Today was Sunday. I got up early and prepared to go to church, just as I have for 51 years. Since Trish and I have been married, we have probably missed church no more than two or three Sundays. But today I awoke and prepared to go to church without her. I had my cry about that for a while. Then, a passage came to my mind. I thought of the opening of The Revelation. John the Revelator begins his account of that bizarre and wonderful vision by saying, “I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day.”
I thought about that a bit.
John was old. He had been exiled to Patmos by the Roman government. On that particular Sunday morning, he was far from home. Life had turned difficult. But it was the Lord’s Day. So he got "in the Spirit."
I thought to myself, "today, Trish is in great danger. She experiences a few minutes of mental twilight every few hours and then slips back into that void where I cannot reach her. I am missing her. I am grieving. But it is the Lord’s Day. It is the day the Lord has made. I cannot help her, I cannot pull her out of her coma. If I am to be of any benefit to her or to myself, I need to be "in the Spirit."
I drove to our early service, the one that begins at 7:45 AM. We serve communion every Sunday in that service and I wanted to receive Communion and prepare myself for the day. My son-in-law, Austin, was speaking today in that service, I listened carefully as he spoke from Isaiah 6. "In the year King Uzziah died, "the prophet Isaiah saw the Lord. When all was in chaos round him, Isaiah entered the glory. As I listened, Austin said thing in particular that struck me. I wrote it down . "Above all things," he said, "Satan hates the holiness, the transcendence, of God. Our enemy's main work consists in keeping people from experiencing God's presence."
When someone is in deep trouble, like we are this week, it is all the more essential to get "in the Spirit." It is in the Spirit," in the experience of the transcendent glory of God, that one rises above the nasty stuff and remembers that who we are.
Well, I stayed for a few minutes into the next service. I wanted to briefly greet everyone. I also wanted to sing with my children. That's what we do in our family when we are in trouble. We sing.
After we had sung, Monica Dong, a dear lady in the church here, walked to the platform. She took the microphone. Now, Monica came to America as a refugee after the war. She travels to Viet Nam to encourage the believers there but here at home, she rarely speaks up. But today she prayed boldly, fervently and with much tears. She did this for three or four minutes. Then she shouted, "TRISH, WAKE UP!". We all felt the Spirit moving through her words. I could hardly wait to get to the hospital.
A few minutes later, Pastor Hardwick told me that in Nashville at Christ Church this morning, the congregation experienced much the same thing as we had here. The congregation was seized with a spirit of intercessory prayer. Suddenly, in the midst of the Spirit, Pastor Hardwick prayed fervently, "LORD, YOU WOKE UP THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE GOSPELS. WAKE TRISH UP TODAY!"
When we do not know what to prayer, the Spirit prays for us. The Spirit was speaking through his church as fervent prayer was offered for my wife.
Well, she did wake up, at least for a while. She became so moved to see us, however, that she threw up. Then her blood pressure got very high. The nurse finally had to sedate her and ask us not to overdo it. Sometimes, healing can't be hurried. However, I am content with what happened today. Healing is still healing even when it is slow!
Tonight, the hospital did an MRI. The doctors want to determine why her left side is still paralyzed. I'll let you know tomorrow or the next day what they discover.
I did want you to know about something else that happened, though. This afternoon, as I was waking from a nap at a friend's house, I saw Trish's room in the ICU. I watched as a doctor whom I did not know hung a large bottle of some kind of liquid up on her IV tree. I watched as he hooked it up to her arm. On the side of the bottle, I read the label: "RESTORE."
Now I have learned to walk softly through matters involving spiritual gifts. We are, after all, fallen creatures. We are not always right about what we believe God to be saying at any given time about any given subject. Our own self-will is involved with every opinion awe make and every judgment we form. So our own desires color all that we perceive. That is why careful discernment should be a central part of trying to hear from God. But if I am discerning correctly all that has happened today, God has decided to deliver and restore Trish to good health. Time will tell if this is so, and it is in Gods hands, but that is what I believe.
Last night, T.F. Tenney, a well known Pentecostal pastor (and father of the author by the same name,) called me. After he prayed a beautiful and moving prayer for Trish and me, he said. "Dan, when you can't track God, you have to trust Him." Well, I do trust Him. I know that Trish would want nothing less that the perfect will of God for her. That is what I want too, at least tonight.
There are many days when I am not good at all of this. Today though, was a good day. It was the Lord's Day. I can truly say with John the Revelator that I have been "in the Spirit." The two main churches in our lives, The Valley Cathedral, where we pastor, and Christ Church, our home church in Nashville, lifted us up to God. So today, we saw God walking among the candlesticks. We joined our voices with saints, angels and cherubim. We cried, "Holy, Holy, Holy."
Today, the enemy of our souls failed to keep us from experiencing the glory and holiness of God.
It was a good day.
Sunday, June 6, 2004
Saturday, June 5, 2004
Trish #4
At one point today, Trish gripped my hand and patted it. Then, she tried to type on top of my hand. Her fingers typed away at some invisible typewriter, trying desperately to communicate with me. I seriously tried to make out the words for awhile but could not. Finally I said, "I can't understand, honey. But we'll tap three times, like this, to mean I love you." So she stopped typing and then tapped distinctly three times. Then my daughter, Tiffany held her hand and told her that she loved her.
"TAP, TAP, TAP," Trish signaled. Then a space. Then "TAP,TAP, TAP" again. Then again.
No love letter was ever more eloquent, no poem ever more sublime. A message from the deepest inner space where a loved one is trapped for the moment comes flying through all the fog and darkness.
TAP! TAP! TAP! "I am here and I have not forgotten all those I love in the outside world.
TAP! TAP! TAP! Please hear me, I am not gone. I am here!"
Nothing else needed to be said. The taps were more than enough for today.
I wonder if our prayers are like that to God? A sign and a cry, uplifted hands, folded hands, signing the cross, words in ecstatic language and stammering lips, silly words, foolish words, faltering words, one word spoken over and over -- all of them are ways to say, "God, my love, my eternal home, I am here trying to be present to you. I have no words. I do not understand spiritual things -- TAP!TAP! TAP! Hear me, my Lord, my Savior."
Somewhere outside time and space, in regions unknown and unimaginable, the High and Holy God hears every sigh and collects every tear. The foolishness and stammering, the grunts and moans are music to his ears. He speaks but we can't always hear. We get frustrated and shout or decide not to speak. But he hears anyway. We are in a dark place but He is not. We are limited and confused but HE is not. He is in the light and waits for our deliverance and healing, when that which is corruptible shall put on incorruptibility.
"Keep tapping," he says gently. "Don't wait until you have the words and wherewithal to speak to me, Speak to me with whatever you have. I am listening and your efforts speak all that I need to have right now.
Lord, if I could descend into that dark space where Trish is, I would. I would go there and hold her hand. I would descend into the void to meet with her.
"I have already done that," he says.
Tomorrow before I receive communion, I will declare "he descended into Hell." Believers can't go anywhere in the universe where God cannot reach us.
God is down there in that canyon with my wife. "TAP! TAP! TAP!" she shouts. And her Lord stands beside her and says, "tap three times for me too."
"TAP, TAP, TAP," Trish signaled. Then a space. Then "TAP,TAP, TAP" again. Then again.
No love letter was ever more eloquent, no poem ever more sublime. A message from the deepest inner space where a loved one is trapped for the moment comes flying through all the fog and darkness.
TAP! TAP! TAP! "I am here and I have not forgotten all those I love in the outside world.
TAP! TAP! TAP! Please hear me, I am not gone. I am here!"
Nothing else needed to be said. The taps were more than enough for today.
I wonder if our prayers are like that to God? A sign and a cry, uplifted hands, folded hands, signing the cross, words in ecstatic language and stammering lips, silly words, foolish words, faltering words, one word spoken over and over -- all of them are ways to say, "God, my love, my eternal home, I am here trying to be present to you. I have no words. I do not understand spiritual things -- TAP!TAP! TAP! Hear me, my Lord, my Savior."
Somewhere outside time and space, in regions unknown and unimaginable, the High and Holy God hears every sigh and collects every tear. The foolishness and stammering, the grunts and moans are music to his ears. He speaks but we can't always hear. We get frustrated and shout or decide not to speak. But he hears anyway. We are in a dark place but He is not. We are limited and confused but HE is not. He is in the light and waits for our deliverance and healing, when that which is corruptible shall put on incorruptibility.
"Keep tapping," he says gently. "Don't wait until you have the words and wherewithal to speak to me, Speak to me with whatever you have. I am listening and your efforts speak all that I need to have right now.
Lord, if I could descend into that dark space where Trish is, I would. I would go there and hold her hand. I would descend into the void to meet with her.
"I have already done that," he says.
Tomorrow before I receive communion, I will declare "he descended into Hell." Believers can't go anywhere in the universe where God cannot reach us.
God is down there in that canyon with my wife. "TAP! TAP! TAP!" she shouts. And her Lord stands beside her and says, "tap three times for me too."
Trish #3
I started the day at the hospital. John Dyson, my friend of twenty years, was there and we were talking. I told him how much the Psalm reading the day before had moved me and what all that reading had revealed to me about what we are going through. I kept talking but John looked puzzled. Finally he said, "that is a wonderful passage Dan but it wasn't yesterday's Psalm. When we reminded me of where we currently reading from. I realized that I had read the "wrong" passage the day before.
For years, John and I have read the suggested daily passages from the Book of Common Prayer each morning. We follow what is called the "daily office," an ancient discipline for turning daily Bible reading into prayer. We often discuss the issues of the church we serve in light of the passages we have read that day. This has been a powerful prayer tool for us both.
Of course, in the light of my wife's current struggle for life, making a little mistake about the daily reading is probably at the very bottom of my priorities. Interestingly enough though, the realization that I had read the "wrong" passages the day before became the thought around which the events of my day decided to wrap themselves.
Pastor Hardwick called me from Nashville. Among the many encouraging things he said, he reminded me, "Dan, a good man's steps are ordered of the Lord." After we talked, I thought to myself, "in a fallen world we often stumble more than we walk. If a good man's steps are ordered of the Lord, perhaps sometimes a good man's stumbling are ordered by the Lord too!" Maybe its not always about taking confident, deliberate steps. Maybe sometimes its is about trusting God to make all our stumbling right.
I went in to see Trish.
"No change," the nurse said.
I took my wife's hand. I said, " Darling, I am going to read to you some passages from the scripture."
So I opened up today's Psalm. The 40th, as it turns out.
"He lifted me out of a desolate pit, out of the mire and the clay. He sat my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure."
I prayed, "Lord, Trish is in a deep pit right now. Lift her up. Set her feet on the rock"
Her body shook. She tried to open her eyes to pray with me. We had a moment. Just a brief moment to be sure, but a wonderful moment nonetheless. We had stumbled together. The Lord had "set our feet upon a rock."
I was raised Pentecostal; a song can leap in my head without warning at any time. Since I was praying the 40th Psalm, words and music from my childhood naturally came flooding into my mind and heart:
"He brought me out of the miry clay! He set my feet on the rock to stay. He put a song in my heart to stay -- a song of praise, Hallelulla!"
The day went on.
Don Montgomery came by.
Don is a Roman Catholic man here in Phoenix whom I heard speak at a Cursillo (Tres Dias) weekend. He is retired and now serves God by making crosses for people. Don stumbles around trying to do good and God uses him. When he had spoken at the Tres Dias meeting, I had felt the presence of God. So I asked if he would come and pray with us. He came and prayed.
The doctor decided to do an MRI. Trish has not been moving her left side and the doctors wanted to know why. After they were finished, the doctor said "the MRI was real good. No abnormalities. The blood has drained. The bleeding has stopped."
The song returned --
"I'll sing of the pit with its gloom and despair. I'll praise my dear Father who answered my prayer! He brought me out of the miry clay."
I went to a friend's house to rest and fell into a deep sleep for an hour or so. Then I went to my daughters house to eat dinner.
I returned to the hospital about 8:00 PM and went in to see Trish. I took her hand. "Hi sweetheart," I said.
Suddenly, she gripped my hand, opened her eyes and began to cry. Trish's mother, father, sister and our daughter all came in, one at a time. Trish was obviously distressed. She was frustrated and confused with the breathing tube. Finally, the nurse even decided to sedate her again. Nonetheless, she had been with us for several minutes. The Lord had allowed her to emerge from her desolate pit for a glimpse of the world outside her head. She was obviously healing. She will soon be lifted upon a rock. God will soon fill her heart with a song of praise to her God. Halleluiah!
Tonight, I am praising God because my wife recognized me! I am praising God because she gripped my hand! I am praising God because my wife is emerging from her desolate pit.
This joy and gratitude brings me at the end of my day returning to the question I posed to myself early this morning. "Why did I read the 'wrong' passage yesterday? And why was the "wrong" passage really the 'right' one?" ( I hope most of you are not as obsessive as I am!)
I believe there is an answer.
Last Sunday was Pentecost and Pentecost is the really last "big" Sunday of the church year. After Pentecost, one enters "ordinary time." Yuck! Ordinary time is months and months of "nothing special." It is week after week of just reading the Bible, praying, visiting the sick and simple stuff like that. It is the time of the year when we are supposed to work into the fabric of our lives all the lessons we heard at Christmas, Easter, Pentecost and all the other exciting and "special" days. But really it just feels a long stretch of nothing.
Easter and Christmas are wonderful for everyone. Sometimes in church work we keep trying to make every Sunday Christmas or Easter. Most of us just don't like ordinary time. But the truth is, if we don't learn what to do with ordinary time, we never really become disciples at all.
I am convinced that constantly working to put on good dramas, being anxious about buying the best and latest kinds of electronic gadgetry or always having some impressive speaker for Sunday services -- constantly trying to make all these special and fun things the essence of our faith -- simply won't help when we face seasons such as the one Trish and I are now facing. Even all the yelling and thrashing about that some people think of as the "anointing pf the Spirit " is next to worthless in days like we have been facing this week. For weeks like this one, we must know how faith looks in ordinary time, how faith functions when things are just what they are; how faith works when we stumble because we are suddenly not very good at walking through such slippery places.
Today I learned that when you know that God is about to deliver you from the desolate pit, you can become delighted simply because you feel the grip of your partners hand. I learned that if I am always running from ordinary time, if my faith can only be expressed through big and powerful things, I will never discover the bliss often hides within such mundane and ordinary things. So I learned today that life is good, even when it is ordinary. No, especially when it is ordinary! And I learned that if we stumble, its no big deal. We just need to stumble on the right road and in the right direction.
Ordinary time is going to be good this year. Christmas can wait.
For years, John and I have read the suggested daily passages from the Book of Common Prayer each morning. We follow what is called the "daily office," an ancient discipline for turning daily Bible reading into prayer. We often discuss the issues of the church we serve in light of the passages we have read that day. This has been a powerful prayer tool for us both.
Of course, in the light of my wife's current struggle for life, making a little mistake about the daily reading is probably at the very bottom of my priorities. Interestingly enough though, the realization that I had read the "wrong" passages the day before became the thought around which the events of my day decided to wrap themselves.
Pastor Hardwick called me from Nashville. Among the many encouraging things he said, he reminded me, "Dan, a good man's steps are ordered of the Lord." After we talked, I thought to myself, "in a fallen world we often stumble more than we walk. If a good man's steps are ordered of the Lord, perhaps sometimes a good man's stumbling are ordered by the Lord too!" Maybe its not always about taking confident, deliberate steps. Maybe sometimes its is about trusting God to make all our stumbling right.
I went in to see Trish.
"No change," the nurse said.
I took my wife's hand. I said, " Darling, I am going to read to you some passages from the scripture."
So I opened up today's Psalm. The 40th, as it turns out.
"He lifted me out of a desolate pit, out of the mire and the clay. He sat my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure."
I prayed, "Lord, Trish is in a deep pit right now. Lift her up. Set her feet on the rock"
Her body shook. She tried to open her eyes to pray with me. We had a moment. Just a brief moment to be sure, but a wonderful moment nonetheless. We had stumbled together. The Lord had "set our feet upon a rock."
I was raised Pentecostal; a song can leap in my head without warning at any time. Since I was praying the 40th Psalm, words and music from my childhood naturally came flooding into my mind and heart:
"He brought me out of the miry clay! He set my feet on the rock to stay. He put a song in my heart to stay -- a song of praise, Hallelulla!"
The day went on.
Don Montgomery came by.
Don is a Roman Catholic man here in Phoenix whom I heard speak at a Cursillo (Tres Dias) weekend. He is retired and now serves God by making crosses for people. Don stumbles around trying to do good and God uses him. When he had spoken at the Tres Dias meeting, I had felt the presence of God. So I asked if he would come and pray with us. He came and prayed.
The doctor decided to do an MRI. Trish has not been moving her left side and the doctors wanted to know why. After they were finished, the doctor said "the MRI was real good. No abnormalities. The blood has drained. The bleeding has stopped."
The song returned --
"I'll sing of the pit with its gloom and despair. I'll praise my dear Father who answered my prayer! He brought me out of the miry clay."
I went to a friend's house to rest and fell into a deep sleep for an hour or so. Then I went to my daughters house to eat dinner.
I returned to the hospital about 8:00 PM and went in to see Trish. I took her hand. "Hi sweetheart," I said.
Suddenly, she gripped my hand, opened her eyes and began to cry. Trish's mother, father, sister and our daughter all came in, one at a time. Trish was obviously distressed. She was frustrated and confused with the breathing tube. Finally, the nurse even decided to sedate her again. Nonetheless, she had been with us for several minutes. The Lord had allowed her to emerge from her desolate pit for a glimpse of the world outside her head. She was obviously healing. She will soon be lifted upon a rock. God will soon fill her heart with a song of praise to her God. Halleluiah!
Tonight, I am praising God because my wife recognized me! I am praising God because she gripped my hand! I am praising God because my wife is emerging from her desolate pit.
This joy and gratitude brings me at the end of my day returning to the question I posed to myself early this morning. "Why did I read the 'wrong' passage yesterday? And why was the "wrong" passage really the 'right' one?" ( I hope most of you are not as obsessive as I am!)
I believe there is an answer.
Last Sunday was Pentecost and Pentecost is the really last "big" Sunday of the church year. After Pentecost, one enters "ordinary time." Yuck! Ordinary time is months and months of "nothing special." It is week after week of just reading the Bible, praying, visiting the sick and simple stuff like that. It is the time of the year when we are supposed to work into the fabric of our lives all the lessons we heard at Christmas, Easter, Pentecost and all the other exciting and "special" days. But really it just feels a long stretch of nothing.
Easter and Christmas are wonderful for everyone. Sometimes in church work we keep trying to make every Sunday Christmas or Easter. Most of us just don't like ordinary time. But the truth is, if we don't learn what to do with ordinary time, we never really become disciples at all.
I am convinced that constantly working to put on good dramas, being anxious about buying the best and latest kinds of electronic gadgetry or always having some impressive speaker for Sunday services -- constantly trying to make all these special and fun things the essence of our faith -- simply won't help when we face seasons such as the one Trish and I are now facing. Even all the yelling and thrashing about that some people think of as the "anointing pf the Spirit " is next to worthless in days like we have been facing this week. For weeks like this one, we must know how faith looks in ordinary time, how faith functions when things are just what they are; how faith works when we stumble because we are suddenly not very good at walking through such slippery places.
Today I learned that when you know that God is about to deliver you from the desolate pit, you can become delighted simply because you feel the grip of your partners hand. I learned that if I am always running from ordinary time, if my faith can only be expressed through big and powerful things, I will never discover the bliss often hides within such mundane and ordinary things. So I learned today that life is good, even when it is ordinary. No, especially when it is ordinary! And I learned that if we stumble, its no big deal. We just need to stumble on the right road and in the right direction.
Ordinary time is going to be good this year. Christmas can wait.
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