Crazy Socks and the Cross--Symbols of Love

I was just trying to make my bed and get ready for a walk; I'd just had a difficult conversation with my eldest son known far and wide as Boss and I needed to process and probably rewrite my Good Friday sermon...

I was deep in thought, quiet thought, and wanting to be alone, but into my bedroom he walked (notice there was no knocking), opened his father's sock drawer and took a pair of socks. (They were his--it's very hard to keep straight whose socks, boxers, t-shirts are whose in a house with 3 men). As he began to put the green socks with blue polka dots on, I momentarily forgot the previous difficult discussion and my promise to myself not to engage anymore today, and just had to ask, "Don't you have to wear black socks?"

"Yes, that's the uniform regulations, but I think it's stupid so I don't....." and he tried to continue but I cut him off. "I cannot listen to this. Why can't you just follow the rules? You're going to get fired. Have they written you up?" Boss, "They don't fire you until you've been written up 6 times." It did not slip past me that a) he didn't seem concerned about being written up and b) he didn't answer my question...."But have you been written up?" I pressed when honestly I really didn't want to know--or maybe I really didn't want to want to know. (This parenting and letting go of adult children is WAAAAAY harder than I ever thought it would be.) "No," he smugly said as he sprawled across my freshly made bed, "I have not been written up."

I decided I didn't want to, couldn't stand to hear anymore and I was also berating myself for ever introducing him to these crazy socks, for encouraging this. "I hate those stupid socks" I thought to myself as I walked out of the room trying to escape. He followed...

"Mama, just listen to me." "I can't." I said, "I just can't have this conversation." I kept walking; he kept following--just like he did when he was a toddler, and frankly, I was beginning to think he was still that obstinate hard-headed toddler!  I sat at the dining room table and I promise you I truly did lay my head in my hands shaking it back and forth and repeating like a crazed person, "Please just stop telling me. I can't take it. I love you, but I really can't listen anymore." Like a crazed or perhaps a deaf person who didn't hear the anguish in his mother's voice, he kept talking....

I'll admit now the less than compassionate thoughts that were going through my mind, "Why can't you ever just do things the easy way? Why can't you just submit to the rules, to authority, to anything? Why do you make life so hard? Why do you have to learn the hard way?" My head remained in my hands; he continued to talk.

Finally, I realized he wasn't going to stop until I listened, so I slowly and reluctantly lifted my head and looked across the table at my son, my little boy who has grown into a man far too quickly--a man who had his own path and wasn't asking for my advice. "I'm listening." "Mama," he calmly continued as though my face didn't have a look of total stress, resignation, and frustration, "It makes people happy to see the socks. Not a day goes by that 3 or 4 people don't comment on my socks or my needlepoint belt." (May I just take a moment to mention I am the one who made those needlepoint belts?) He continued, "I know at the hotel chains uniformity is important, but this is a hospital. Very few people come to the hospital for happy reasons, and if my socks or my belt gives them even a stupid reason to smile for just a minute, then it's worth it."

I did understand what he was saying, but deep in my core I am still that unquestioning rule-follower terrified of angering authority so I said, "But what if you get fired?" He took a big sigh and said, "Ka-ther-ine (which is what he calls me when he's frustrated or thinks I'm being ridiculous--it happens a lot) yesterday I had a conversation with both my boss and my boss's boss. In the morning a lady came peeling up and jumped out of the car screaming, "they've called about my son" I could tell she was distraught so I didn't even take her name I just handed her a claim ticket." (I have to interrupt here to confess the thought did go through my mind, "I think that's another rule you broke...) He continued oblivious to my panic, "When she came back out she found me. She said she knew who I was because of the socks and she smiled a little. Then she told me her son didn't make it and she didn't get here in time. We stood and talked for 15 minutes. It's not much but I think it helped a little. That's what I told my boss, and that's why I'm going to keep wearing crazy socks and keep smiling at people and keep standing around listening when people want to talk even if it slows down getting cars pulled around, and just keep trying to help make the time at the hospital go more smoothly for everyone." And with that, he quit talking and walked out the door in his black regulation shorts and green and blue polka dot socks.

I sit here on Good Friday and think about Mary who ended up following her son to the cross because he wouldn't just submit to the "rules" to the letter of and not the spirit of the law. Did Mary ever utter the words, "But what if you get killed?" Did she ever beg him, "Please Jesus just stop healing people on the Sabbath. Heal people yes but do it within the constraints of the law. And do you have to be so loud about parsing our forgiveness? Also, this eating with tax collectors, prostitutes, and criminals, could you use the back door so no one has to know? Please don't turn tables over in the temple--it's against the rules." Did she ever hold her head in her hands and wonder, "Why do you have to do things the hard way? Why do you have to challenge authority? Why can't you just submit?"  Did she ever wonder how many times Jesus would be able to tick off the Romans or the Jewish leaders before he was punished? And I wonder if as she followed Jesus to the cross on that Friday over 2000 years ago was she both incredibly proud of the loving compassionate man Jesus had become and filled with dread and sadness knowing the pain that would come because of it? I wonder if she thought about the people whose lives he had touched because he reached out regardless of the rules?

I wonder if in the days and months to come she looked at the cross differently, not as a symbol of torture but rather as a symbol of her son's unconditional love for all people? I bet she did--and I bet she'd have been proud for her son to have worn crazy non-regulation socks.

Holiday Meals with Extended Family

The family holiday meal....it's coming again this Sunday. Families

all across the world will gather to celebrate Easter (and families come in all different forms). It will be a wonderful day of celebration, but we all know that along with families gathering for celebration sometimes comes a little (or possibly a lot) of family drama...

Perhaps some of you are wondering what family drama I'm talking about? The drama of past hurts, unspoken pain, and chips on shoulders that weigh us down. Then there's the  drama of the differences of opinions--political, social, religious and parenting styles. Throw in rival sports teams, and you've got a full blown recipe for disaster. So what do we do? We play nice (or try to play nice). We warn our spouses, significant others and children to avoid certain topics; we pledge to not take the bait if someone goads us; we promise to enjoy ourselves and one another no matter what. We are determined to have the most wonderful time ever. I suspect there will be a few bloody tongues

Sunday evening....

Aside--some of us get lots of practice around our routine family dinner table--

As I was thinking about this this morning I remembered a question one of my beloved offspring asked me referring to family gatherings. "Why do you never speak up when someone says something you typically think is offensive or belittles other people?" Fortunately it was dark so said offspring couldn't see the red shame that crawled up my face, and I knew I had three choices. One, I could bemoan the fact I had so many offspring that ask so many questions; two I could try to defend myself explaining sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut (and that's true--sometimes); or three I could change the subject. Well, I could no longer do anything about the number of offspring I have and I hear it's illegal to permanently sew their mouths shut; I thought about defending myself, but my excuses sounded hollow even to me; so, I did the very mature good parent thing, opted for the third option and changed the subject.

All of this was going through my mind as I was working on my sermon for tonight--Maundy Thursday, the commemoration of the Last Supper. Jesus gathered with his closest friends, friends he has traveled with for 3 years, friends that have become family. So basically a family dinner. And what did he do?

He named it! He told the 12 gathered that one would betray him and the others would abandon him. But what he didn't then do was belittle them; he didn't ostracize them; he didn't storm away from the table; and he didn't let them do it either. They tried (Luke 22:24), but he cut them off stopping the dispute and declaring himself the servant of all. He commanded them to love one another just as he has loved them--and continues to love them regardless of their failings, regardless of the fact they

will turn their backs on him, regardless of the fact they can't live up to what he most needs from them at this time. And then, then HE FED THEM AND HE WASHED THEIR FEET!! These people who would very shortly leave him to die alone (not to mention fall asleep when he needed them most to be with him...), he fed and bathed--lovingly and gently.

Perhaps that is what we are called to do--to name the pain, to name the differences, to name our beliefs, and then most importantly to keep loving.

Forgiving United

Like the rest of the world, I have been bombarded with the news of United Airlines, and like most of I have been horrified by the

videos posted repeatedly by every news source. I must admit (read this hearing my voice trying not to be but probably sounding very self righteous) I have also been quite disturbed by the "jokes" that have made the social media circuit--you know the quotes like, "United--we carry our baggage off." I recognize sometimes we use humor to deflect the horrors that happen around us, but for some reason I'm just not there (at least not yet; I suspect there will be a blog post at some time...)

But what has my dander up--that doesn't even begin to express my anger. What has steam coming out of my ears as my head about to spin around three times and pop off is how the media has dug up "dirt" as they call it on Dr. Dao and have started a campaign to
smear his name. The very second I first heard he had a past, before I even knew what it was, I wanted to scream, "WHO CARES!?!?!! WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM IS UNACCEPTABLE PERIOD!!!" And then my snide side wanted to ask United, "So did you choose Dr. Dao because he has a past? Do you vet all your passengers and decide based on their "pasts" how you are going to treat them?" (self righteous voice is beginning to be silenced as I also begin sounding quite snarky....)

My anger increased exponentially when I heard what his sordid past was.  Dr. Dao was found guilty, according to the story in the Louisville Courier Journal of being "involved in fraudulent prescriptions for controlled substances" and that in February of 2005 he surrendered his medical license. The license was reinstated in 2015 (that didn't make headlines).

Perhaps it's because we have a personal family friend who also lost his medical license due to abusing prescription drugs. Our friend was "caught", went to rehab and then worked diligently to earn his license back. Before his death he was indeed reinstated and went on to work in public health serving those who could often find care nowhere else--another cause near and dear to my heart. (Which is why I serve on the Family Health Center board) I suspect those he cared for with kindness, compassion and care are just thankful someone served their needs and couldn't care less that he had a "past." A past, by the way, he PAID FOR--the consequences were extreme not only losing his medical license, but his marriage and the trauma his family went

through.

Or, perhaps my anger comes from the way we villainize people who have struggled with addiction often never letting them forget "their past."  Maybe it is because I personally know far too many people who have traveled the dark road of addiction, fought their way back and yet still are "branded." Whatever the reason I am infuriated....

Yes my family friend and yes Dr. Dao did something wrong. But they both faced up to it, lived the consequences, and then were redeemed. Or were they? What these two men did was dangerous and possibly or rather probably had severe ramifications for others--a fact these men have to live with for the rest of their lives, but where is the redemption? Where is the forgiveness for a mistake made? On a bigger level, how many years will people who have struggled with drugs and addiction be required to pay for their past? I mean seriously, where is the motivation to change if your past is going to be continually thrown in your face, spread across the news, gossiped about in people's homes?

How many years does someone have to continue to pay for, to be identified by his/her past? When does true forgiveness happen, or does it? Forgiveness is hard; forgiveness is even harder when deep hurt has occurred. When the wounds inflicted are so deep the relayering of trust and the diminishing of pain can take years. But what gives us the right as people to continually besmirch those who have erred? And what gives us the right to continue to treat people as less than in every aspect of their lives just because of a mistake in one part?

This morning as I continued to be furious it suddenly struck me--I am angry because Dr. Dao's past has been thrown back at him yet again; I am angry because he has not been allowed to move on, to be forgiven, I want his past to no longer haunt him. But what that really means is there must also come a time when United and the people involved in this terrible tragedy must also be allowed to move forward in their lives and to be forgiven.

Man this is hard!