Remembering Chloe Bear

A few weeks ago I helped facilitate a Celebration of Life for a baby named Chloe who had multiple health problems for which, unfortunately, there were no adequate solutions.  She lived for one month before her parents sang her to sleep, tucked in with her Princess Leia doll and lamby lovey.

Chloe's mother and I had spoken on the phone about what she and her husband wanted the Celebration to include, and I had planned what I was going to say and written everything out. Everything began smoothly and according to plan, but then partway through the ceremony, Chloe's maternal grandfather suggested that Chloe's parents needed hugs, and so an impromptu hug line was formed. It was really very sweet, but also rather confusing to all the guests, who then thought that the service had concluded. The ceremony was supposed to end with everyone filing out to the front yard for a release of doves. After several minutes of hugging, Chloe's mother broke away from the line and whispered urgently, "Can you get everyone's attention and let them know that this is not the end? We need everyone to go outside. The doves have a tight schedule to keep!"

So, that is what I did. I got everyone's attention and directed them out front, skipping the entirety of the words I had prepared. Reverends and doulas are nothing if not flexible!

Since I didn't get a chance to share what I had prepared to say there that day, I will share with you, dear reader, here and now. I hope reading these words give you comfort in remembering the loss of someone you love. <3

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Gathering

• I invite everyone to find a seat, soon we will begin the more formal aspect of today's gathering.
• When everyone is seated, I introduce myself.

Prepare to watch the DVD of Chloe's life:

• For many of you, this is hello and goodbye. For her parents, time with Chloe was precious. How could we blame them for not wanting to share it?
• We’ll watch the video, followed by an opportunity to share what is on our hearts.

Time of Sharing

{There were quite a few people who shared. Of course, there were lots of tears, as well. And then Chloe's maternal grandfather took us off course, bless his heart. The following is what I skipped.}

Message

When Chloe's mother and I talked about what she wanted today to feel like, she emphasized to me that she wanted the message to be one of hope, comfort, and letting go. Chloe's parents did not want this day to be scary, dark or depressing. They wanted this time to be a gift to family and friends, a chance to express grief, but also to celebrate baby Chloe, whose life was very short, but who is so very loved.

On reflection, I kept thinking of a passage normally read at weddings, but which came to my mind and heart for Chloe and her family.

1 Corinthians 13

If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

We don’t know why Chloe died. I mean, yes, we know the physical reasons why her body could not support life, but as the scripture said, we now know only in part. We don’t know why she was born into that body, why her time on earth with her parents was so short. We trust in God, who is Love, that she knows she is loved, and that she is at peace. Now we see in a mirror, dimly. But we trust in God, we trust in Love, that one day we will see fully and know fully.

Until then, all we have is love. The love we have for Chloe, the love we have for her parents and extended family.  The love they have for each other. Death - particularly an infant's death - defies easy explanation. Death is a mystery. Chloe's parents wanted me to focus on the here and now.

And now faith, hope, and love abide: and the greatest of these is love.

This love, which bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Yes, even this, the most tragic of all things: the death of an infant - can be endured because of the power of love.

Chloe's parents wanted to give this ceremony as a gift to you, their friends and family. But I want to give a gift to you, as well:

In situations like this, we often wonder: What can I say? What can I do? Well, I'll tell you:

• Say her name. Chloe.
• Listen.
• Bring food, send cards, ask how her parents are doing
  • in 2 days
  • in 2 weeks
  • in 2 months
  • in 2 years
  • and beyond.

Sometimes we mistakenly think that bringing up the subject of a person’s loss will bring fresh hurt, but actually the opposite is true. Bereaved people are always thinking of the person they lost. And they are often so glad to know that someone else remembers them, too.

So, this is my advice to you: don’t give advice. Don’t offer your thoughts on how Chloe's parents should feel, don’t offer explanations as to why any of this has happened.

• Just, say her name. Chloe.
• And, listen, in love.

Amen.

{And this is the point to which I skipped, after disrupting the hug line. I was sorry to do it, but the doves had a schedule to keep! I had to no choice but to interrupt.}

Prepare to move to backyard: 

• Her parents have chosen to have doves released as symbol of letting Chloe go. We recognize that she is free of her earthly body. She is at peace. And in letting her go, may we find peace.
• The song they have chosen to play during the release has a special meaning for them. It is sung by Israël Kamakawiwo'ole, and is a Hawaiian ukulele version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Chloe's parents went to Hawaii for their babymoon, and it is where they plan to scatter her ashes.
• After the doves are released and the song has concluded, we will observe a moment of silence.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow, sung by Israel "Iz" Ka'ano'i Kamakawiwo'Ole. (Sorry about the ad at the beginning of the video.)

Before releasing the doves, the dove-lady walked around the circle of guests and invited each of us to touch one of them and say goodbye to Chloe.

Then she released 3 additional doves who represented the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and who reminded us that Chloe is not alone.

For thus says the Lord:

 As a mother comforts her child,
   so I will comfort you;
   you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.
You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice;
   your bodies shall flourish like the grass;
and it shall be known that the hand of the Lord is with his servants.

(Isaiah 66:12a, 13-14a)

Thank you for being here today and being here for this family in the days, months, and years to come.

If you have not already done so, you are invited to take a rose from the vase by the front door, carry it upstairs to Chloe's nursery, and leave it in her crib.

May the Lord bless you and keep you; 
the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;

and give you peace.

Amen.

When birth meets death

Usually there is not a lot of overlap in the two halves of my professional life. 

Well, in a sense there always is: the skills I use as a chaplain are nearly identical to those I use as a doula. I support not just the person, but the whole family as they adjust to a major life transition. I help people navigate the complicated and overwhelming experience of being in a hospital. I listen, sometimes I cry, often I laugh. I carve out space in a hectic time and place for people to identify and express their feelings. I once described to a chaplain colleague what it looks like for me to support a family in birth, and she said, with comprehension and amazement dawning on her face, "Oh! So, it's like a 13 hour patient visit!" Yes. It is exactly like that.

The skills I use are the same whether it is a birth, or a death. Usually there is a clear line dividing the two events. But not always.

Last year I went to the funeral of a mom whom I had supported in giving birth. This woman had been a delightful combination of fierce warrior mama and tender-hearted girl. She brought her beloved teddy bear to the hospital to cuddle in labor, and then pushed her baby out without an epidural in front of a gaggle of nursing students who had never seen anything so beautiful and raw. Several months later, she died suddenly and unexpectedly. I sat in the pew and looked at her baby sitting in her uncle's lap and cried my heart out.

Last week one of our doula clients let us know that there was nothing more that could be done to save her baby's life, and they sang their baby to sleep later that day. Her baby had lived for just a month. The mother told me that day by day, week by week, she had held out hope that her baby could somehow thrive. She also said that her own physical recovery from birth has been very easy, with her body quickly returning to its pre-pregnancy state, and now she finds herself wondering, "Did I really have a baby?" Sometimes she goes into her baby's nursery to remind herself that her baby existed, that it all really happened.

I offered, and she gladly accepted, to facilitate the celebration of life they will host in their home for close family and friends on Sunday. That is how I have come to be here, pondering, wondering how to strike the balance between the deep joy the parents feel over having been gifted with their baby's life, however brief, and the deep sadness they feel, knowing that their baby is now gone from their arms. Because there was so little time and the parents wanted to soak in every precious moment of their baby's life, their extended family never met the baby. For them, this will be both hello and goodbye.

I am so honored to be able to cross over from supporting this family in birth to supporting them in death. But this is some of the heaviest work I have ever done.

For thus says the Lord:
As a mother comforts her child,
   so I will comfort you;
   you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.

You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice;
   your bodies shall flourish like the grass;
and it shall be known that the hand of the Lord is with his servants.

-Isaiah 66:12a, 13-14a

Rest in peace, Lisa and Chloe. You are loved and remembered. <3

For Valentine’s Day: A Love Story Between a Boy and a Tree

{This is the sermon I gave on Sunday at my church, while filling in for my not-quite-here-yet pastor. It had been a while (about 5 years, in fact) since I had full-on led a worship service. I enjoyed it tremendously, but I am also not itching to do it every Sunday again. I’m happily sticking to my doula/chaplain/mom job for the now.}

In case you haven’t seen a commercial, or set foot in a store in the past month, Valentine’s Day is coming up.

I spent too many years single (I didn’t get married until I was 33, and most of my life up until then I had not been in a serious romantic relationship) to really care about Valentine’s Day, but I thought it might be a good excuse to tell you a different kind of love story.  A love story about a boy…and a tree.

{At this point I read The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein to the congregation.  In case you do not have a copy handy, you can read the text here. If you want to go seriously nostalgic, you can watch the recording of the filmstrip from the 70’s (!!) below.}

There’s a lot that could be said about this simple little book.  It is a love story, but what kind of love story?  How do you interpret this story?

I think for as many of us who are here today, there are as many opinions and interpretations on this book, which is what makes it so awesome.  Some of you may love it, and remember it fondly from your own childhood or from your children’s or grandchildren’s.  Some of you may hate it and think it is in no way appropriate for children.

The problem for many people is the way in which the tree “loves” the boy, giving and giving and giving of herself until she is all used up.  Some people see this as codependence, or as bordering on abusive behavior on the part of the boy.  Did you notice that the boy not only never once says “thank you”, but also doesn’t seem to have a problem with essentially destroying this being who loves him, just to serve his own whims?

I have to admit that I do not find the boy to be a likeable character.  And that the tree’s way of giving beyond what seems rational or healthy makes me uncomfortable.

But, what can we make of this story from a theological point of view?  Does this story have anything to teach us about God, and if so, what?

I think that the way the tree loves the boy is the way God loves us.  I also think, perhaps more often than any of us would like to admit, even to ourselves, we are the boy.  Ok, I’ll say it: I am the boy.  I take the gifts which God so freely and abundantly offers me, and I use them to serve my own ends, often not even saying thank you to God, or spending any more time with Her than is needed to get what I want.  It’s uncomfortable for me to say it, but it is true.

And God is the tree.  She gives and gives, and loves without considering the cost, and according to Christian belief: God gives even to the point of the ultimate self-sacrifice, that is, submitting to death, as Christ did on the cross.

This is how God loves us, but is this how God wants it to be?  Well, no.  Remember in the story, after the boy cut down the tree’s trunk to make a boat, it says, “And the tree was happy….but not really.”

I think this is what the Old Testament passage for today is getting at:

Isaiah chapter 58 tells us that the people have been calling it in, not really trying, not really taking the time and energy necessary to maintain a relationship with God.  They were taking one day to fast, and then going back to their exploitative ways the other six.  God says to them through the prophet that one day out of six is not enough, that putting on sackcloth on the Sabbath is not going to erase a week’s worth of greed.  God speaks these words to the people:

Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am. If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.

I don’t care about your going through the motions of religious piety, says God.  I care about your giving, and giving, and giving some more.  And only when you give without limit, only then will I hear your voice calling to me, and only then will I bless you with abundance.

Ack. That’s hard to hear.

Does this mean that God only loves us when we are doing right?  No.  But God can still love us and not be too happy with us, at the same time.

It’s like how I remind my daughter often that I love her always, even when I am angry with her, even when she makes terrible decisions.  I will always love her.  And I want her to hear and remember that, even through my anger.

The boy makes some rotten decisions, but the tree always loves him, and is always overjoyed to see him when he returns.  That bit kind of reminds me of the story of the Prodigal Son, which is also a difficult parable to hear, particularly from the older brother’s point of view.

I think that what is really, really troubling about hearing The Giving Tree as parable for divine love, is not only that it gives us a window into how unconditionally God loves us, no matter how bratty and greedy and self-centered we are, but it also illustrates for us the way in which God asks US to love one another.

God expects US to loose the bonds of injustice, the oppression that we enact on one another.  God expect US to share our bread with the hungry, to bring the homeless poor into our own houses, to clothe the naked, and to take responsibility for others–even (and perhaps especially?) those with whom we are related.

In short, God expects US to be the tree.

I gotta tell you, I do not want to be the tree.

I do not want to give and give and give without limit.  I do not want to expend myself in service to others to the point of being completely used up.

So, what’s a person who wants to be faithful, but who would like to continue living through life, and still have some working parts left over by the end, to do?

Sometimes we’re the tree.
Sometimes we’re the boy.

One strategy comes to mind, that of a former pastor of mine, the lovely Julie Pennington-Russell, who once explained to me her system of calendar-keeping.  Next to every person’s name in her datebook, she would write either an F or a D.  F was for “fills me” and D was for “drains me”, and she said that she would try to have more or less a balance of each in any given week.  It was her way of avoiding burnout as a pastor of a large and thriving congregation.

She taught me that we have got to have a balance between people who fill us and people who drain us, or we ourselves become unbalanced, and can no longer give and serve others as God calls us to do.

I suppose that we could adapt my pastor’s system, and put a T for Tree, next to people who give to us, and a B for Boy next to those who take from us.

Sometimes we’re the tree.
Sometimes we’re the boy.

In my lines of work, as a doula, and as a chaplain, I see both: the selfless giving of parents to their newborns, often to the point of utter exhaustion.  I also see the giving of children to their dying parents, also to the point of utter exhaustion.  And of course, there is a whole life in between, in which there is give and there is take, and hopefully, it all evens out in the end.

God is perfect, and loves perfectly.  God is always the tree.

We, on the other hand…well.

Sometimes we’re the tree.
Sometimes we’re the boy.

As we walk through this imperfect life, may we find ways to balance our giving and taking, our treeness and our boyness, as we seek to live and love faithfully in relationship with others.

Amen.