Stain Glass Lens of the 21st Century

Category: Death

  • Writing Our Stories

    Writing Our Stories

    It was 17 years ago that I accepted a new position titled “End of Life Chaplain”.    My pay came from a large corporation whose focus was the care of the elderly in over 400 long term care and assisted living facilities across the country.  I was hired to help 4 of those facilities.

    Two coronaviruses later (SARs and COVID) and 17 years of experience have resulted in many changes; both to myself and the setting in which I serve.   My title now is “Spiritual Care Provider” and I work for a local Health Care Service in a hospice setting.   

    Despite the clinical changes over the years human nature has remained much the same.  As I accompany those and their close friends and family toward death, I have learned the power of story.  To listen to the stories of other people’s lives; witnessing their struggles, sacrifices, regrets, achievements, and joy is a profound privilege.

    Rarely do I hear stories of things accumulated.  Those summarizing their lives tend not to list what furniture they had or how many homes they owned.  Not once has anyone told me what kind of car they drove or how much Gucci they had in their closets. Instead, I have stood witness to childhood memories, stories of perseverance over trials, and setbacks recovered. There are always stories of love; the kind of love that leaves its impression on one’s life, the love of parents, siblings, spouses, children, pets, and dear friends.  These are the stories that matter at the end of it all.

    These are stories of how each has filled their space in the world; how their lives came to have meaning and this meaning is significant.   

    Concentration camp survivor, Viktor E. Frankl wrote in his book, Man’s Search For Meaning, “Everyone has their own specific vocation or mission in life; everyone must carry out a concrete assignment that demands fulfillment. Therein they cannot be replaced, nor can life be repeated. Thus, everyone’s task is unique as is their specific opportunity to implement it.”

    It is never too late to rewrite the story of our lives asking, “how am I filling my space in the world?”  

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Angela Roma/Pexels

  • Death Came For Tea

    Death Came For Tea

    Nikolay Osmachko/Pexels

    Last week Death came for tea and stayed the afternoon.  We shared in chocolate cake, sugar cookies, conversation and a few good laughs.

    One of the women of the church had arranged for a ‘Death Café’ inviting a Death Doula (someone trained to accompany the dying) to lead and encourage conversation. One may think an afternoon of discussing death would be sad or depressing but it was quite the opposite.  Our afternoon was full of stories, plans and laughter. 

    Why would we spend a lovely summer afternoon discussing death?  Because it is important we each remember our death is pending in order to capture the grandeur of each moment.  The average lifespan is around 80 years which works out to 4,160 weeks.  Or, to put it into another perspective, we each have 80 winters, 80 springs, 80 summers and 80 autumns.  To remember our death is to remember how very valuable each season is.  This remembering should cause us all to slow down, look around and savor the passing beauty.

    The stoics taught there is wisdom in reminding ourselves daily of our impending death. Seneca, one of the greatest stoics, “reminds us that death is something that’s happening here, even as you read this. The time that passes belongs to death, he says. What is lived we never get back. We are dying every minute, every second. When we hurry we are speeding that along” (The Daily Stoic). 

    May we all slow down this summer and soak in the irreplaceable beauty of each moment,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • The Fluttering of Wings

    The Fluttering of Wings

    Photo by Javardh/Unsplash

    There are angels among us; I know this to be true because I have seen them. 

    It wasn’t easy to make out their faces as they kept their identity well hidden behind protective glasses and face masks.  Most of them had tucked their hair up in tight caps on their heads.  These colourful caps had a large button sewn on each side and from what I could tell these buttons were used to hold up their glasses and face masks, a most ingenious design.

    My mother had been taken by ambulance to the local hospital and was later admitted.  She had been bravely battling cancer and due to some complications of her treatment was in need of some special care.  Definitely the angels that surrounded her bed were offering a compassionate and dignified care.

    One afternoon, as a couple of these angels were tending to my mother in her hospital room, I stood in the hallway with my back up against the wall.  From this vantage point I witnessed as they swirled about pushing folks in wheel chairs, aiding others to walk steadily with their canes and in one case aiding a young man with his broken arm; they were in constant motion.

    A few days later, after my mother had been moved to the local hospice I again witnessed the gentle yet strong energy of these otherworldly beings.  They tended to my mother and in equal measure took time to care for our grieved and saddened souls.  My dad, who was helplessly watching the love of his life fade away, was tended to by these angels in such a way it ministered to us all.

    What I cannot understand is how can there be both atheists and angels among us?  How can one witness the selfless care of nurses; their willingness to step fully into people’s pain, illness and messiness and not see the divinity of their presence?  They step forward when most of us purposely run in the opposite direction.  Only a great and loving God could create such beings as nurses; those both skilled and called to help others.

    I cannot watch the care of a good nurse and not turn to God and say, “Thank you!”.

    After my mother had taken her last breath and all the arrangements had been made one last nurse came to offer words of comfort and as she turned to leave the room I am almost 100% sure I heard the fluttering of wings.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • The Good Shepherd

    The Good Shepherd

    Photo by Antonello Falcone/Unsplash

    Before beginning the BLOG I would like to welcome all the new comers to the Stainglasslens; in the past two weeks there have been several new “Followers” and it has been exciting.  I write weekly seeking to understand and/or celebrate God’s presence in the world, thank-you for joining me on the journey. 

    This Sunday we at the Kemble-Sarawak, Zion-Keppel Pastoral Charge will be meeting for in-person worship on the side lawn of the Kemble-Sarawak Church.  The scripture passages we will be reflecting on are John 10:1-10 and Psalm 23.  In both passages we are reminded of a Good Shepherd who cares and tends to us each.

    This Good Shepherd image has been one that used to carry me through difficult times.  It was comforting to think that I was a mere sheep and Jesus, as an extension of God, was my Good Shepherd who cared for and protected me from all evil.  As it is written, “Who can be against me if God is for me?” (Romans 8:31)

    But then life happened.  There came cancer, sudden deaths, I watched 3 of my best friends die horribly agonizing deaths and then the pandemic arrived.  Days of isolation, un-measurable pain, suffering, and a worldwide death toll in the millions. 

    Where is the Good Shepherd in all of this?

    I learned that the bullies can win, with their lies and smear campaigns.  I learned that the structure put in place by well-meaning and intelligent individuals to bring justice can be manipulated and used as a weapon.  I learned that sometimes the truth is not believed while lies, gossip and posturing make the headlines.  

    Where is the Good Shepherd in all of this?

    I once sat with a cancer patient who reasoned that all her troubles happened during the split second that God blinked.  The idea that our Good Shepherd actually saw all these terrible things about to happen and did nothing to stop them was too much for her, so instead, she reasoned that God must sometimes blink and in that split second anything can happen.

    Well, I know the Good Shepherd.  I am convinced of God’s existence, I have experienced too much to deny God does exist and I know that there is a life beyond this life.  As a Chaplain, a minister and just a fellow sojourner on this earth I have seen, felt and experienced enough to know with certainty there is more then we can imagine.

    So, how does one reconcile the knowledge of the existence of the Good Shepherd with the occurrence of horribly cruel and destructive events?

    For me it melts down to what is written in Isaiah 55:8-9,

    “For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
        neither are your ways my ways,”
    declares the Lord.
    As the heavens are higher than the earth,
        so are my ways higher than your ways
        and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

    Can a sheep ever possibly understand the ways of the Shepherd?  No. 

    Can we ever possibly understand the ways of God?  No.

    That is why knowing the Shepherd makes all the difference.  To trust in God’s plan, to lean into God presence, to give all the pain, all the hurt, all the misunderstandings, all the times we cannot defend ourselves back to God and instead live in a childlike dependency, an innocent trust is, in my opinion, the only way we can travel this life without despair.  It is the only way we can be a kind, loving, and wise presence.  It is counter cultural to say, “Despite all the evidence, I trust in the Good Shepherd.”  This kind of faith and trust is a radical and life altering way to spend our days.

    It is the only way, I have found to inner peace and ironically, with this faith I have found a part of me open up  to experience God every day in small almost unnoticeable ways.  But before I could experience this presence I first had to give into trusting this Good Shepherd when trusting was the least logical thing to do.

    May the tests and trials of this life deepen your faith and bring you closer to the un-explainable love of the Good Shepherd.

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

  • The Sum of Our Days

    The Sum of Our Days

    I had a friend die of COVID-19.  It was an awful shock; I didn’t even know she had been sick.  It all happened so quickly. 

    Death can be cruel; interrupting a busy and full life.  It is as though she was taken from us mid-sentence. 

    Her absence has caused me to ponder some difficult questions, “How much of my life have I lived?  Is it over 50% ?  Or, maybe the meter is up to 80% already?  Who can know for sure? What is the sum of my days?”  And, “Have I lived a life that reflects what I value most? Or, have I allowed worldly worries to consume me?”

    These are tough questions to sit with all alone so I shared them with a few friends and family members.

    One friend responded that he valued honesty but then quickly amended his answer with a slight grin admitting, “Well, I value others being honest with me but I know I am not always honest with others.  So, I guess my life does not reflect my values.”

     Now, to be fair this friend, who is in his mid-40s, 2 years ago did something pretty remarkable.  He left a high paying position of prestige and power and took a de-promotion because he was tired of being under so much stress. He noticed he hardly ever laughed and decided that was much too high a price to pay.  He shared that he actually doesn’t miss the extra income as much as he imagined and no one could pay him to go back to all that stress.  “In fact,” he said, “I feel bad for those left behind in the rat race; they have no idea what price they are paying.”

    Another friend answered that she values her family above all else but upon reflection confessed, “I value family but most of the time I spend with my kids my head is still at work.  I am thinking about the next project or I am upset about whoever angered me at work that day.  Rarely am I actually 100 % present with my family.” This realization hit her hard and she too made some changes.

    What about you?  What do you value?  Are these values reflected in your life? What is the sum of your days?

    As we slowly return to a post pandemic life it is time to evaluate what we want to pick up again and what can be left behind.  This moment, right now, is ripe with the opportunity to decide the sum of our days.  We should choose well, because who knows how much time is left?

    Blessings,

    Rev. Heather McCarrel

    Photo by Sunbeam Photography used with permission/Unsplash