Talking Technology

     From the beginning (of their Twitter existence), I loved Unvirtuous Abbey. A friend told me about these “monks” when they had just started tweeting, nearly two years ago, and I was immediately hooked. Their tweets often come from the intersection of pop culture and theology, which is where I spend a lot of my psychic time. Sometimes their brief

prayers, or popular quotes reborn as words of Jesus, make me laugh. Others make me think. Some do both. 

      Here are a few samples: “Jesus said, ‘Don’t stop believin’. Hold on to that feeling.’” “For people who think it’s gullible to believe in God, yet retweet messages so they can win a free iPad, Lord, hear our prayer.” “Lord, you who told Lazarus to ‘Come out!’, we pray for religious leaders who tell people it’s wrong to do that.” “Jesus said, ‘I am the app of life.’” “For people who say, ‘God has a plan for your life!’ as people die of disease, hunger, and war each day, we pray to the Lord.” “Jesus said, ‘I see your true colors shining through . . . and that’s why I love you. So don’t be afraid to let them show.”

     One recent tweet, the one in the screen shot above, hit me especially hard. When my old phone had broken that morning, my sadness was brief. Here was as good an excuse as any to upgrade to the iPhone 4S. I made my pilgrimage to the store, and listened with rapt attention as the salesman explained all its marvelous attributes. Wanting to ensure the safety of something so precious, I also bought the most protective case available, the one that was shock-proof, would keep out even the tiniest grains of sand, and had to be submerged in liquid for a few hours before I put the phone in it to verify that the seals were watertight. Nothing bad was going to happen to my iPhone if I could help it! After I brought it home, I spent hours exploring all its capabilities, trying out the camera, setting up iCloud, and getting to know Siri. I transferred all my apps from the old phone to the new one through my computer, then checked Twitter.

     That’s when I saw Unvirtuous Abbey’s tweet: “Jesus said, ‘The second greatest commandment is this: ‘Love your neighbor as your iPhone.’” Ouch! This hit way too close to home, as I read it on my shiny new iPhone screen. Do I love people like that? Would I spend hours learning about their unique talents, and spread the good word about them to all my friends? Would I do everything in my power to ensure they were protected against the inevitable dangers of life? Would I patiently take the time to try and understand them, even if their ways of doing things were very unfamiliar to me? 

     If I’m honest, I would have to say the answer is no. I may love some of my neighbors like that – the nice ones, the attractive ones, the ones whose approval I seek, the ones who like me, and the ones who are most like me. But the others – the people outside my circle of friendship and familiarity, the ones at the fringes of society, the ones with whom Jesus spent so much of his time – I have not done such a great job loving them. An occasional contribution to charity eases my conscience, or I tell myself that I meet a lot of those people through my work as a hospital chaplain.

     I know it’s not enough. This was a sobering reminder, a much-needed kick in the pants. Loving my neighbor as myself is one thing (I can be a lot less than nice to

myself at times), but to love my neighbor as my iPhone? That’s just not playing fair, Unvirtuous Abbey! Such an unexpected turn of phrase, such a reversal of expectations, is disorienting. It’s shocking. It’s too much like what Jesus did in his parables. It’s quite a sermon to preach in less than 140 characters, and it has infiltrated my heart in

a way few other sermons have done.

SS

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     I’m going to miss the “walking conversations.”  For the past seven years, I’ve received phone calls from one daughter or the other as they walked to class at Furman.  If no one more interesting was around to talk with, the girls would call me (or their dad) on their cell phone and chat for the few minutes it took them to walk from their dorm or apartment to class on the Furman campus. First, Alison, then Savannah, and one year, both!  

     So different from my lengthy scheduled Sunday phone calls from college with my parents, the walking call from my daughters was always a short conversation that offered a  snapshot of how the day was going - some days crazy busy with too many papers to write, others more relaxed with gossip about campus drama.   I could usually predict the time of the phone call based on their class schedule.  Savannah has been known to talk to the answering machine for the duration of the walk if no one answered any of the four numbers that should contact her with one of her parents. 

     Savannah graduates in two weeks and the walking conversations will cease. However, the connectivity will not. This generation will remain instantly connected with everyone. Alison does a google hangout on Saturday mornings with her school friends, from their various locations in DC, NY, MO, and CN.  Savannah and her roommate are already planning how to keep in touch.

     And I must say, I appreciated the connectedness.  With one daughter in St. Louis (but moving to Nashville) and the other considering graduate school everywhere from Los Angeles to New Orleans, Skype is my best friend.  I love seeing the pictures they share on Facebook,  looking at the craft ideas, home decor and humor they’ve tagged for me on PInterest, and even reading the never-ending tweets about British football from my son-in-law on Twitter.  I may not be a digital native, but I'm learning fast to stay connected in this new world.

AF

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     While walking on Edisto Beach, we ran into this character, aptly named Eddy Stow. She, or as I would find out later, he is decked out in a fancy lei, long dangling earrings and a ripped six pack, hard as wood.

     Eddy even is on FaceBook. A sign on his side says so. Even worse, he has more friends than I do.

     Now I know it’s not a competition. There are some people such as George Takei, “Sulu” of Star Trek fame, who has 1.5 million followers and hilarious posts. Then there are such extroverts as my minister, Don Flowers, who knows most everyone in town and boasts almost 900 friends. I haven’t quite hit the 200 mark, but it’s OK. I’m more of a private person, and don’t post much. I just spill my guts in a blog.

     Plus, FaceBook seems a bit narcissitic, as a writer with The Atlantic Magazine points out in an article titled,  Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?

     How many virtual friends do we need? I have a hard enough time keeping up with my in-person friends. 

     But, still, Eddy has 220 friends. Really? What can he have to say?

     Now I’m recruiting. Won’t you be my friend?

DB

Happy Easter!

     High and holy moments happen in my life  - but very rarely during Holy Week and Easter. I can count on the holiest week in the Christian calendar being one of only partly controlled chaos.  After 28 years of being married to a minister, I know there will be extra sermons to prepare, special services to attend, and always a pastoral care crisis or two in the mix.  We usually have extra family and friends visiting - which just adds to the general sense of pandemonium.

     So, the traditions that blend ritual with family become holy for me.  We invite our family/friends to Easter dinner in the evening - not at lunch.  I gave up that craziness years ago.   We dye eggs at the last minute on Saturday so we can  “fight” Easter eggs on Sunday.  (There’s not enough room in this post to explain -you just have to experience it.)  And then there’s the annual Easter photo with whatever children and family are home.  This picture is from last year at Easter.  

     Throughout the crisis and the chaos and always on Easter,  the Holy is present -  in the laughter. 

AF

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Easter Sunrise 2011 Edisto Beach

       The kids humor me on Easter. It's our family tradition to rise early in the dark and go to the beach to watch the sunrise. No one is allowed to gripe or complain, though it's fine to stagger around groggy. We all get to the beach and spread out, and come together, and spread out, in waves, processing the scene in our own ways. I love watching the light overtake the dark in a quiet spot, the wind and waves our music, the sermon speaking in our hearts. I used to enjoy a fancy, Easter service, but I find at this stage of my life, in what is a period of healing, I need an intimate sanctuary on this day.

      We arrive at the tomb of loss expecting grief, and behold, comes joy, unbidden. It never ceases to amaze me.

DB

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     During this Holy Week, I have been doing a lot of reading and a lot of chaplaining, and the two have definitely affected one another. Earlier in the week, I read Diana Butler Bass's Good Friday reflection and it stayed with me. Bass quotes the ancient saint Julian of

Norwich: “Here saw I a great ONEING betwixt Christ and us: for when He was in pain, we were in pain.” The reverse is also true, Bass asserts. "Jesus on the Cross, naked and mocked, is with us all on every broken-heartened, betrayal-laden, blood-soaked day of human history.  That is God’s Passion; that is Jesus’ Cross.  And, in the tortured Christ, we find the hope to endure, a love for others and creation, the power to enact God’s dream of love and justice for the whole world.  We are with God.  God is with us."

     This with-ness, this ONEING between us and Christ was at the forefront of my thoughts during my nights this week in the hospital where I am chaplain. That was particularly true when I was with the family of a young patient who died. "Could you pray with the mother and offer her some words of encouragement?" another family member asked me. I spoke

to her out of the Christian heritage we shared, and the insight that Diana Butler Bass's words had renewed in me. Speaking her child's name, I told her, "_____ was not alone in this. Jesus has been through death before, and so he can take our hand and lead us through it when that time comes. _____ was not alone; Jesus was right there. And he

will be with you, too, in the hours and the days ahead. He was a man of sorrows --"

     "Acquainted with grief," she finished the quote from Isaiah 53, one of the Old Testament passages that New Testament writers later used to describe Jesus. I hurt for this mother, and wished that I could take her grief away, wished I could undo the death of her child. The best I could do was be with her, and testify to God's being with her as well, remembering that in the suffering of Good Friday, God became one with those who suffer. And that is no small thing.

SS

And it's 2012 already!

A blessing for Elli

The first day of 2012 brought a special joy for me in my work as a hospital chaplain. Death and grief are much more common in my job, so this was a welcome change to begin the new year. Some friends of mine had come to the hospital in the waning days of 2011 expecting their first child, and after 30 hours in which her mother gained a whole new understanding of the word "labor," Elliott Virginia came into the world. She is, in a word, perfect. I started my first shift of 2012 by holding her, feeding her, and rocking her to sleep. She gave me the blessing of a tiny smile and wrapped her long fingers around my thumb. Then I got to do one of my favorite tasks as a minister. I spoke a blessing for Elli that went something like this:

Elliott Virginia, may God bless you with kindness and wisdom, creativity and strength, bravery and faith and beauty, in this new year and for many, many, many years to come. May you bring joy to God, your family, and all of us who love you, as we do our best to help you become the woman God created you to be, all the long years of your life.         Amen.

SS

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I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose.  ~Woody Allen

      I hear them laughing even though I'm in my office upstairs.  Our youngest daughter, Savannah, and her dad, Don, are laughing uproariously downstairs.  They both have the gift of loud, raucous, out of nowhere, belly laughs.  It could be something on TV.  It could be the face Savannah just made, a story, a one-liner, who knows?  The laughter blesses our house and my life as little else can do.  Laughter lights the darkness, cleanses the soul, and fills up a house.
       Savannah heads back to Furman University tomorrow for her final semester as an undergraduate.   She has been home for the holidays, working on grad school applications, sleeping late,  visiting friends and, of course, telling stories and laughing.  We will miss the laughter when she is gone.
      I turn off the light in the office and head downstairs.  I think I'll join them.

AF

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Last sunrise of 2011,  Myrtle Beach, SC

      It goes something like this.

      I'll come home and say something like, "I'm sure you all have done all your homework."

      One child will pipe up and answer that's "inconceivable!"

      And then another chimes in, "Do you even know what that word means?"

      For anyone who's a fan of the classic movie Princess Bride, no explanation is needed. Otherwise the preceding is just nonsense. What I love about ritualistic exchanges such as this is that it marks us a tribe with our secret code. It's a sign of intimacy - a moment to break from the routine or homework or whatever the issue is at hand and go off on a nonsensical tangent. That's one of my resolutions for 2012. More nonsensical tangents to thwart the over thinking, analytical side of myself that takes life too seriously.

      I told my family on our New Year's break to Myrtle Beach the story of a friend who found her Christmas marred by a contentious family member. She and others decided not to let this person's issues pull them down, so they used the word Duck anytime things got tense. Ducks just let the water roll off them and don't get pulled down by its weight. I shared this with the boys just as we were driving past Dick Pond going to Myrtle Beach. I'm not making this up. Needless to say the conversation deteriorated from there, but whenever things got tense or someone was irritable, someone would shout Duck, and we'd start snickering.

      I have my spiritual prompts that have the same effect. As I was walking the beach to see the last sunrise of 2011 and feeling a bit melancholy, a word unbidden rose above the mental chatter.

      Grace.

      More for myself. More for others.

     Just like that, the one word broke the spell of tension. I returned to the present moment with a deep breath. I opened to the new year.

     In the words of my friend, 'Happy New Year. Be the duck.'

DB