Alleluia

Today is Easter Sunday, the Christian tradition’s celebration of the resurrection of Jesus.  Churches all over the world  proclaim “Alleluia, He is risen!” This day, more than any other, is the cornerstone of faith for many…the very existence of Easter speaks to the human soul’s experience of surprise, of amazement, of miracle–and of new life.  The gospel of Matthew tells of Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” going early in the morning to visit the tomb where Jesus was buried. They found that Jesus’ body was not there.  We read that an angel appeared and told them “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here…”  As the women run to tell their friends, they meet Jesus, who also tells them “Do not be afraid…” 

Some days ago, I attended a workshop at the Quaker retreat center Pendle Hill (www.pendlehill.org) that was led by Carrie Newcomer (www.carrienewcomer.com) and Faith Hawkins.  The workshop focused on the practice of Midrash, or asking questions of sacred texts.  As our gathered community broke open holy writings and shared questions and retold sacred stories, we saw how holiness appears when we bear witness to each other’s lives, to each other’s stories, to each other’s sorrows and joys and hopes and dreams.  We talked about how the act of witnessing, hearing, seeing each other brought awareness of the holiness that is all around us all the time.  I left Pendle Hill with a heart filled with yearning to carry the holy, to share the sacred.

Apparent Grace is standing before us on this Easter day.  The Holy Is.  The paradox of Easter is that we are invited to “see” not only what “is”, but today what “is not.”  We see holiness and we see absence of death; we see resurrection and we run to tell those we love. 

Our world is filled with those who are waiting for hope, waiting for healing, waiting to be seen and heard into holiness.  When we proclaim “Alleluia” today, let us remember to carry Grace within our hearts to the world in which we live. Let us dare to be fearless and to tell others “Do not be afraid…”  Let us proclaim new life, in our own hearts and to others…may we live and breathe this day and all our days in the knowledge of our holy connectedness, to each other and to Spirit and to life itself.

Happy Easter…may you know joy and peace in this holy time of new life!

It’s Not Over Until It’s Over: Lent and the Home Stretch

My friend and teacher Jennifer Louden (see her amazing work at www.jenniferlouden.com) often tells retreatants that they may feel tempted to begin to “check out” toward the end of a retreat experience. I have experienced this myself many times in different contexts: beginning to mentally move into the “next thing” while an event is still unfolding, thinking of what to say next in a conversation rather than listening to who is speaking, thinking about my grocery list near the end of a TV program… Jennifer counsels her retreatants to “not leave themselves” and to stay with their experience of being on retreat until the retreat is over. This is important counsel and helpful encouragement at this stage in the season of Lent for many of us.

A week from tomorrow is Maundy Thursday, also known as Holy Thursday. In many Christian traditions, this begins the most sacred time of the liturgical year, the Triduum. Three liturgical experiences–Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Great Vigil of Easter–all connect as one service, one worship experience. Those of us who are drawn to practice being pilgrims will follow the thread of the Triduum, being present to the events in the final days of Jesus’ life before and during his death and resurrection. There is great power in these experiences and we are given the opportunity to ponder and pray through the meanings of death and rebirth in our own lives and in our world.

But today, and all the next seven days, it is still Lent. Only a few more days until the celebration of the solemn and sacred Triduum mysteries in the Christian tradition–but the time is not here yet. Especially for clergy or clergy families or church leaders, it can be very tempting to leap ahead a week and give up this last week of Lent in exchange for anticipating or planning Easter and its celebration. Yet, isn’t there something important about being patient and seeing this season of Lent through till its end? How many times have I learned that the most surprising things I discover arrive at the very end, or almost at the very end, of any experience? Missing these surprises is the risk we take when we lean too far into the future.

I would like to suggest that, over these next few days, maybe we can breathe a little more deeply into the desert space that is the season of Lent. Maybe we can sit still in the silence of our own hearts and listen for the Holy One. Whether we have “given up” something for Lent or have practiced “prayer, fasting, and almsgiving” or have just done our best to keep our boat afloat, there are still a few more days to visit the deep corners of our heart and to keep company with our spirit.

If we can find time and space to be still over the next few days, even for a little while, we can know the grace of being present to what is. We can find our way back to the moment that is now (which is of course the only moment that we have).

Let us wait with patience and tenderness; let us not forget to visit our own hearts during these last days of this gift we have been given, the season of Lent. Let us continue to hold our world and those we love in our prayer and let us continue to await resurrection in hope.

An Acceptable Time–Ash Wednesday and All the Rest

I found this post right after I published the last one tonight…this one was a draft that I thought had been eaten by gremlins at my hotel in Fort Worth that week of Ash Wednesday. So, I am backpedaling to the beginning of Lent to weave this into the middle of the season. Wishing you all peace as I do so…

“As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. For he says, ‘At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.’ See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!” 2 Corinthians 6: 1-2

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season of Lent. I was out of town and went to a noon Mass at a cathedral near my hotel. It was a big church and as I walked in, only five minutes before the start of the service, there were just a few people in the pews.

Then, it seemed like all at once, hundreds of people were streaming in. They filled all the pews, stood in the aisle, and waited in the back of the church. In only five minutes’ time, I was surrounded by men and women and children and babies and very old people. I remembered hearing once that while Christmas and Easter are thought to be the busiest “church days,” actually Ash Wednesday often has the largest crowds in attendance. I heard someone say that this is because everyone can receive ashes on their forehead and no one is turned away.

With all these people, I prayed. With all these people, I waited in line to have ashes rubbed on my forehead in the sign of a cross. With all these people, I heard “Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return.”. And the words were proclaimed, “See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!”

It was kind of like coming home for the holidays to a very large family. Standing there among all these strangers, young and old, I felt blessed just to be on the journey. I also felt not-separate but that we all really are traveling together.

As this holy time of Lent begins, I hope for time to center down…to rest…to pray…to wait for God. I will carry the grace of my sisters and brothers (strangers skin-deep only) in my heart along the way. May we all know the holy truth of our oneness as we enter this season and may we await resurrection with hope and joy.

Lent, So Far

Today is Tuesday following the third Sunday in Lent…  So far, here is my Lenten experience:  Ash Wednesday at St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cathedral in Fort Worth (noon service among hundreds but no one I knew), First Sunday of Lent at St. Stephen’s Episcopal in Houston (I was a little late after picking up relatives from the airport), the following Wednesday evening reconciliation service (again I was a little late–they started earlier than planned so I was late even though really a little early), Second Sunday of Lent skipped church with my priest husband (who was OFF after weeks and weeks of multiple liturgies) and slept in, and last but not least, the Third Sunday of Lent (last Sunday) back at St. Stephen’s and once again a little bit late…  Kind of a ragamuffin effort so far.  And, I had plans to blog my way through Lent–writing daily?  Writing weekly?  Reflecting on scripture?  Or, I wondered, what about a digital sabbatical?  Taking a real break and no Facebook, Twitter, or WordPress…

Well, none of the above is the answer.  “None of the above” is the right answer, at least for me.  If nothing else, I have learned over the years that the season of Lent comes with its own opportunities, sought or not, intentional or not, to stare in the face of our own humanity.  I have joked before that for me it makes no sense to “give something up” for Lent (even though I usually do, in fits and spurts) because somehow each year, it works out that Lent takes something from me whether I give anything up or not.  And so, I wonder if this desert season isn’t in the end really about just being with who we are–with all our good intentions and all our frustrations and perhaps even all our broken promises.  There is not much in our culture that supports immersion into the Lenten path.  And yet, staring at the news on TV, we have seen earthquakes and tsunamis and bombs falling and death and darkness and budget cuts and lots of suffering with little solace available.  So, the starkness of Lent seems to echo the angry and sad chaos of our planet.  It is not so easy to be who we are after all.

We wait for Resurrection.  It seems a long time coming, though we know It has already come and in fact is already here.  The Texas wildflowers alone proclaim it.  Bluebonnets, snapdragons, buttercups all beginning to bloom…  In another three weeks, we will be in the midst of Holy Week and approaching the Triduum celebration of Maundy Thursday/Good Friday/Holy Saturday and Easter.  There will be time for candy and tulips and singing Alleluia in church and a day off from work and school (unless of course you are a clergy person), and it will be the very climax of our common liturgical year.  New life all around and for everyone…

So, I am hanging in there–blogging or not, writing or not, trying to catch the balls that are thrown my way as best I can. And even in the very middle of Lent, I see the grace apparent when we allow ourselves to be just who we are, even when we are not sure who that is.  God knows, God sees, Grace abounds. 

When simply showing up becomes our spiritual practice, we can open to what lies in front of us.  The unexpected surprises us, even in Lent. There is room for all of us and there is no such thing as not doing Lent “right.” And so, I wish you a holy Lent and the space and time to behold Light and Grace in your heart and in your life…just as it is.

My Husband’s Testimony in Austin or I Could Really Use a Wish Right Now part 2

So, yesterday my husband, Bob Flick, testified in Austin to the House Appropriations Committee regarding Article II of the House Appropriations bill aka HB 1.  I am going to post the video link here.  It is seven or so hours long.  This is all about testimony related to funding for health and human services funding in Texas starting September 1, 2011 through August 31, 2013.  By then our daughter will have graduated from high school.  This is the work (public sector mental health and developmental disabilities) I have done just about forever. 

If you want to see what Bob said (and I am so very very proud of him), click on the link and then scroll on the video link to 6:33:40.  Bob’s testimony lasts three minutes (the limit) and ends at 6:33:50.  I am understandably biased but I think he says in three minutes the crux of the whole matter. 

http://www.house.state.tx.us/video-audio/committee-broadcasts/committee-archives/player/?session=82&committee=010&ram=11021807010

Also you need Real Player to watch the clip.  If you want to watch the whole about-seven-hours of testimony, here it is.  If you want to see Bob’s three minutes, scroll to his part near the end. 

If you just believe that we should continue to care for those with mental illness and developmental disabilities in the state of Texas (knowing that God loves us all so very very much) and you happen to live in Texas, please please please let your local state senator and representative know.

If you don’t live in Texas, please say a prayer for those of us who do, and especially for our sisters and brothers with mental illness and developmental disabilities and their families.

Wishing alone won’t get us there.

I Could Really Use a Wish Right Now

B.o.B.’s song “Airplanes (I Could Really Use a Wish Right Now)” keeps running in my head these days–especially the whispered refrain “wish right now, wish right now, wish right now.”  And I ask myself, should I be wishing?  Or should I be praying?  And where is faith these days?

I am pretty ambivalent about the season of winter.  On the one hand, if I happen to be in a place where it is snowing and where I don’t have to do anything but watch it fall, I love the sense of peace and quiet and beauty and stillness that winter brings.  I love fireplaces and drinking spiced tea and curling up while the winds blow outside.  On the other hand, being in the dark both driving to work and driving home from work makes me feel imprisoned.  I drag jackets and coats and scarves everywhere I go and then leave them and forget where they are.  I miss the sun.  It feels pretty hard to just get up and get the basics of life taken care of in these winter months–when I am at home, at work, and having to navigate daily life (and not on a beautiful mountain somewhere rocking by a fireplace while beautiful snowflakes fall outside).  I want to sleep more.

And, in the midst of this hibernation longing of mine, the state legislature is convening in Austin.  Our Texas lawmakers are proposing a budget for the next biennium that could cut up to half of the current general revenue funding for community safety net services for persons with mental retardation and autism spectrum disorders.  This budget could cut up to twenty percent of public mental health services funding, leaving thousands who have serious mental illnesses such as schizophrenia with no treatment options.  Human services work has always been an uphill endeavor–the struggle to advocate for and care for those who, but for the grace of God, could be any of us (and are some of us, as pretty much every family is touched in some way by these conditions).  Brain disorders and disabilities are as biological as heart disease and kidney disease and all other medical conditions.  No one asks for a mental or developmental disability.  In the realm of unity, of no separation, of our sisterhood and brotherhood, we are all one and anyone’s pain is all our pain.

Pray for grace and wisdom to shine in the hearts of the decision makers.  Pray for healing of the brokenness we all in truth share.  There are no easy answers.

This season of winter will soon pass–but for those who bravely live with mental illness and developmental disabilities, and for their families and those who love them, the struggle continues.

I could really use a wish right now.

Self-Care for Caregivers and Everyone Else

Last November I had the opportunity to write a column for the Medical Journal Houston about physicians and self-care. It was published in the December issue. Although the article focused on doctors, the issue of self-care seems to be a pretty universal conundrum for anyone who cares for someone else, either professionally or personally–which as far as I can tell is just about everyone.

The article suggests ten ideas for self-care…take a look and see what you think (as the airlines say, put on your own oxygen mask first…) and please comment if you feel so led. Here is a pdf link that hopefully works.

medical_journal_houston_flick_column_december_2010

What I Remembered that I Forgot that I Learned Working on the Adolescent Unit

Many years ago, when I was a child psychiatry resident in training, I spent six months working on an adolescent inpatient psychiatry unit.  While I learned a lot about child and adolescent psychiatry during this experience, I also learned a lot about myself and about life.  I learned a lot that seems to have slipped in and out of my mind over the years, and as my psychiatric work has grown more administrative in nature as it is embedded in the context of a resource-scarce public sector environment, it can be easy to begin to lose sight of my original hopes of becoming a healer.

But these are some of the lessons I remember from my work with the kids on that unit all those years ago:

  • Be yourself.  Kids know right away when you are trying to be someone else and it really gets in the way of just about everything.
  • Show up and pay attention.  Those around you may not tell you, but it makes a big difference if you don’t show up.  It also makes a big difference if you do show up but are not really present.
  • Be ready to be surprised.   We don’t know everything that will happen and we can never really know what someone is experiencing inside, so it is a good idea to be open to life as it happens and to practice compassion for everyone.
  • Don’t take anything too personally.  Sometimes when others are grumpy, they are just trying to clarify their boundaries or become themselves a little more fully.  Some folks precipitate conflict because it is easier than to face sadness or separation or loss.  Usually it has little to do with anyone else.
  • Music really is the universal language.  If you want to know someone, listen to their music.  Listen to your own music.  Sing, play an instrument, bang a drum.  Music evokes memories and brings us together.  It even helps with math, so they say.

I had wise teachers in those early days of becoming a fledgling psychiatrist–wise supervisors (whose shoulders I do my best to continue to stand on), wise colleagues (from whom I continue to learn), and most of all, very wise young patients, who so many years later still guide my conscience, reminding me that helping any child is helping all children–indeed is helping us all.

May we always honor and love and care for all the children and adolescents among us, for they are in truth the future and they are in truth the harbors of grace.

Hanging at the Top of the Roller Coaster

What a jumbled up week this has been…  Things I have noticed:

  • Feeling very attached to news from and word about the Arizona shootings/tragedy on January 8.  Sharing the moment of silence during the televised memorial service on January 12 and wanting to be a good person, to be kinder and gentler and stronger and braver.  Horrified at the scope of misery and so very frustrated by how mental illness–a biological illness, treatable when detected and responded to early enough–can still in 2011 be demonized and bear the stigma of carrying accountability that in truth we all share.
  • Finding myself wanting to control everything else possible in my world, just to see if I can.  Knowing that this is futile and not being able to stop trying to do it anyway.
  • Wanting to winter-hibernate.  Feeling like I need more sleep and rest and so not exercising and not journaling.  As if they were mutually exclusive.
  • Our Christmas tree is still up.  I am not ready even now to take it down and put everything away.  The lights remind me of  joy and hope and I still need to be able to see them.  And, it is kind of weird to still have everything up.  This is a familiar annual struggle for me.
  • I spent all of yesterday practicing handbells to play last night at church during a friend’s ordination to the priesthood and found humble satisfaction in actively celebrating.
  • I didn’t honor my own instinct earlier last week and felt sad when I missed a gathering that I really wanted to attend.
  • Rejoiced at the power of medicine and surgery to restore sight to those who cannot see.
  • Kept telling myself “it’s only the second week of the New Year and there is still time to figure 2011 out.”
  • Keenly felt the approaching transition as today we attend our church for the last Sunday (having been part of this community for seven years) and prepare to move with my priest-husband to a new church and a new as yet unknown community.  Knowing a mixture of sadness and excitement as I give thanks for these past years in our family’s life and feeling quite clueless about what lies ahead.  Understanding that this kind of transition is a regular and expected part of the clergy family path.

And so, today, we observe the eve of the day that we celebrate and honor the life of  Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  Even as I juggle interiorly the random notings above, I can feel something centering within me as I recall the loss of this great man.  I think about peace and non-violence and the terrible paradox that took his life and the lives of John and Robert Kennedy.  I think of how much I have been blessed by the many “beloved communities” that have supported and nurtured and challenged and loved me.  I think of how much time is still left for me to grow braver, grow kinder, grow more patient, grow more peaceful and I give thanks. 

This week has felt like ratcheting my way up the giant hill of a roller coaster and now pretty much feels like hanging at the top and waiting for the ride down–kind of scared, kind of excited, hoping/knowing/trusting that the rails will hold me up and that in that security I will be able to fly.  My prayer today is to let off the brakes and say yes to riding down the big hill and to all the holy moments that lie ahead.

Let us honor the memory of Dr. King and let us hold hope for the future like the radiant beacon and shining treasure that it is.

Star

Today is Epiphany, the day celebrated in many Christian traditions as the occasion of the Magi, or the “Three Wise Men”, finding baby Jesus.  We are taught that they followed a bright star in the sky to the baby.  Last Sunday in church, the refrain of our familiar Communion hymn was:

“Star of wonder, star of night, star of royal beauty bright,

Westward leading, still proceeding, guide us to thy perfect light.”

I wish I could say somehow, with certainty, that I, that we, will find the Perfect Light this year, or even in our lifetimes.  We do walk by faith in this Light all our days and all our nights.  But maybe the words that resonate more today are the words “bright” and “still proceeding.”   I was walking in our neighborhood a couple of nights ago and stopped to look at the few stars I could see.  There was one that was very bright–and I thought maybe even royal-beauty-bright.  In the midst of all the Happy New Year frenzy about resolutions and self-improvement and ever-present busy-ness that comes crashing in so soon after Christmas, I found myself wondering about how nice it was to simply watch this one bright star.  There is time for all the rest–for the planning and new calendars and hopes and dreams for the year (and the years) that lie ahead.  But just for now, just for this Epiphany Day, maybe we can rest in watching the star.  In knowing that we are “still proceeding” and that we will always be “still proceeding.” 

The Greek root of the word “epiphany” is “epiphaneia” or “showing forth, appearing.”  May we know the Epiphany of the royal-beauty-bright star above us and within us as we “still proceed” into the days and nights ahead.   May we allow time to let this season root and grow in us and to know apparent Grace.