Truth in Love; Not Love in Truth – The Pain of Having to Believe Another’s Lies

To my knowledge, this has never happened to anyone, anywhere.

Following up on last Friday’s post, as well as more recent events, I’m still thinking about how my decision to love someone has to precede any possibility of speaking the truth to, with, or from them. (Ephesians 4:11-16, and especially v15—“speaking the truth in love”—is the scripture I’ve been contemplating.)

Specifically, this morning I’m thinking about how dearly I love some of my friends, despite the fact that they lie to me.

The Root(s) of Lies

As a pastor, I’m used to hearing from others what they want to believe about themselves. It’s no more true than any other lie would be, but most of the time they are only repeating to me what they hear themselves say. It’s often just wishful thinking about their own character. “I’ll see you at church Sunday.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call and order the parts.” “I’m fine. And how are you?” Sometimes, though, it’s more dangerously delusional. “Everybody’s business is a little slow right now. Things will turn around.” “She and I have just hit a little rough patch lately. We just need to make some time for each other.” “A doctor would just say it’s nothing to worry about, so why spend the money?”

Hard to see it grow when he's looking you straight in the eye.

The past few lies, though, were not based on self-deception. They were, in fact, the exact opposite of self-protection. They were lies that left the liars in dangerous situations. The liars lied with the intention to deceive me as to the circumstances they were facing. They gave untrue answers to direct questions about their personal safety.

To be fair, I should note the reason I now know I was lied to. In each case, the person who lied to me has since admitted the truth. I have followed-through as they imagined I would, because, as they know, I am their friend even when they lie to me.

Allowing the Lies

You see, I believe that Christian fellowship, any friendship, and relationships of all types require a commitment to authenticity, transparency, and vulnerability. By authenticity I mean, “What I choose to say is what is true.” Transparency, to me, means, “Whatever is true, I choose to say.” And vulnerability is simply the acknowledgement that when we say what is true, “it may be used in evidence against us.” With regard to my lying friends? In my attempts to live in authenticity and transparency, I willingly make myself vulnerable to the consequences of believing their lies. And in a few cases recently that has motivated them to trust me with the truth.

My biggest problem with the lies? I believed them.

This is not, however, the optimal means of building trusting relationships. Lies can badly damage our friendships. I still believe that authenticity and transparency, despite the vulnerability, is the best course to follow. But if my commitment to these relationships is to mean something, then I must accept its consequences. Creating an environment in which the truth may be spoken requires a commitment to establishing a loving relationship…in which someone may choose to lie for quite awhile longer before entrusting us with the truth.

Deciding to love first, ask questions later, and perhaps only eventually learn the truth about another person’s beliefs, behaviors, situations and circumstances? That commitment costs. And it hurts. But it works. And it’s worth it.

Truth in Love; Not Love in Truth – An important distinction in pursing inter-faith discussion

I struggle with the concept of Christian diplomacy, largely because of my exposure to the diplomacy of human governments. Rather than seeking to build bridges between disparate political, social, cultural, or economic populations, human diplomacy has always seemed to me to involve a language designed to allow “plausible deniability.” In other words, we recognize our need to talk with one another. But just in case someone tries to pin us down on an actual communication of meaning, we can object that “we didn’t mean it that way.”

Diplomatically Rejecting Diplomacy

At the heart of Christian diplomacy, there must be a commitment to “speaking the truth in love.” And doing so as clearly and unequivocally as possible. This is why I agree so strongly with the discussion of such clarity in Paul Louis Metzger’s most recent post, “Thank God for the Dalai Lama.” And yet it also influences me to state, knowing the likely controversy among my Buddhist friends, that I do not thank God for the Dalai Lama. My early impressions are not overcome by Dr. Metzger’s emphasis on the points of agreement, largely because I don’t know that those points will withstand scrutiny over time. The “popular Buddhism” of celebrities mirrored that of the Dalai Lama for too many years for me to expect clarity and consistency in the position of any Buddhist. The variations on key themes are too many and too frequently shifting to foster a detailed discussion of actual belief and practice. The Buddhism that has thus been portrayed to me is essentially a spiritual Lego™ set. Interchangeable parts that may be arranged, discarded, and/or added to on the whims of the individual practitioner.

“Why so annoyed, Bill?”

I do thank God for Dr. Metzger’s post, and for the discussion that the Dalai Lama sparks. But the impossibility of a clear discussion of belief and practice in Buddhism merely fuels a smoldering dissatisfaction with those in my own faith tradition.

Dr. Metzger points out that in Jesus’ teachings, “one cannot help but see belief in an immortal God, heaven and hell, and eternal judgment of our souls as central to Jesus’ ethic.” But he introduces that statement, properly, by noting that this view is only clear, “apart from dismissing that this text conveys Jesus’ voice, or distorting its meaning.” And yet, so often, I find that my conversations with Christians involve their willful rearranging, discarding, and/or adding to whatever portions of Jesus’ words and deeds they choose.

As with pots and kettles in their blackness, the obfuscation of doctrines and polity, beliefs and practices, or even the boundaries at which the discussion shifts from biblical or theological to political, cultural, and/or socio-economic, leaves me wondering. What is it that we fear so greatly about open and honest dialogue that we must use “diplomatic language” (in the worst sense of the term) in order to ensure the “plausible deniability” that allows us to pretend to have actual relationships with others, even though we cannot bring ourselves to speak the truth?

I suspect that it has to do with our attempts to build love for one another on an agreed-upon truth. What scripture seems to me to suggest, however, is a mutual seeking for truth, based on the indispensable prerequisite of having decided to love one another. Thus, finding shared truth must be accomplished by first accepting our shared concerns as human beings. Not the other way around.

Bridging the Gap in Bereavement Care

The text below is cross-posted under the title “Dismiss, Delay, or Distract – Client Autonomy and the Desire to Discuss the Unspeakable” at “Death Pastor’s Passion,” where it’s emphasis on bereavement care merits the exclusion of these additional thoughts. I am including it also here at “Death Pastor’s Diversions” in response to Paul Louis Metzger’s recent post (found here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/uncommongodcommongood/2014/10/kyogen-carlson-bridge-builder-over-troubled-waters/) regarding the role of his friend, Buddhist Abbot Kyogen Carlson, as a bridge-builder. I was privileged to meet Abbot Carlson on several occasions through Dr. Metzger’s involvements, and share a similar appreciation for what I found to be too-brief encounters between our two religious communities. Those who are geographically closer have had greater opportunity to witness the dialogue that Abbot Carlson and Dr. Metzger fostered. But all of us can learn from their friendship, and seek to build similar bridges ourselves in whatever communities we are called to serve.

"Solitude" - Not just the name, but the reason for the boat.

While those who live in the Portland and San Francisco areas will likely think of having long-since built bridges as the means to “get us where I want to go,” I am mindful of a process that is immensely simpler, and yet oddly more complex. Bridging the gap between two sailing vessels is often necessitated by mutual needs of skippers and crews who would prefer, at best, to remain independently isolated to themselves, but who also often find themselves in conflict with one another (whether in sanctioned competition or in armed conflict). The method of bridging that gap is far different than the single-minded purposes that spanned The Golden Gate or the Columbia River. It requires the collaboration of two incompatible, or even conflicting parties. Before any lattice-work can join the two, there must be one who throws the first line across, and the other who not only receives it, but secures it to their, formerly sovereign, territory.

"Secure those lines."

The story that follows the pedantic “Three Ds” section acknowledges, I hope, the willingness of another whom I now count as a friend, who was willing to sort through the lines I threw across the divide, find their own hawsers for me to draw across to myself, and eventually build a strong enough bond to allow for the authentic, transparent, and vulnerable exchanges we have had subsequently. A great deal of my recent ministry involvements are directly attributable to those who could be considered part of her crew, whose lives I would never have encountered, and who would never have impacted mine, had there not been just one of us on each side willing to establish those first fragile cords by which the stronger cables were eventually intertwined.

I am currently teaching “Bereavement Intervention Skills” for Mayers Memorial Hospital. It’s the third time I’ve done so, and there continue to be adjustments to the course content and presentation. But one thing that I have recognized in the course of Hospice chaplaincy (probably having originally learned it from instructors with American Academy of Bereavement) is the importance of allowing the patient and/or family member to discuss what they want to discuss, when they want to discuss it. Especially with regard to those who volunteer to offer services to the bereaved, the assumption that our “best time to talk” always matches theirs can prove disastrous.

The Three Ds

"Could we talk?" (No means no.)

And so, I remind my students at least once in each of our six sessions that our clients have the right to “dismiss, delay, or distract” when we arrive with an offer or support, encouragement, or assistance, or even at any subsequent point while we serve them.

Dismiss: A client may dismiss us by saying, “No, I’m fine. Really.” There are variations on that theme, and it may occasionally be stated somewhat vaguely. Sometimes it even turns out that they mean, “I’m fairly sure I do want some help with this, but I have no idea who you are. I hope you leave a card or brochure. I may call if I start to feel more desperately in need.” But our polite compliance with “Please leave” is essential to any hope of future assistance to that client. (Still, I’ve been known to ask, “Are you sure?” Not that I should, though.)

"Is this a good time...?"

Delay: More often, a client may delay our assistance. We may hear, “Now really isn’t a good time,” or “I don’t think I’m quite ready to discuss that yet,” or even “That’s already being taken care of, thank you.” On this last point, we need to remember that clients are sometimes mistaken about the resources and support think will be available or adequate. When the client chooses to delay, we should always seek an opportunity to “check-in on them” at a (not very much) later time.

Distract: Most often, even before “getting down to business” in a scheduled session with a client, s/he  may want to distract the conversation from the topic at hand (i.e., the effects of and efforts toward dealing with a significant loss). “Could we talk about anything else but that?” is a frequent request. Why? Because, it seems, every coworker, classmate, friend and/or family member feels compelled to put on a pained expression and ask, “So, how are you doing?” (to which there is rarely a ready answer). Any other topic can be a welcome relief from the constant analysis and expression of their moment-by-moment experience of bereavement, grief, and mourning.

"Patience. We'll get there."

An Example

I was recently asked to speak to an early-adolescent domestic violence refugee. (If you need a clearer definition of that, feel free to email me at deathpastor@frontier.com.) When I asked her if she wanted to talk, she declined. My first inclination was to accept this as a dismissal. But it wasn’t an outright, “Go away,” so I said, “Okay,” and continued to sit across from her.

She began showing me what she’d like to order from her school’s most recent book-order form. When she noted that a boxed set of six books was thirty-five dollars, she added that if there were seven books they would be five dollars each. I asked if she was always able to do math that quickly, and she ran to her room to get her math homework. It was done and graded, and she was clearly doing well. I said so. But then she asked, as long as I was there, if I would help her with her spelling homework. I agreed.

There were some wonderful opportunities to explain the I before E rhyme—especially since the word “weird” also appeared on her list. She almost has it memorized now. But she seemed especially interesting in another word on the list. “Mourn,” she explained, was not the time of day when the sun arose. It had to do with feeling sad, she told me, but she wasn’t sure quite how.

Let the client determine direction & timing.

In due course, I was able to explain the connection between bereavement (the condition of having experienced a significant loss—not always by death, but including the kinds of upheavals she had been experiencing), grief (the reactions we have to bereavement), and mourning (the proactive response we make to our grief, primarily through discussing its elements and effects aloud).

(For those wondering how to express these concepts to an eleven year-old, I would first suggest simpler vocabulary, of course. But again, I’d be willing to pass along some ideas for developmentally-appropriate bereavement care. Feel free to let me know.)

There is still a lot for my young friend to process, and her circumstances continue to shift and spiral. But my point in sharing this brief experience is to note what can happen when we honor the client’s autonomy—allowing them to dismiss, delay, or distract, in order to be available to them when they do decide it’s time to discuss what we might know about the process in which they find themselves.

"Will that line hold?" "It only needs to hold the other vessel's line."

Who Will Throw? Who Will Catch?

Again, this last section is unique to our discussion of bridges and gaps, and the need to find what Jesus referred to as “a person of peace” (Luke 10:1-12, esp. v6) on the far side to receive our offering of engagement.

Before the gap between vessels can be bridged, one must first throw a line, however inadequate it may be, across to another. Ideally, that first fragile cord is used to draw a far more sturdy rope across from another who is willing to respond. Eventually, a lattice-work of lines may bind two vessels together for their mutual benefit. But it never exists without first risking some of our precious running rigging to be shared across the gunwales.

Hospice Chaplaincy – Equally Available and Avoided by Both Adherents and Atheists (and everyone in between).

Lizzy Miles, MA, MSW, LSW

Lizzy Miles is a Thanatology Rockstar. Deservedly so. Since serving as a Hospice social worker, among her other involvements, she has initiated the first North American gathering of a “Death Café” (The profile for the Columbus Death Café is here: http://deathcafe.com/profile/49/), and seen its influence spread to other events across the country.

She recently wrote on a subject near and dear (and frustrating) to my heart. The article, “When Patients Refuse the Hospice Chaplain” can be found here: http://www.pallimed.org/2014/10/when-patients-refuse-hospice-chaplain.html. In eleven-plus years of serving as Hospice chaplain (among my other involvements), I can attest to her observations and recommendations. I would add two things, though, one of which I hold in greatest certainty, the other of which I offer as a question, or at least an invitation for comment.

The first addition I would make (an “Amen,” if you’ll allow it), is to her observation that patients often decline the services of a chaplain because they have “an existing long-term relationship with their church, mosque, synagogue, or other group. They often believe their spiritual leader knows them and will be a supportive presence during their end-of-life journey.” She also notes, though, that social workers need to assess further throughout the course of care. “Sometimes patients expect they will receive more support than they do.”

There's one near you, and a locator function on their website.

I would say that patients routinely receive far less support than they had imagined. This is not only due to the natural discomforts, fears, and personal challenges to lead to avoidance by clergy and others, though that is a significant factor. Some patients find that their community of faith and its leaders are very willing to call, visit, and assist, but in ways that betray their lack of perspective and/or training in end-of-life care. In short, there can be a lack of involvement, or a lack of competence, or both. As a result, there are unmet needs for which the chaplain (or spiritual care coordinator) may be helpful, despite the patient’s or family’s earlier estimation. Therefore, I wholeheartedly endorse the recommendation to social workers and others working with Hospice and palliative care patients: “Check in occasionally with patients and families regarding their church support.”

Regarding my other, less certain suggestion for this excellent article, I agree with the admonition that we “don’t forget the atheist, agnostic or non-believer” who may “avoid religious or spiritual support.” But I also believe that the “spiritual” aspect may be poorly defined for most of us.

In my experience, we tend to identify spiritual and religious as related in their supernatural orientation, but differing in their level of organization (being socially or dogmatically prescribed, in the case of religion). My reason for inviting comment is my uncertainty regarding the terms I use, as well as my perception that we lack effective alternatives to “spirituality” as the appropriate descriptor.

Specifically, along with Lizzy Miles, I worry that we deny atheists, agnostics, and non-believers the support they would find helpful when facing their impending death. I would also point out, though, that many of those would consider themselves to be spiritual, or to possess spirituality. (Among several volumes exploring this issue, the most popular seems to be The Little Book of Atheist Spirituality, by Andre Comte-Sponville.) A chaplain, adequately prepared to provide care to those of diverse spiritual backgrounds, would be an appropriate source of support even for those who reject any notion of “spirituality” prior to a clarifying definition of that word.

That clarified definition that I would suggest may fit another word better. But as I wrote earlier, if that word exists, I don’t know what it is. So, my proposal is that we offer the services of the chaplain/spiritual care coordinator in a way that clearly expresses how each of us experiences “spirituality” as “the framework by which we derive meaning from life, and assign value to its various elements.” What life means, and what we value within it, seem to me to fit the common use of “spirituality.”

The Center of Hospice Care: The Patient.

Again, if there is a better word, let me know. If there are objections that some avoid any sense of meaning or value in life, I would love to collect some specific examples. But there seems to me to be a universal tendency among human persons to think that their existence has some relation to the society and world around them, and that certain elements of their life have more positive or negative value than others. Facing their impending death will likely require some re-examination, if not adjustment to that meaning and those values. Thus, it is my belief that in the midst of that experience, the support and encouragement of an adequately prepared chaplain/spiritual care coordinator is invaluable.

So, if your definition of spiritual differs, or if the definition I offer fits another word better, or if you have any other question or comment, I look forward to hearing from you.