Fractal I - On Boltz-Weber and Kierkegaard - "The Deathbed Companion"

NOTE: This is Part 1 in an ongoing blog series called "Fractals of Faith."

(The ideas and opinions expressed within these specific posts are meant to be self-reflective of my theological praxis and are in no way or form intended to be prescriptive, doctrinal, or persuasive. )

• Preamble

  
  

On August 26th, 2021, I took a class called 'Theological Field Education' as part of my degree requirements in seminary. One of the books we read was Rev. Nadia Boltz-Weber's Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner & Saint.

If you're unfamiliar with Boltz-Weber, she is an ordained cleric/clergyperson/pastor within the Lutheran tradition. She is (in)famous for her candid use of 'profanity' in her work- something I honestly found refreshing when reading through Pastrix. I've long valued those who choose to write in their own words- who forgo the notion that one's method or approach of communication must be carefully packaged, embellished, or sterilized for consumption.

When writing about Nadia's book, I was enrolled full-time in a seminary and serving a church throughout the COVID-19 pandemic. Rev. Boltz-Weber first published Pastrix in 2013, and I found it fascinating that her experience with the outcasts, the sick, the dead, and the dying would resonate so much with me. At the time, I had only three prior years of experience in vocational ministry. Like everyone else I talked to during Lockdown, I constantly had doubts about whether or not serving the Church or others was what I was meant to do.

However, reading Nadia's book allowed me to discover (and acknowledge) that I was in the trenches and at the vanguard of providing care to my communities, especially when folks were more disconnected from one another than ever.

I invite you to read what I wrote as part of our review of Nadia's book, and if you would humor me, I'll include what I chose to leave out in this paper:

• A Reflection on Pastrix by Rev. Nadia Boltz-Weber

"In Boltz-Weber's chapter in Pastrix titled: 'Clinical Pastoral Education', the author, through frank and candid discussion of the messiness, trauma, and realities of death and dying, recalls the common assumptions and notions of a pastor-as-presence in those most sacred and holy of spaces.

In those realms where the presence of life is at it's most intense, such as the deathbed or the scene of the accident, Nadia put into words quite a few thoughts I've had living into new and ever-increasing responsibilities and expectations of a cleric practicing ministry during a plague.

I find inspiration in Nadia's candid approach to writing these experiences- beginning with a story of a person's body with all manner of instruments in it.

She paints such pictures of the very real suffering, death, and apprehension that comes with existing in those spaces that her very act of drawing from her experience, understanding of the human condition, and her theological background combine into something that resonates with me.

With great authority, Nadia provides a space where I can examine the areas of ministry and life, where I am given responsibilities, expectations, and assumptions about my role in any given space I find myself in.

Not simply the acknowledgment of a space for reflection, but a space in which I can give myself permission to not be the most educated or smartest person in the room in times of great suffering and death- my presence, and therefore a divine presence, can be made manifest, if not already acknowledged, in union with my being as an instrument in a specific place and for a specific time.

Even if I cannot conjure words during these times of great uncertainty- of terminal illness, sickness, and despair, it could be my own authentic approach to embodying some sort of presence that is non-anxious, or perhaps comforting- to folks at their most vulnerable moments.

Like Nadia, however, I often feel like there aren't many places for caregivers and partners in these spaces to express their own uncertainties; Nadia's writing of this alone is an edification to a healthy and transformative expression of one's acceptance of such a responsibility, but one that is authentic and honest."

• Revealing the Fractal: The Reflective and the Psychological

Something I've noticed about myself (and my professors would agree) is that I don't talk much about myself. Several, if not all, of my papers or writings tend to vaguely reveal bits and pieces about what I think or feel or know about any given subject.

This was the case a few years later when I wrote my papers for Constructive Theology. In my degree program, students are invited to take a course that allows us space and resources to define, refine, and declare how our theology is constructed. In other words, we are tasked with writing out what our faith means to us and how it informs how we experience the world.

In that class, the primary source of constructing my theology came from the works of the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855), whose collections of writings I meditated on during the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic.

For those unfamiliar with his work, he is considered a pioneer of existential psychology, the 'Father of Christian Existentialism,' an ethicist, and a critic of the Church, especially concerning the relationships between Church and State.

His work, The Sickness Unto Death, served as the platform on which I would state my theological praxis- this would be the foundation of my approach to public and pastoral ministry. Through his understanding of despair, authenticity, and hope, I found the words to explain how I navigated the world.

In short, Kierkegaard asserts that despair is the 'sickness unto death' and that hopelessness kills a person far before their body wastes. He states that despair is a universal concept that manifests when one's expectations, worries (he calls them anxieties), or aspirations clash with one's realities.

He elaborates that despair is a state of being in which a person, the concrete self, exists outside their ideal self and true self.

The concrete self is who we currently are. This self is as simple or complex as we choose to define it. Kierkegaard does not focus on how others define us- he intentionally writes about how important it is to define ourselves by our own observations.

The ideal self is who we aspire to be: famous, wealthy, well-regarded, honored, loved, etc. I could provide more examples, but I hope that this small list might help clarify.

To become these ideal selves, we are required to take action. How do I want to be famous? How might I become wealthy? In short, we are invited to ask: "Who do I need to be?"

Notably, Kierkegaard does not stop with the ideal- he asserts that even if a person becomes their ideal self, they may find something else missing from their life. Therefore, Kierkegaard states that a person should strive to be their true self instead.

The true self, he asserts, is the person that we are created to be. This self transcends our initial understandings of our self. To understand who the true self is, one must first recognize that one's perception is limited and, through God/faith/higher power/fate/external incomprehensible force, each person has limitless potential.

Something I'd like to note is that this form of existentialism is over and against the teachings of other philosophers such as Nietzche, who, in simple terms, invites people to create meaning in a meaningless world (as existence has no inherent meaning)- Kierkegaard asks us to seek out more significant meaning for ourselves through actively engaging with the world around us. One of my professors called it "attuning yourself with God."

Therefore, despair is a natural, initially unavoidable state of existence. Even striving toward and becoming our ideal self, one may still be in despair. This transformation requires more than we alone can do- we are called to be empowered to be more than we can conceive.

• Revealing the Fractal: The Pensive and the Spiritual

In the paper above, I declared that Nadia's book empowered me to be present in times of suffering, but I intentionally omitted how. I tend to do that in all of my writing- and my intention in reflecting on this work is to work out the 'why.'

Nadia is candid about her experiences and community before she went to seminary to become a priest. She spent her nights doing comedy shows and her days among what some would consider the most non-productive or less-than-useful of society- the chemically dependent, people experiencing poverty, those in need, and the lazy. She learned a great deal from her community- appreciating and sharing the stories of the survival of people most look down upon. It was through their perceived worthlessness that they created a community of their own.

Through this example and testament of community, Nadia discovered her true self and accepted her call to be a leader and servant among those considered undesirable, unworthy, and misunderstood. By staying true to herself, Nadia brought life into places where the stagnancy of death, despair, and hopelessness killed far too many before their bodies could catch up.

I've heard throughout my seminary experience from more seasoned clerics and pastors that the deathbed is one of the most sacred spaces to be, and many shared how honored they were to be with the dying in those liminal spaces. I initially thought how silly and strange it was to hear that until I had my own deathbed experience.

During the pandemic, I saw death everywhere. Toward the tail end of the Lockdown, I got a call that our church organist- a woman in her mid-80s- was sent to the hospital, and the family was being called in. This was my first bedside visit, and I did not know about her condition until I arrived.

In my naivety, I initially prepared to visit her for a half-hour to be with her family, say our last goodbyes, and provide a send-off prayer. When I got there, the nurse and the family told me that she had taken some medicine for the pain and she would soon be "at rest." I heard that she would be "resting." Believe it or not, those two things have a monumental difference.

While there, the family asked me to stay with her while they grabbed lunch. I later learned that they had gone to the parking lot and wept; they did not want to grieve in front of her. When they left, the nurse came in, surprised that I was still in the room. I said... something; I don't remember what I said, but I prayed. I remember that I wasn't the long, drawn-out prayer I wrote down on a sheet of paper in the parking lot. I said what I felt called to say, and soon after, Death arrived to take our sweet church organist home.

• Interlude

  
  

Long ago, several selves ago, to be specific, I had a very pitiful understanding of my concrete self.

I deeply internalized others' expectations of me.

Later, I recognized that many of the ideal selves I aspired to be were equal parts empty and unnecessary. For years, I boldly spoke of Life by the dawn, but I desperately prayed for Death at sunset.

In my mind, spirit, and body, I knew that I constantly failed to meet expectations.

That, not surprising anyone, led me to that 'sickness unto Death.' This performance led me to despair. With all my brilliance, intellect, and words, I could do nothing on my own to heal myself, and yet I worked to fashion some simulacrum of an antidote to my poison. I wasted years peddling some false artifice of hope, peace, joy, and love, praying that these placebos would be just as effective as the real, true thing.

• Revealing the Fractal: The Pensive and the Spiritual

Like the crumpled, hastily written, and sterile scribbles in my pocket, my expectations, anxieties, and aspirations clashed with my reality- a beloved saint, for whom I was responsible, was taking her last breaths. Under the hospital room's harsh lighting and cold air, there was a transformation- concrete broken, an ideal dispelled, and the true made manifest.

It was here, at the deathbed of a Saint so beloved by her community, Church, and Creator, that I met Death for the first time.

At that moment, I had to be my true self. I would not run away from myself, as I had many times before. In retrospect, this experience became the crux of who I felt and believed I was meant to be.

I could have left the nurse there alone- that was the expectation.

Yet, this time, I would choose to fail to meet this expectation.

I would stay by her side, as was my duty, as was my honor, as was my choice to bear witness to the suffering of a body- a surrender to Death, and it was my choice to bear witness to the rise of a spirit- a victory made in new Life.

Yes, indeed, it was a sacred moment- and yes, it was powerful, honorable, and virtuous to be there as a companion in this last and yet first step on this journey of Life; however, I could not and can not help to remember how the air changed in an instant- I can't forget the sound of air leaving the lungs for the last time and returning to God.

It was at that moment that I understood how profound Nadia's experience was- to see folks who appear alive and yet are dead- to offer and share hope, peace, joy, and love that is more than pretty words or elegant scripts- to remember and remember and remember that a true faith allows us to know and understand and believe what it means to be those, who St. Paul writes of: "appear dead, and yet are alive."

Kierkegaard once wrote: "The most common form of despair is not being who you are."

To be true, I deeply internalized the desire to bear witness to this world's suffering.

I will not close my eyes to the pain of creation.

I will remain present.

I will keep watch.

Amen.