Two Sides To The Story

There are a couple of stories I have told with both children and adults over the years that continue to captivate me. They are both from the curriculum called Godly Play by Jerome Berryman. They are called “The Mystery of Easter” and “The Faces of Easter”.

The first looks like a puzzle that forms a cross when completed. The second contains images of Jesus as a baby, a child and an adult. It highlights some of the major moments in his life, death and resurrection.

Each story contains a theme at the end that surprises us. As each story is initially told, pieces of the story are introduced in a rather two-dimensional fashion. But when we come to the end of each respective story, we discover there are two sides—turning the story into a three-dimensional enigma.

Specifically, one side of the story contains an element that is “sad” and “serious”. While the other side of the story represents celebration, happiness and joy. The surprise comes when we realize these are two sides of the same thing. “We can’t pull them apart. You know that with one side, the other side is always there.”

Whereas we tend to create a false duality out of life and death, Christian theology unifies them.

Some time ago, a friend forwarded me a quote by Richard Rohr that speaks to this theme. Rohr writes:

“In the third split, we separate life from death, and we think they are two separate realities. In fact, they are two sides of one coin, and this deep insight is called by Christians “the paschal mystery.” God must surely understand that humans see things “die” and seemingly disappear, starting with the first death of our pet, our grandparents, and perhaps even parents. It sure looks like either-or.

“The brilliant Ken Wilber says that ‘the fact that life and death are ‘not two’ is extremely difficult to grasp, not because it is so complex, but because it is so simple.’

“And the equally brilliant Kathleen Dowling Singh, who has given her life to hospice work, says that ‘We miss the unity of life and death at the very point where our ordinary mind begins to think about it.’”

Play is both/and. What are some other ways you’ve experienced this phenomenon in which you’ve experienced two ‘opposites’ as one?

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In Passing A Cemetery This Morning

mark the mist—

how gently

nature lays

her pale hand

on the

bent grass

covering

the dead

she is poised

to touch

the soul’s

ascent

on the cusp

of burial

we will

whisper in

reverent remembrance

when she

kisses each

heart of

stone made flesh

mark the mist

breathing life

into dry bones

………………………….

in passing a cemetery this morning

by troy cady

A Game About Dying

I made friends with someone recently who cares deeply about the process of dying. Her background is hospice care (among other interests) and she keeps a blog that is about “the spiritual practice of contemplating death as a way of living life more fully.”

Most people would not put “death” in the same category as “play” but in talking with my new acquaintance one day I discovered the two go hand-in-hand. As I described PlayFull to her, her eyes lit up because she instantly saw how the process of dying (and the practice of being a companion to someone in their dying) was an intrinsically playful process.

Play, at its fullest, is a vulnerable practice. It involves a posture of openness in which we let another see our real self, with no pretension, no hypocrisy, no concern for image. We play when we come to the place where we say, “I don’t have anything to lose! I may as well be myself and embrace the joy, freedom and grace of doing so. I have space to play and imagine.”

In that light, it could be said that those who are at their most helpless are those who can truly play. This, I believe, is why my friend saw play as something that coincides with her calling to come alongside those who are near death. She experiences her vocation in hospice care as playful.

On Saturday, she forwarded a link to me on Twitter. She drew my attention to a game someone has developed that helps people open up to talk freely about end-of-life questions. The game is called “My Gift of Grace”.

An article in The Huffington Post explains the game in further detail:

“The game doesn't have winners or losers. Instead, it uses cards divided into questions, statements and activities. To start the game, each player fills out a card that has a question…or statement…, then uses those to start conversations with family and friends. The game ends with "action" cards, which double as magnets, and act as reminders…”

"’A lot of people think a game about death and dying sounds sad and scary, but our experience is the more you do it, the more it allows you to be joyful about day-to-day life,’ said Jehlen, 42, who tested the game by playing it with colleagues, and sought the input of chaplains and health-care workers.”

A cardiac surgeon who was interviewed for the article says this about approaching the topic of death from a playful angle: “’What I see, particularly with some people in the aging population, is that if you approach a conversation about the end of life it brings up a wall. So if instead what you are doing is playing a game and talking about things or activities that are important in their lives and coming at it from the direction of letting family know about their desires, it bridges a gap. Some people need a nudge.’”

Mindfulness about the process of dying can encourage us to “carry ourselves more lightly.” It puts all lesser challenges into perspective and thus deepens an appreciation for life. Considering end-of-life questions, surprisingly, can help us live more playfully.

-Troy

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Grief and Parable

A few months ago I paid a visit to Indianapolis and facilitated a meeting with a small group of Christians. During the meeting, one of the men was clearly in pain. So, we prayed for him.

Just weeks after that, doctors discovered that the pain in his leg was caused by a tumor. He did not have long to live. About a month later, he died.

About six weeks ago, some other friends had a baby. Nine days ago the mother died of cancer.

Yesterday, a friend went to the funeral of a co-worker who was murdered eight days ago and on Friday another friend’s sister just passed away in old age.

I was going to post another quote about the importance of Sabbath today, but instead I decided to write about it myself, as a way of wondering.

………………

Each Sunday this summer I’ve had the chance to tell some stories to both young and old. The stories use objects of different size, shape and color as a way to center attention to encourage us to put ourselves in the story.

Today, I will tell two stories: a story about a Good Shepherd and a story about Communion. Both are united by a figure who “knows how to lead the sheep through all kinds of places.”

One place has a spot that looks clear blue. It could be water. It could be such a still place that, when you look in it, you see a face reflected back.

Another place is green, open and spacious—while another place is defined by numerous ill-shaped dark things. It looks like a dangerous place—a place in which one could get lost easily. There is no light in this place. Only dark.

And another place turns out to be home. It is a safe place. A place from which the sheep are called out and a place to which they are led back.

When the sheep are called out from home, how do they know where to go? Well, they know the voice of the Shepherd and, more importantly, the Shepherd knows each one of them by name. He not only knows their name, he knows everything about them. He knows if they are happy or sad. He knows if they are feeling lonely or loved. He knows if they are courageous or timid. He knows everything about them. So he knows how to lead them.

He leads them to the green places; he leads them beside still waters; he even leads them through dark valleys.

I wonder why he leads them there? I wonder why he does not just lead them to good places?

I don’t know if I will ever know why he does that.

But I do know he does not leave any of his sheep in those dark places. He leads them safely through to home.

When they get home, he counts each one of them and—as his sheep cross the threshold—if he notices one of them is missing or has become lost, he goes looking for them. He leaves the sheep safe at home to go look for the lost one.

He goes to the green meadows. Maybe the lost sheep stayed there.

He does not find them there, so he goes to the water. But the sheep is not there, either.

He looks all over the dark place. And that is where he finds his sheep. He carries her on his shoulders and brings her home.

………………………………

Sometimes there is a wolf who comes after the sheep. The wolf comes to steal, kill, destroy and tear apart.

The Good Shepherd does not leave the sheep to the wolf. He lays down his life for the sheep, so the sheep are safe.

We remember this when the sheep gather around a table—even when the enemy seems to be on their heels. They gather at the table because here, in the bread and wine, they remember the words of the Good Shepherd who gave his life for the sheep: “This is me. I am with you. I am still able to lead you safely home.”

So, everyone gathers at the table together. Together, they are safe. The table becomes home to the new family. Together, they are safe.

I imagine today I will linger longer at the table than usual. I will look more intently for the Good Shepherd and listen more attentively for his voice reminding me, “I lay down my life for the sheep. The wolf cannot harm any one of them.”

I wonder how this can be?