyone who is "pro-life" could murder in cold blood. I also feel such sorrow and sadness for this man's family, both biological and ecclesial. I cannot imagine the grief and trauma they could be experiencing now.

But I also feel wildly compelled to correct the malicious lies misinformation about late term terminations being propagated by the so-called "pro-lifers" who oppose such procedures, casting women who make such a "choice" as wanton harlots who cannot be burdened by a pesky little thing such as a living baby. But this is not truth. This is not reality. At least not the reality I know.

My reality involves holding the hands of grieving parents who have made agonizing decisions to terminated longed for pregnancies. My reality has been reaching into incubators and offered blessings/prayers/baptism to dying babies born with myriad fetal anomalies. My reality is comforting grieving husbands whose wives has just died due to complications from their pregnancies.

But my reality isn't what is being told. And my reality isn't what necessarily needs to be told. My reality is one step removed from the real stories of grief, anguish, and heartache.

Obviously, the protesters outside the Tiller's Kansas clinic have no idea the reality of the "choices" these patients make. How anyone can know the heartbreaking truth and still cast these women as sinners is beyond me. But then again, how anyone can call themselves "Christian" and "pro-life" and then murder a doctor in his church is also beyond me.

Gilbert

I found out today that my friend Gilbert, who has been missing for over a month, is dead.

I did not know Gilbert long (though we were introduced in September, making him one of the first people I met in Edmonton). And I did not know him all that well, having only gotten together with him a handful of times. But Gilbert was one of those individuals for whom small talk was impossible, so the few gathering we had (two Sunday brunches in the weeks before he died) involved long discussion on morality and ethics, religion and atheism, art and culture, politics and justice, you get the idea. Gilbert went deep - immediately. And as a chaplain (one who spends all day everyday nudging folks, encouraging depth, and supporting openness), I appreciated this quality in Gilbert. Conversation with him was engaging and didn't require "work".

That Gilbert suffered with depression was something unknown to me until I read the article about his disappearance in the paper. How easy it was for me with training in this area not to pick up on the signs. And how well his warm laugh and welcoming personality masked his inner despair.

I did not know him long. And I did not know him well. But Gilbert was a man I had hoped and planned to get to know better. And I mourn both his death and the death of our friendship in its earliest blossoming stages.

Remembering...

I wish we didn't have a reason for Memorial Day to exist. But, alas, it does.

We must not forget:

WAR DEAD

Since the U.S. invasion of Iraq began on March 20, 2003:

In Iraq
• 4,296 U.S. troops killed*
• 31,256 U.S. troops injured*
• 182 U.S. military suicides*
• 1,123 U.S. contractors killed
• 100,361 to 1.2 million civilians
killed***
• $670.7 billion cost of war

In Afganistan
• 685 U.S. troops killed*
• 2,828 U.S. troops injured*
• $188.2 billion cost of war

* through May 18, 2009; source: icasualties.org; some figures only updated monthly
** sources: icasualties.org, defenselink.mil
*** highest estimate; source: iraqbodycount.org; based on confirmed media reports; other groups calculate civilian deaths as high as 655,000 (Lancet survey, 2006) to 1.1 million (Opinion Research Business survey, 2008)

When will it end?

Life Before Death

I face death each and every day. This morning, my day began with stroking the hair of a woman who was dying all alone, unresponsive to words but able to be soothed by human touch. Later, I gathered with a large, boisterous family as they laughed and told stories of their loved one, who left life amidst the merriment and celebration of his many years. I held the hand of a young bride as she gave the word to "go ahead" and withdraw the machine that were no longer supporting her new husband's life but prolonging his death.

You ask me how I can do my job, with death and dying confronting me all day long. You may assume it's a heavy burden. Grief is heavy. Pain and suffering, they can be tremendous burdens. But death, in and of itself, is not such a heavy load.

Death is very real. It's all around us. It's the only certainty we have in life - we will die. Denying this reality, I imagine that could be a laborious task. But I can't do that. Mortality is all to present for me, as I hold the hand of a dying patient as she takes her last breath,or embrace a grieving loved one in my arms.

As I watch people die, I realize that, in many cases, we die as we have lived. If we live life in fear, we die fearful. If we live life in anger, we die angry. If we live life in meaningful relationships and connected to loved ones, we end life loved.

You ask if I believe in life after death. I know for many people, the hope of an afterlife, the idea that somehow, in someway, they continue (or that they will be reunited with loved ones) gives them comfort and peace. I also see that for others, the threat of eternal damnation means they spend their lives afraid.

You ask if I believe in life after death. I am avoiding your questions, I know. [we chaplains are trained to deflect]

You ask if I believe in life after death. Well, no. But I don't necessarily disbelieve it. I just don't think it really matters for me.

You ask if I hope that there is more than this life. Well, no. This life, lived well, is all I could ask for. And it is my desire and my calling and my hope to live the best life I can: to be in healthy relationships, to care for others, to work for peace, to create beauty, to make love, to learn, to grow, to laugh, to live...

You ask what I do believe in. And that's easy. I believe in life. Maybe not life after death. But certainly life before death. What about you?

Rachel Weeps

Working as a hospital chaplain, I see much pain and suffering. But these past two weeks have been especially hard. It seems that in the past two weeks, I have had a disproportionate number of deaths of babies and young mothers than would be expected for my clinical assignment. I have held several dead or dying babies in my arms - blessed them, prayed over them, baptized them, and/or named them. And I have held the hands of women my age and younger as they have taken their last breath and left us. And I am a little surprised at the intensity of cumulative emotions I am feeling around these deaths.

Last year, I worked in a children's hospital. I saw many more babies die. But I also held healthy babies. And I was able to see hope as health improved and many babies went home. This year, since my assignment is not the neo-natal ICU nor Labour & Delivery, I don't have the opportunity to balance the deaths by celebrating the lives of healthy children. This have given me a skewed sense of what is normal and it has stirred fears in me for my friends and sister-in-love who are currently pregnant.

In addition, as Craig and I embark on our journey of covenanted life together, the topic of children has arisen. So these sad deaths of babies and mothers fills me with doubts and fears for myself.

But whatever the rationales for my reacting internally the way I have, I need to acknowledge the emotions I am feeling. And the primary emotion I feel is sorrow. Yes, I feel fear, and anxiety, and anger, and rage. But mostly, I just feel sorrow. Sorrow for these babies who will never get to grow up. Sorrow for these mothers who will never get to bring her child to her breast.

And in my sorrow I weep. This Rachel is weeping for her children...for they are no more. (Matthew 2:18)

Steaming Heap of Walking Compost

A patient received some difficult news today. The results of the various tests have come back and surgery is no longer an option. In his mind, his death is imminent.

"I'm a dead man walking," he said to me. "You're looking at a corpse, nothing but a steaming heap of walking compost."

With such vivid metaphors, he continued to express his grief, rage, frustration, and despair. "What's the point of it all? There is no point. I'm going to die. We're all going to die. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We're born, we suffer pain and loss and rejection, and we die. You, me, everyone - all nothing but walking compost."

I couldn't help but think of the smudges on the foreheads of so many Christian people today. It's Ash Wednesday. And so many who profess the Christian faith have been marked with ashes, smudges into a cross. They have heard the uttering of the words, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Death is certain. For me. For you. For the man who heard the difficult news today. But while I can empathize with him, I cannot share his present belief that this certainty of death makes life meaningless. If anything, the uncertainty of tomorrow gives me the opportunity to grasp today with passionate abandon: to love deeply, to be completely honest with myself and others, to release anger and guilt and those life-sucking bad vibes. If I am nothing but walking compost, I want to be the richest, most stable, most nutrient-filled, most purposeful biodegradation of organic matter I can possibly be.