Who We Really Are Ramble

Grandma?

I've never seen someone I love suffer from severe dementia, thankfully, but I'm told it is like seeing the person you know slowly disappear. I have seen someone I liked and respected fall prey to alcoholism - there is a sense in which it must be similar, as the person I know gradually disappears to be replaced by some strange, worn, ugly doppelgänger. It is a horrible and frightening experience, and one wonders what, if anything, can be done to bring that person back.

I believe in a core identity or spirit which is distinct from the personality (pneuma rather than psyche to be technical). I believe that this remains and therefore people should be treated with as much respect and dignity as possible, including addicts and victims of dementia. But relationships are primarily with the person, and that gets hard.

I heard a preacher recently talking about heaven "up there" ... saying nothing very meaningful to me. I believe in a resurrection "down here", when Jesus returns and heaven comes down to earth. When this earth is renewed, when injustice and hatred are replaced by love and justice, then we too will be raised and renewed - to be the people we really are, deep, deep down inside.

Part of who we really are lies in our deepest and truest relationships, so I expect to see those restored too. Although not necessarily as we expect: imagine someone we have only known as a quiet old grandma resurrected as a lively young flapper!

Now imagine someone you know who is self-obsessed and treats others appallingly. Maybe s/he has always been like this, or maybe they have become so because of things that have happened to them, or through bad choices they have made. Unless and until we meet them post-resurrection we have no way of knowing who they really are; although God does.

This post is turning shapeless, but I think there is something in here that I do want to say. Anyway it's a while since I did a 'ramble' post, so I'll adjust the title a little ;-)

Hospices & Healing

Several weeks ago we had an excellent visiting preacher at Caversham Baptist. He preached about healing - which is easy to preach about badly, hard to preach well - and presented it in terms of the Kingdom of God breaking through into our 'ordinary' world. It is unpredictable and often unexpected, but when it does break in you can only wonder and give thanks.

He gave an example of someone he knew who has cancer, of a generally fairly treatable form, and was undergoing chemo. But there was a complication and she had been taken into hospital - very poorly indeed - where she just wasn't responding to treatment. Because she was so poorly they were about to stop the chemo, with long term consequences. The preacher and the young woman's mother prayed for her healing, then he left. A couple of days later, there she was, with her mother, walking into town, looking positively perky.

This story begs a lot of questions, of course. Was it God doing the healing, or was it the treatment at the hospital? If it was God, then why did she still have cancer, and still need the long course of chemo with no guarantee of the result at the end? Why didn't God just fix everything for her ... indeed why not fix it for everyone in the hospital? You could worry about the questions, or you could just look at this young woman who had been really unwell and now was out and about, living freely. And you could just thank God for that.

Some years ago, my wife worked at the Sue Ryder Hospice, out at Nettlebed. They've broadened their clientele a little since, but back then they mostly worked with people suffering from terminal illnesses. This gives a rather different view of what 'healing' means. In hospitals they tend to be mostly concerned with patching up your body and sending you home 'mended'. In hospices dealing with terminal care, the body isn't going to be patched: mending it isn't an option. Instead hospices look at enhanced quality of life, at relationships, at alleviating suffering: at the physical, emotional and spiritual needs of the patient and of their friends and family. Many (although certainly not all) of the staff are Christians who regularly pray. But in most cases praying for longer lives for their patients isn't meaningful, instead they pray for healing and wholeness and peace, as each individual person comes to the end of their life.

At the church service, the preacher did one of those "raise your hand if you want to be prayed for" things. Fair enough, I guess, although I'm not a big fan. Then he did the slightly cringey, "I'm feeling there's someone here who has problems with their right arm" bit. In a congregation of some 80 people, ranging from 20's to 80's or 90's, there's bound to be someone with a sore arm. As it happened that included me, but to be honest I wasn't concerned about anyone praying for my arm. If we were going to have a time of prayer for the Kingdom of God to break through, I had a much higher priority.

Someone I know, and like, and respect, had spiralled completely out of control. Her life had crashed, she was in an utter mess, and it was not at all obvious how she could possibly get out in one piece. So I prayed for her, desperately. A day or two later, there was a development which looked like it was just going to make things worse. In practice, though, it moved her out of her pit of utter despair and into a place where she has the possibility of - slowly and painfully - rebuilding her life. She's not out of the woods by a long shot: sometimes it still looks as if she just wants to lose everything; but still she now has a chance at life and hope and rebuilding. As miracles go it might seem a bit low-key, and maybe it would have happened anyway, but that's no reason for me not to thank God for the change.