Goodbye Little Sister

Sue died at 9:20 am on April 21st, Maundy Thursday on the Christian calender. We, her sister, brothers and spouses, were with her when she died. Four hundred and eighty people attended her funeral. Family members read scripture and shared remembrances. The Sioux Empire Brass honored her with two numbers, and the organist played the Widor Toccata for the postlude.

It was a beautiful service, made more beautiful by the life Sue lived. Sue didn't blow her own horn, except when she played her French horn in the Sioux Empire Brass. Yet she impacted hundreds of people through her life. She was active in her local church. She served as Harry Krueger's right hand person in the Sioux Empire Brass. She counseled a multitude of children in the Sioux Falls middle and high school systems. She made people laugh with witty one liners and her funny stories about working with kids. She was a friend and confidant to many.

Yet love requires more from us than fond remembrances. Great love engenders great pain when the object of love suffers and dies. We, Sue's family, took turns living with her during the last four months of her life. We spent days with her in the hospital during her recuperation from surgery to remove the cancer in her intestine. We lived with her in her home after she was released from the hospital. I was privileged to be with her nearly six weeks as she battled the ravages of her disease. These were some of the most painful and rewarding times of my life.

When you cut to the chase, living and dying has more to do with the little things of life than the big events. As I re-live my days with Sue, these little things are most poignant.

Sue was a physically active person. When she was well, we would bike the loop around Sioux Falls. I remember the night we joined with others for a moonlight ride. We threaded glow light strips in the spokes of our wheels. A little boy shouted, “Mom, look,” as we rode past his house. With darkness enveloping us, we were specters in a moon-lit fairyland. It seemed we were standing still while the trail moved under us.

During my last stay with Sue, we walked a portion of that bike trail and reminisced. We also walked around the falls for which Sioux Falls is named. As Sue weakened these trips were limited first to walks around the block and then to strolls on the sidewalk in front of her house. Finally she was able to walk only a few steps outside her back door before she was fatigued.

I picture her now sitting in her favorite chair, a Lazy Boy situated in the corner of her living room. Some evenings we would watch TV together. Other times she would read. Oftentimes I would sit with her as she dozed, her breathing becoming more and more labored.

I remember changing the bottle on her feeding tube when she was recuperating from intestinal surgery. I think back on the times I filled her water glass. I recall washing our clothes, running to the drug store for medications, and cutting up chicken and veggies for stir fry. I remember driving to Hardees to buy a broiled chicken sandwich because that was the only thing that appealed to her. Most of all, I remember her gratitude. “Thank you, thank you,” she said as I served her in these little ways. The depth of her gratitude was almost embarrassing.

Each evening Sue would prepare for bed. She slept propped up by pillows so she could breathe. After I helped situate her with the pillows and blankets, we would turn on the nite light and say a few prayers. Earlier in her illness, I prayed fervently for a miraculous cure from this dreadful disease. Sue too prayed for healing and wholeness. As she neared the time of her death, our prayers changed. I prayed for wholeness, not even knowing what I meant by this term. Sue prayed just for the ability to breathe more easily and to sleep through the night.

Most mornings I would go for a walk. When I returned, Sue would get up, use the bathroom and dress. She then would make her bed. One morning she asked me to help because she was too weak to do it alone. Finally, she was unable to help at all. I made it by myself.

Prayer was a central part of Sue's life. She attended our last family gathering at Christmas. I asked her if we might pray for her healing. She agreed. My brother led the prayer as we gathered around her. The love and anguish in the room was palpable.

As we prayed, I realized that the difference in our spiritualities was of little import. We spanned the spectrum from charismatic-evangelical to agnostic. Yet we were united in our outpouring of love for Sue.  Jesus said, “Love God with everything in you, and love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Buddha spoke of compassion. How different our world would be if we were motivated by this kind of love and compassion every minute of our lives.

It is agonizing to see someone you love suffer. Yet it is also very real. There is no time for euphemisms. I asked Sue if she feared dying. She said, “No, but I hope I don't have to suffer.”

People kept coming by the house. Harry and Phil Krueger, who were like surrogate parents, came every day. They made light conversation, but I could see the pain in their eyes.

Sue and I attended the “Living With Cancer Group” at her church each Wednesday. These folks were amazing. Joyce, a parish nurse, led the group. We read a devotional piece and discussed it in terms of our lives. The conversations seemed trivial and mundane at first, until I began to understand the subtext of each meeting. These people were facing death while living day-by-day. They seemed to be saying, “My life will go on.” “I will engage every moment.”

The end of Sue's life came as a surprise. I remember our last visit with her oncologist/surgeon, Dr. Maria Bell. Sue asked, “Are we nearing the time when you are going to tell me that there is no more you can do for me?” Dr. Bell said, “Yes, you had better consider hospice care.” When we returned home, Sue said, “That was like a kick in the gut.” “I knew the cancer would get me, but I didn't think it would be this soon.” We hugged. I had no words.

The following Wednesday Sue attended her last Living With Cancer meeting. Joyce asked her to begin the sharing. She told folks that she was going into hospice. Once again these people had to face the loss of one of their own. They expressed love and concern for Sue, but there was no huge outpouring of emotion. Perhaps it was all too close. Joyce was incredible as she facilitated the sharing. Even at this time, the focus was on living with cancer.

Sue's life continues after her death. Some say she lives with Jesus in heaven. Others say that her spirit is present and accessible to those who love her.

It's strange, but Sue is most present for me in her absence. I spent time in her house shortly after her death. I fixed a meal and did the dishes, much as I had done those last months of her life. Yet now Sue was gone. And in this absence, she was strangely present in a most powerful way.

Finally, Sue is present in the in love she shared with others. At her funeral service, love permeated the church. Strangers, who loved Sue, hugged one another. The gathering after the service was like a family reunion. This shared love was a force that lit up the room. Ray Charles would call this Soul.

Yes Sweet Sue, you live on. But still, little sister, I miss you.

POLITICAL PROTESTS IN WISCONSIN The Way of Compassion - Part 3 of 3

Loving enemies and living non-attachment are spiritual practices. As with physical training, we engage a spiritual practice to develop the underdeveloped parts of ourselves. Since the pattern of the Human Being is newly emerging, it needs to be developed. When viewed in this light, the protests at the Capitol are training opportunities in the art of practical compassion. This training will complement the emergence of the deep humanity in each of us.

Karen Armstrong, in her book, The Spiral Staircase, makes this observation about religion (p293):

The one and only test of a valid religious idea, doctrinal statement, spiritual experience, or devotional practice was that it must lead to practical compassion. If your understanding of the divine made you kinder, more empathetic, and impelled you to express this sympathy in concrete acts of loving-kindness, this was good theology....Compassion was the litmus test for the prophets of Israel, for the rabbis of the Talmud, for Jesus, for Paul, and for Muhammad, not to mention Confucius, Lao-tzu, the Buddha, or the sages of the Upanishads.

I can hear you saying,

“Pfeifer you're nuts. Why are you dragging religion into this discussion. What's going on in Wisconsin and in the budget deliberations in our nation's capitol is political not religious. These confrontations are political battles between conservative Republicans and liberal Democrats.”

And of course, you are correct. But the confrontations that we are experiencing in Wisconsin and which nearly shut down our national government, are caused by a profound polarization between two different belief systems. The combatants in these political wars stand by their positions with more zeal than do most members of religious communities. In a real sense, these confrontations bear a striking resemblance to religious wars of the past, except the weapons of this war are economic, political and legal rather than economic, theological and military.

In this context another quote from Karen Armstrong is relevant. She says (Spiral Staircase, p. 271):

The religious quest is not about discovering “the truth” or “the meaning of life” but about living as intensely as possible here and now. The idea is not to latch onto some superhuman personality or to “get to heaven” but to discover how to be fully human—hence the images of the perfect or enlightened man, or the deified human being.....Men and women have a potential for the divine, and are not complete unless they realize it within themselves.

Karen Armstrong's statement applies equally well to our political confrontations if one substitutes, in the quote above, “achieve a political visionary ideal” for “get to heaven” and “charismatic leader” for “deified human being.”  The restatement would read something like this:

Political engagement is not about discovering “the truth” or “the meaning of life” but about living as intensely as possible here and now. The idea is not to latch onto some superhuman personality or to “achieve a political visionary ideal” but to discover how to be fully human—hence the images of the enlightened person or the charismatic leader......Men and women have a potential for the divine, and are not complete unless they realize it within themselves.

As with religion, we have missed the boat on politics. We have concentrated too much energy on promoting “the truth” of our political positions and on the assumed future advantages of our chosen political world view. We have neglected to ask if the understanding and practice of our political ideology are making us kinder, more empathetic people. We have neglected to ask if these understandings and practices are impelling us to express this sympathy in concrete acts of loving-kindness. In other words: We have failed to consider whether or not people in the USA and in the world are better off because of our political theories (theologies) and actions. When judged by this standard, neither conservative nor liberal politics are manifesting in their most noble form.

This is where the rubber hits the road. This is where spirituality (or religion) and politics coalesce. Political engagement is a spiritual practice. It is a laboratory where we can experiment with activities that actually enhance the lives of people now, not in some idealized future.

This is why the practices of loving enemies and non-attachment are crucial in the political arena. Each one of us has the opportunity to live into our deeper humanity in the social/political situations in which we find ourselves. If we don't live into this potential, we will be less than complete. In this incompleteness, our politics will also be incomplete. They will continue to produce fear and suffering rather than hope and life.

So like the Magi, talmudic scholars, prophets, contemplatives, and mystics through the ages, we need to engage in practices that deepen our practical compassion, compassion that engages not only our friends and the marginalized, but also our enemies.