A Lenten Apology

Glimmers

April 11, 2014

“Through some moment of beauty or pain, some sudden turning of our lives, we catch glimmers of at least what the saints are blinded by…” (Frederick Buechner, Listening To Your Life, p. 169) 

In younger days, I often made fun of Lent. “Lent? You mean that fuzz that gets trapped in your belly button?” All in good fun and all from the vantage point of an outsider.

Lent- the season that spans the Christian calendar from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday, is not observed in many evangelical churches, including the one to which I belong. There are several reasons for this, historical and theological, that I won’t go into here. All that is to say, that Lent has always been strange to me- strange in the sense of eating mussels, raw oysters or bungie jumping. I just didn’t get it. I had never tried them either and was pretty sure I wouldn’t like them if I did.

 Ash Wednesday begins with the imposition of ashes-burned remains of the prior year’s palm fronds from Palm Sunday. “Remember O man that dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return,” is recited as the ashes are spread on the forehead in a cross-shaped marking. Churches remove bright decorations for the season and hymn selections reflect a somber, sober  tone. “What a downer!” I used to think.

Over the years, I have gained many friends and colleagues from these more liturgical groups and, gradually, my understanding of Lent has deepened. I have come to appreciate the emotional movement of somber reflection of these forty-plus days that contemplates the suffering and passion of Jesus and explodes with joy on Easter Sunday. And I have also come to appreciate the practice of “giving something up for Lent.” I did it for the first time this year.

Giving up something for Lent is a way of participating in Christ’s suffering. I used to ridicule the practice, scoffing, “how can giving up chocolate for a few weeks possibly imitate the brutality of that?” Well, it can’t, and it isn’t meant to. It is meant to stir reflection.

So this year, I decided to give it a try. Now, I’m not going to tell you what I offered up, but suffice it to say it was no big thing. It was simply something I enjoy, nothing immoral or even fattening for that matter, just enjoyable to me. I can’t tell you how many times I have been tempted to enjoy what I had given up and how badly I have wanted it. I want it so badly because it is off-limits! Delayed, deferred until Easter! But I want it NOW! This “no big thing” became a big thing by my telling myself I couldn’t have it. And it has been much more difficult than I ever expected.

So, to all my friends observing Lent in the true spirit of the season, you have my new-found respect and humble apology.

Jerald

 

A Failure to Communicate

April 4, 2014

Each month I have the honor of presenting to new care partners at our hospital’s general orientation. My topic is teamwork, and in it I talk a great deal about communication. One of the primary messages is that teamwork and communication are more complicated than they may at first appear. In recent days, I have had three instances where it was assumed communication was clear, but clearly it wasn’t.

My wife and I have the same hair stylist. At my appointment a few weeks ago, Katie asked how my wife liked her new hair style. She had let her hair grow for months to be able to have it cut shoulder-length with it being a bit longer in the front than in the back.  I responded that she didn’t like it and that she wanted it cut so that the length was the same in front and back. When my wife next went to the stylist, Katie asked, “Why do you want to get it all cut off after you went to all that effort to get it to grow out?” “Who told you that?” “That’s what Jerald said when he was here,” she said. “No, I don’t want to cut it short again, I just want the back the same length as the front.” “Oh!” she said. “I must have misunderstood.”

Last year, I attended the Boy Scout’s Golden Eagle award dinner. It is an annual fundraiser to support Boy Scouts Central Florida Council. This year, I asked my wife if she’d like to go with me. She was unsure at first, but finally agreed. The fact that it was on her birthday only added to her reluctance. “On my birthday!???” On the day of the event, I went online to double check the proper attire for the evening. Business attire. I told my wife and she said she had that black pantsuit with the orange jacket. “Perfect,” I said. “But won’t I get cold?” she asked. “It isn’t very warm.” “Why would you be cold?” I replied. It turns out she thought that because it was a Boy Scout dinner and Boy Scouts are all about camping and outdoor activities, the dinner would be hot dogs and hamburgers at some outdoors location! I laughed and told her that it was a nice, sit down, indoors awards dinner.” “Oh,” she said. Again, I thought I had communicated. I had been there before and knew exactly what to expect, and I thought she did too. All the while, when we talked about it, we both had very different word pictures of what we were talking about.

This past week, I came across a far more serious example of the problems associated with inadequate communication. A gentleman who was a patient I met in the course of my hospital work told his story. He said he had not been in the hospital since the days just after he was born. He has had very little exposure to the medical profession. “I never get sick and I never go to the doctor,” he said. Suffering from shortness of breath at home and feeling quite frightened by it, he called 911. By the time they arrived he was in severe respiratory distress. He said, “They asked me if I had CODZ or something.” “I said, ‘why are you asking me questions, I can’t breathe!'” “Then they put this mask on my face and I thought they were going to smother me.”

At the hospital emergency department, the ER physician suspected congestive heart failure, CHF, and consulted a cardiologist. After the cardiologist saw him, he admitted him to the hospital. The next day, a different cardiologist from the same practice came in to see him and introduced himself as his cardiologist. “I told him he was not my cardiologist and I want to see the doctor who admitted me!” “This is my heart we are talking about. I don’t want no substitute! I want MY cardiologist!” “I didn’t understand,” he said. “Nobody told me why they were putting that mask on my face and nobody told me a different doctor would be following me in the hospital.” “I guess they thought I knew that’s how things worked.” “Well, I didn’t.” Now he says he understands and is sorry that he put the EMS folk and the cardiologist office through such a hard time.

I’ll conclude with the quote I use at hospital orientation…

“I know you think you understand what you thought I said, but I am not sure you are aware that what you heard is not what I meant.”

Communication. It ain’t as easy as it looks.

Blessings to all of you,

Jerald

 

All opinions expressed herein are solely my own and do not necessarily represent those of Parrish Medical Center.