The Holy Week, Hamilton, Hospice Compilation...

Friends... indulge me, you know I get hyperfocused on certain ideas. Or ignore me, this thread may not be your jam. All good.

Holy Week is precious to me. Having been born on Good Friday and believing deeply in the message of Easter, I love Holy Week. Even if you don't share my faith, I think there are powerful and universal lessons in Holy Week.

"Hamilton" is beyond entertaining to me. It is a masterful show and score that also represents certain themes that I hold dear and believe in deeply.

Hospice is my passion and the level of healthcare where I have learned the most as a nurse and a person.

Holy Week, Hamilton, Hospice... a four day thread....

Today is "Maundy Thursday" or "Holy Thursday". The day of the Last Supper with Jesus and his disciples. IF you want pure biblical knowledge, this isn't the Facebook page for you. BUT, if you want to know what strikes me about this day and how I experience it in "Hamilton" and in hospice care, let me explain.

I have always believed that one of the most precious gifts that hospice can provide is allowing loved ones time (sometimes quick) to say goodbye. To complete life's work. To prepare.

At the Last Supper, Jesus was trying to say goodbye to his disciples. He knew the fate that awaited him. So he brought his precious friends together and shared a special meal.

"Maundy" is from the Latin word "to command" and Jesus commanded his dinner companions the thing he most wanted them to carry on: "Love one another as I have loved you" Jesus knew in the coming days there would be a lot of noise in his disciples heads but this command had to be clearly said and purposefully delivered.

In "Hamilton", one of the most poignant scenes and powerful songs (IMHO) is when George Washington tells a disbelieving Alexander Hamilton that he is not running for re-election. In the song "One Last Time" George Washington 'commands' Hamilton to write Washington's farewell to the nation that he helped create. At first, Hamilton, like Christ's disciples, rejects any notion of the beloved leader stepping away from their role but Washington, like Christ, stands firm on his purpose to step away and allow the created legacy to carry on without him.

For my two cents from experience, goodbyes matter. Even though they are sad.

"If I say goodbye, the nation learns to move on,

It outlives me when I'm gone..."

"Love one another as I have loved you"

Holy Week, Hamilton, Hospice... more to come...

Welcome to Day 2 of Holy Week, Hamilton and Hospice (aka: my strange fascination)... Today is Good Friday, the day Christians commemorate the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. (Today is also first day of Passover- blessings to all who celebrate).

Good Friday is arguably the saddest day of the Christian calendar, it's really only palatable now because we have the luxury of knowing Easter will come on Sunday. On the day of the crucifixion, that was not known, and the pain of the loss for those that loved and followed Jesus was unimaginable.

"There are moments that the words don't reach,

There is suffering too terrible to name

You hold your child as tight as you can

And push away the unimaginable..."

"It's Quiet Uptown" is undoubtedly the most haunting song in the "Hamilton" score, as it is what plays after Hamilton's son is killed in a duel. I've only seen "Hamilton" performed live once but I can tell you the audience is breathless and silent as the bereaved sing their pain.

A child killed. A man crucified. Unimaginable.

Many of the families I came to know as a hospice nurse, that allowed me to be a part of a very sacred journey with their loved one were going through the unimaginable. I've had the privilege of being at the bedside for several deaths but I can tell you that the last breath isn't typically the moment that is the most devastating. It is the finality of the moment the body leaves the home or facility and is covered or wrapped for the last time that is.. unimaginable.

"There are moments that the words don't reach

There's a grace too powerful to name

We push away what we can never understand

We push away the unimaginable.."

In "Hamilton" it is only when Eliza takes Alexander's hand that we feel a modicum of peace because we know by that action they will grieve together. On the day of Jesus's crucifixion "standing by the cross of Jesus were His mother, and His mother's sister and Mary Magladene" (John 19:25)

So maybe the Good Friday lesson of Hamilton, Holy Week and Hospice is the most simple- in the moments of the unimaginable, pull together. Hospice professionals know with certainty the importance of presence in those moments of greatest difficulty. Grief, in all its iterations, before Hope can be restored, can be so isolating. Let's try- maybe?- to make it less so..

Day 3 of Holy Week, Hamilton and Hospice.. (my strange fascination). Thanks to everyone for the kind words on the past two posts- seems like Jesus and show tunes has a bit more resonance that I might have realized!

Today is Holy Saturday, the day in between, the one in which we are held in pensive suspense. I have said before I think Holy Saturday is where we live, holding space between hope lost and hope restored. I don't know a living soul who cannot reflect on at least one period in their life where they were in between the "holy shit, what just happened?" and "you know, I think I am going to be ok" and just managed to put one foot in front of the other.

I wasn't sure which song from "Hamilton" I felt best delivered the message and feeling of Holy Saturday, and then it became obvious. "Wait for It" (yes, that's really it, "wait for it" ) Lin Manuel Miranda has said it may be the song he is proudest of and when performed live, it packs a wallop. Sung by Aaron Burr, the misunderstood everyman of the story, "Wait for it" is a lament about endurance.

"Death doesn't discriminate

Between the sinners and the saints

It takes and it takes and it takes

And we keep living anyway

We rise and we fall and we break

And we make our mistakes

And if there's a reason I'm still alive

When everyone who loves me has died

I'm willing to wait for it (Wait for it)

I'm willing to wait for it..."

Look around (see what I did there, Hamiltonians), suffering is indiscrimnate. Illness and misfortune can be indiscriminate. Grief and loss are universal. "And we keep living anyway, we rise and we fall and we break.."

The brand of the original Holy Saturday is marked by quiet waiting or pregnant expectation and yet I believe the Holy Saturday is the hallmark of endurance and survival.

As a hospice nurse, people always ask me "how do you do it?" I have never known quite how to answer that because I am not really sure why I chose this and love it so much. I am sure, however, that I do it because it matters to the people that need the help and if they can endure their present circumstance of illness or impending loss then I can be present for that. In fact, I really can't imagine not.

One of my dearest patients is living in Holy Saturday and has been for a few months now. The things in her life that made her unique and gave her joy are mostly gone, but she is still here. She is a faithful believer is Jesus and is more than ready to go to Heaven, but for right now, we have to "wait for it.." Waiting for it defines faith in its most essential way.

Peace. See you tomorrow.

The grand finale to Holy Week, Hamilton and Hospice- more "H's"... He is RISEN! Happy Easter!! Hope restored!!!

Easter Sunday, the stunning conclusion to the greatest story ever told. The song choice for this last entry is probably pretty obvious, "Who lives, who dies, who tells your story"

"And when you're gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?"

There are A LOT of messages to unpack in "He is not here: For he is risen" (Matthew 28:6) and I could go on all day about the beauty and power of the resurrection, but the final song in "Hamilton" does such a beautiful job representing something my hospice experience taught me well and that is the importance of legacy.

One of the reasons I believe hospice care is so important when done well is a peaceful death, while sad, allows a family to grieve the life that was lost and not just the way it was lost. I have unfortunately been present in ICUs and ERs for sudden deaths, catastrophic deaths where families had to observe what no one should have to: suffering. When I became attracted to hospice work, I was very clear in my conviction that if I couldn't change the outcome of a person's illness, I could sure as shit work to make sure the experience was a peaceful one. It didn't always work, but the effort was always there.

Hamilton was shot, that was not a peaceful death. Christ was crucified and probably nothing could be worse, so this analogy may fall short on their experiences, but my point still carries validity. Hamilton's wife worked to tell his story so his legacy would be about what he did for our country and not how he died.

And Jesus, well that's a legacy like no other. We mourned his crucifixion but we celebrate his resurrection and we, as Christians, strive to live by His example.

"You could have done so much more if you only had time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?"

Eliza explains that in Hamilton's memory she opened the first private orphanage in New York City. "In their eyes I see you, Alexander". Families who have lost someone dear go on and point out who got their Dad's crooked smile or will make the only edible fruitcake every year from their Mother's recipe. Others may become galvanized to raise funds to fight the disease that took their loved one or awareness about end of life care planning. And today the followers of Jesus may have donned their best bonnet, gone to hear the choirs sing or they may just find a way to love their neighbor, as they were commanded to do.

This "series" has reminded me, at least, how much goodbyes matter, how sad and lonely loss can feel, how much we need the stubborn determination of Holy Saturday and how important it is to celebrate lives well lived. To tell their story.

"I can't wait to see you again,

It's only a matter of time..."

Love y'all!

Roll Back the Stone

I’ve often wondered how preachers, ministers, priests or rabbis inspire themselves to write and preach something unique each year at the same holiday that holds the same message. It must be enormously difficult and probably why they are specially ordained to perform their task.

I’m not a preacher or theologian of any kind, but Easter compels me to write and share. Its message makes it my favorite holiday. I, too, have the same question about how to deliver a unique and yet meaningful message to my flock, my HOPEspotters.

Last year on Holy Saturday, I posted a blog about the sanctity of this day. In Holy Week, Holy Saturday is, for me, the unsung hero. Maundy Thursday celebrates the Last Supper. Good Friday is the clear message of John 3:16:

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Yup. Pretty Huge.

Then we leap to Easter Sunday. The Resurrection. If you’re like me, you can still get chill bumps hearing the trumpets blare during, “Jesus Christ is Risen Today” and I’d be willing to bet you are silently singing “All-le-lu-ia!”

But Holy Saturday isn’t celebrated. I believe, that is a shame. Because, as I’ve said before, Holy Saturday, is where most of us live, a lot of the time.

As a hospice nurse evaluator, my primary job is to meet with patients and families who’ve been given a terminal diagnosis and talk to them about the option of hospice. It’s like I walk in on Good Friday and try so very hard to explain Easter Sunday. Yes, there will still be a death, but there can be hope and purpose and continuous expression of love.

But just like the disciples, Easter Sunday is almost impossible to see on Good Friday.

Holy Saturday, I’ve come to believe, should be the national holiday celebrating the gift of showing up. Because Holy Saturday for the disciples was the day their faith was most supremely tested. The Messiah was in a tomb, behind a stone. All of their hope and belief lay with him in that tomb. How could they survive that day, especially given the brutality of Good Friday?

Too much. Too hard. Too sad.

And yet, they stayed together. They circled the wagons as we say now. They showed up for each other on that day for all the feelings they felt. Undoubtedly, they grieved.

I have a family member I love dearly. Very recently, one of his closest friends suffered an inconceivable loss. His youngest brother, after years of battling depression, commit suicide. My beloved, very private, family member acted in what can only be described as Holy Saturday godliness. He knew there was nothing to say. His actions were simple and pure: he went to his friend’s house. He helped his wife take care of their young babies. He washed the dinner dishes. He drank beers on the deck with his buddy and listened without judgment. There was sadness and hurt and laughs and confessions. There was Holy Saturday.

The courage to show up on Holy Saturday is what made the disciples godly as it does those among us who are willing to do so. Are you the friend who appears after the cancer diagnosis before the established treatment plan? Are you the person who listens to the heartbreak without offering solution but only pure empathy? Can you look hideous inconceivable, totally unfair loss and fear and stay present? Well, then you are a patron saint of Holy Saturday.

But unlike last year, where I tried to highlight the sanctity of Holy Saturday, this year I have a call to action. Showing up and being present is purposeful and holy action, never to be minimized.

Yet, when possible, roll back the stone.

I’ve said before, I don’t consider myself seriously religious and I am admittedly lackadaisical in practice. But I was raised in an amazing church community with exposure to and love from some of the very best clergy and for this I am eternally grateful.

With this background and faith I go into every patient and family conversation understanding I am walking in to their Good Friday. Regardless of their religious belief, in my head, I know that when I show up they are walking to Calvary. Hopeless. My challenge is to meet them there and be present with them through the uncertainty and fear of Holy Saturday. I refuse to lose that sensitivity, no matter how long I do this.

What I haven’t figured out is how to post on LInkedIN as a skill - what I’ve realized is my actual job. I, with my entire team behind me, have to roll back the stone. I have to/ I GET to demonstrate that there is HOPE beyond their Good Friday:  there is love and there is community.

And to be clear, even the Easter holiday can’t turn me into a Polly-Anna. There are some cases I encounter, professionally and personally, that are so grievously sad, that the thought of rolling back the stone seems flippant and likely impossible.

For example, a boy died in our elementary school this year in a freak accident. He was 11. How do you move that stone? A 35 year old Mom, with a freak cancer,died in our hospice program, leaving behind two elementary school kids. For them, that tomb must seem sealed.

And yet, albeit impossibly, it isn’t. The wings of HOPE have been consistently, demonstrably strong and wide.

The stone gets rolled back. In the Bible. In your home. In your heart. I’ve seen it. You’ve seen it. We’ve all, from time to time, even been part of helping it to roll back.

If I were a preacher, or a scientist trying to prove a hypothesis, my experience based message is this: yes, we all live in Holy Saturday, the in between of hope lost and hope restored. Especially at the most dramatic parts of our lives. BUT. What I’ve found is this: last year I preached the sanctity of Holy Saturday. This year, I extol its purpose.

What I mean is, perhaps Easter Sunday couldn’t happen without Holy Saturday because perhaps only when we genuinely. show up TOGETHER do we have the power to roll back the stone- or at least begin to try.

Hopespotters, on this my favorite day- Happy Easter. May all the stones in your heart be rolled back by the true disciples in your life.

Holy Saturday for all of us

I am not an extremely religious person. I am not a preacher, chaplain or any kind of theologian. My life, my upbringing and most definitely my work, regularly take me to a place where I have to contemplate faith. Born on Good Friday and a lifelong lover of the Easter message, today is the day that gives me the most pause and compels me to write to you.

Today is Holy Saturday - the day where I think each of us live. Every day. Holy Saturday is the pause button between lost hope and hope regained. And before you think I’m going all biblical on this blog, stay tuned. Let me explain. 

A back up: Holy Week marks the end of the Lenten season for Christian people (don’t go away, non-Christian readers). Lent is the 40 days leading up to Easter when God sings to us a song from the musical, “Godspell”. He asks us to do the following “Day by Day”: to see thee (Him) more clearly, love (Him) more dearly, follow (Him) more nearly. Regardless of your religious belief, considering your faith with these three pieces of advice is most likely purposeful. The grand finale week comes down to Maundy Thursday ( the celebration of the Last Supper) and Good Friday, the day that remembers Christ’s crucifixion. After Good Friday, the faithful community holds its collective breath until the Easter candle is lit. For the believers, Jesus Christ is Risen and eternal HOPE is restored.

Even if you don’t believe, the story of hope lost and hope restored by resurrection/ redemption is compelling. It is repeated over and over again in literature, symphony, poetry and film.

Yesterday was Good Friday. I’ve always had a kindred relationship with this day because in 1971, April 9th, the day I was born, fell on Good Friday. As I got older, I questioned what made Good Friday so “good” if Jesus was killed. On my wedding day, my sister, matron of honor, answered the question definitively. In her toast to Kevin and me, she referenced my Good Friday birth and her Easter Sunday first meeting of me. She joked, but stated accurately, that her gift to me of plastic Easter eggs in my bassinet was quite genius as it demonstrated life’s fragility and God’s promise for HOPE. Perhaps,  that was the very first moment I fell in love with this virtue.

In isolation, Good Friday is devastating. The baby that was born in a manger in Bethlehem is murdered for his beliefs. It seems archaic to think such action might be taken, until you take into account the multitude of terror attacks we see and fear on a daily basis. For those that believed in Jesus and what He represented, Hope died on the cross that day.

For the believers, there’s an annual spoiler alert. Easter Sunday listed on the calendar reassures the fearful that the stone is, in fact,  pushed to the side, the tomb is empty, and the King is Risen. Whatever dress or pastel suit a Christian might wear to service/ mass, it doesn’t cover up the goose bumps that come when the choir sings “Jesus Christ is Risen Today”. Under your breath, you are saying “Hallelujah”.  Don’t deny it.

So Good Friday, blah. Easter Sunday, Yay! Why oh why am I writing about Holy Saturday? I will tell you.

I started this blog as an effort to capture life, and the juxtaposition, of hospice nurse and Mom of growing boys. Throw in cancer survivorship and I feel I have “life bytes” I want to share. With a plea for forgiveness from the Christian church, I think the largest message for the general population comes not from Good Friday OR Easter Sunday, but in under-represented Holy Saturday.

Holy Saturday is the scary place where so many of us sit every day: I’m divorced, will my kids hate me? My wife has cancer, will I raise my kids alone ? My child has autism, will she ever be invited to a party? These questions, and so many others, sit in the broad apron of Holy Saturday. I remember learning that my cancer had recurred at the same time I wanted to start a family. Who would I be if not a Mom?? The “day before” seemingly takes away the hope and the “Easter” Sunday seems unlikely or unfathomable. My belief is most of us, every day, are battling some form of anxiety from living through the day that comes after the bad news, and praying for the HOPE that could be restored.

Friends, I have no cure for Holy Saturday. For the disciples of Jesus, they have the gift of hindsight. After the tomb was empty, we can imagine that they high fived each other and “dabbed” with the “I knew its” and “Told you so, Thomas!”. They could only get to that place after their agony of enduring Holy Saturday. I really do think that after that experience of living through Good Friday and surviving through to Easter Sunday, confidence was given and endurance for their next, inevitable, spiritual test.

I think, for all of the struggling I see, personally and professionally, the goal should not be to cure Holy Saturday. As friends and caregivers and family members and spouses and parents, my belief is that we most hold Holy Saturday as the most holiest of days, requiring each of us to show each other compassion and empathy. It is, perhaps, the very best day for us to see HIM more clearly, love HIM, more dearly and follow HIM, more clearly -- day by day! And, Holy Saturday tasks each of us to deliver the spoiler message that is, of course, HOPE.