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- Herausgeber: IVP Formatio
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
Drawing on the writings and wisdom of Henri J. M. Nouwen's themes of caregiving, Marjorie J. Thompson offers a vulnerable exploration of caregiving intertwined with both her own many years of intimate caregiving of family members and collected stories of caregivers in varied settings and stages of life. While not shying away from the demanding physical, emotional, and spiritual challenges of caregiving, Courage for Caregivers also celebrates the gifts of caregiving grounded in the belovedness both caregiver and care receiver share in God's eyes. Practical leader guides and resources make Courage for Caregivers a tool that moves smoothly from individual encouragement to group and congregational ministry to develop support for the universal experience of caregiving.
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Contents
Acknowledgments
AS ONE WHO KNEWHenri Nouwen personally, and whose life and ministry has been shaped in countless ways by his presence and teaching, I consider it a high privilege to have been asked to write Courage for Caregivers. It has given me a priceless opportunity to revisit my years of elder care alongside my husband, John Mogabgab, who worked with Henri for five years at Yale Divinity School. More, it has afforded me the great joy of renewing my acquaintance with Henri’s wonderfully generous gifts of written and spoken material—a true treasury of spiritual wisdom.
I am much indebted to all who have helped in the visioning, development, and production of this book with its related resources. Karen Pascal, executive director of the Henri Nouwen Society, invited me to take on the writing task and offered encouraging support all along the way. The consultation Karen called together in September of 2016 helped shape a vision of caregiving with the distinctive imprint of Henri’s wisdom on care. My deep gratitude to those in attendance, including Sue Mosteller, Stephen Lazarus, Rachel Davis, Judith Leckie, Angela Caffrey, and Judith Cooke, several of whom offered continued support by reading and critiquing early chapter drafts. Special thanks to Stephen Lazarus, editorial advisor for the Henri Nouwen Society, who sent an array of quotes suited to the caregiving theme and supplied many needed citations, helping me to negotiate Henri’s voluminous writings.
From the side of our Church Health partners, I owe much to Rachel Davis, who initiated me into the mysteries of audio-recording cell phone interviews and served as liaison with Church Health principles involved in supporting the project. Church Health founder and CEO Dr. Scott Morris has championed the collaborative project, and Brad Martin, longtime friend to Church Health and board member, has generously underwritten the endeavor. Finally, I could not have accomplished this writing without the thoughtful and experienced eye of Susan Martins Miller, whose constructive critique and fine-tuned sensibilities made her the ideal editor, and who contributed directly to the writing of Appendix B, which has widened the ways this book can be used even as awareness of caregiving needs expands. Not least, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude for those who gave me permission to conduct and tape interviews. They gave hours of precious time to share their own remarkable stories of giving or receiving care, along with inspiring spiritual and practical insights to share with our readers. Thanks, and a deep bow, to Lindsey Yeskoo, Donna Thomson, Karen Shepherd, Vanessa Beasley, Cyndy Wacker, Judy Hazlett, Tracy Hilts, and Michelle O’Rourke.
Preface
ITOOK A RATHERcircuitous route on the way to discovering Henri Nouwen.
During my time as a television producer in the 80s and 90s, I produced five seasons of a current affairs program—topical events viewed and discussed from a Judeo-Christian perspective. The series featured interesting and varied guests on each episode. Newsmakers, authors, artists, business people, environmentalists, activists, politicians, and pundits were a grand menagerie of engaging and articulate individuals.
As much from personal curiosity as from professional inquiry, I quickly acquired the habit of asking each guest what she or he was currently reading. I wanted to know what fueled them, what fired their passions, their minds, their spirits.
I anticipated that the reading selections they offered would be as eclectic as the group itself. However, to my surprise, books by a spiritual writer named Henri Nouwen were mentioned and recommended again and again, titles such as The Return of the Prodigal Son, The Wounded Healer, Gracias! and Life of the Beloved.
I don’t recall exactly which of Henri’s books I read first, but I do remember the feeling I had when I began reading. It was as if the author was writing about me, as if he was looking into my heart, parsing and describing my life’s experience. My hopes, my hurts, my brokenness. I was consoled. I was inspired. I was hooked.
A few years after being introduced to his books, I tracked Henri down at his home at L’Arche Daybreak, situated just north of Toronto. And when I say I tracked Henri down, that’s exactly what I mean. Henri was an extremely busy man. Besides contributing to the care of core members at L’Arche, Henri was also the community’s spiritual director. In addition, he traveled extensively. The popularity of his books made him a much sought-after speaker in North America and beyond. Yet he still made time to write, to pray, and to respond to the many letters he received each day from friends, colleagues, and even complete strangers asking him for counseling and spiritual encouragement.
He reluctantly—yet graciously—agreed to allow me to feature him in one of my programs. Less than two years later, Henri died of a heart attack on his way to do a documentary in Russia on The Return of the Prodigal Son. Like everyone who knew him, either personally or through his books, I was shocked and heartbroken, but I knew instinctively that Henri’s legacy would live on. Henri himself had written that if our deepest human desire is to give ourselves to others, then death will be a final gift that will continue to bear fruit long after we die.
Henri died, but he never died. His legacy lives on and continues to bear fruit in the lives of many people who, like me, stumble upon his books in any number of ways.
Henri recognized that God’s love is not diminished by our trials, losses, and brokenness; rather it’s in the midst of our pain where we often experience it most deeply. In your role as a caregiver, whether in a professional capacity or one who was thrust into the role by circumstance, I pray that you will find comfort, encouragement, and courage within these pages. And may you continue to find the depth of God’s love in your life as Henri found in his.
Karen Pascal,Executive DirectorHenri Nouwen SocietyToronto, Ontario
Foreword
IFIRST MET HENRI NOUWENwhen I was a student at Yale Divinity School and he was on the faculty. He was coming into his popularity as a spiritual writer at the time, and as a result he had groupies on campus who hung on every word he said and seemed to follow him everywhere he went. It wasn’t long before I joined those who were drawn into wanting to be closer to him. He was a magician with words, and in five minutes he made you think he had used a straw and could directly access the marrow of God. In the fall of 1978, I was with him in the hallway outside the mail room. I told him I needed help to better find a sense of peace in my life that would let me listen to God speaking to me and my sense of calling around the issues of faith and health for the poor.
He said, “Over the Christmas break you should go spend a week in silence at Taizé.”
“That sounds great. I’ll do it.” I then asked him, “Where is Taizé?”
He looked at me the way I would if someone said, “Where is Yankee stadium?”
“In southern France,” he replied.
Of course it is, I thought. And so, I began to make plans to go. God was waiting for me there.
I did go to Taizé, where I talked to the cows and confirmed my suspicion that the cloth I was cut from was woven more for action than contemplation. During my week of silence, nothing of long-standing, profound significance happened. And yet, for the last 40 years, a week rarely goes by that I don’t think of being there.
When I returned to Yale, I began going almost every evening to Compline services led by Henri Nouwen at five in the afternoon. Beneath the main chapel at Yale Divinity School is a smaller chapel that Henri had made his own. Every day a small group, no more than a dozen, would gather for a 20-minute service. Henri gave a brief homily, said a few prayers, and then offered communion. I loved going, mostly because of his charisma and my feeling that he knew something about connecting to God I needed to know. He focused on prayer and contemplation but believed in social justice. He had long hands with a broad span from thumb to little finger, and he spoke every sentence using his hands. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The rest of my time at Yale, I tried to learn as much as I could from Henri. I never stopped loving to hear him preach and teach. Years later, when I was in my medical training and had the opportunity to hear him speak in the city where I then lived, I wasn’t sure he would remember me, but he reached out with those huge hands and pulled me close to him. We talked about my going to medical school and my plans for the future. He made me proud of what I was doing. Now more than two decades after his death, I have felt his embrace once again when the Henri Nouwen Society and Legacy Trust became interested in the work of Church Health, the organization I founded in 1987 and which still cares for the medical needs of people in lowwage jobs. In addition, Church Health publishes resources around themes of faith and health. It’s been our privilege to partner with the Henri Nouwen Society and Legacy Trust first on Hope for Caregivers: A 42-Day Devotional in Company with Henri J. M. Nouwen and now on Courage for Caregivers: Sustenance for the Journey in Company with Henri J. M. Nouwen.
That I could have a part in bringing to fruition resources around a subject so central to Henri’s life and teaching brings me great personal joy. In addition, what mattered so deeply to Henri richly reflects an issue important to the mission of Church Health in our effort to speak to an ever-growing need among individuals and faith communities.
As Henri’s words continue to remind us, each of us is God’s beloved. I can think of no theme more significant to carry forward into the courageous ministry of giving and receiving care.
Rev. Scott Morris, MDFounder and CEOChurch HealthMemphis, Tennessee
THIS BOOK ISwritten to provide a rich spiritual perspective on the experience of giving and receiving Christian tradition—broadly framed to welcome people of many denominations, as well as those who may be unaffiliated yet are seeking a transcendent compass in life.
Henri Nouwen—beloved spiritual writer, teacher, and pastor—will be our spiritual companion and primary spiritual guide as we wrestle with the challenges and identify the joys of caregiving. Henri had much to say on the subject of care across the arc of his ministry. A Dutch Catholic priest who reached across denominational boundaries, he touched the hearts of people worldwide. His humility and vulnerability revealed our shared humanity. Deeply conscious of his own weakness, limitation, and longing, he gave powerful witness to the grace of God’s infinitely tender love for all. Henri was not afraid to acknowledge the “dark night” of our human journeys, nor was he shy to proclaim the great hope and joy of our faith.
Above all, Henri delighted to share his experience of God’s love, hoping that it not only might illumine his most deeply felt and hard-won spiritual truth but also open wider doors into our own experience of the same grace. As he put it, “My hope is that the description of God’s love in my life will give you the freedom and courage to discover—and maybe also describe—God’s love in yours.”1
Henri was a natural spiritual companion to everyone he befriended on his life’s journey. Countless people found him a trustworthy guide through struggles and triumphs. May his simple words and deep wisdom help to sustain us as well.
OUR STORIED LIVES
Stories are essential to our understanding of human life. They help us make sense of the narrative of our own lives. Great teachers have always used stories to illustrate and illuminate important truths. Jesus was a consummate storyteller, capable of conjuring up a parable on the spot to bring a spiritual truth to life in the hearts of his hearers. Most of us are familiar with Jesus’ greatest parables, like the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son. All of his parables pointed his hearers to deep truths about God’s character and kingdom. The most powerful human stories keep working in our hearts over time. Some become beacons of light for a lifetime.
Our personal stories may not seem so elevated, but they are equally significant for our self-understanding and can become light for others as well. To tell a story requires some measure of reflection. We take the raw experience of life and digest it in memory, thought, and feeling. We piece together the sequence of events, our felt experience, and the recollections of others who were part of the situation. As we do this, a frame of meaning often emerges that gives the story cohesion. Sometimes we carry the meaning in a narrative—a word picture of unfolding events, characters involved, and fragments of dialogue. Sometimes we express the meaning in terms of insight, wisdom, depth of emotion, or spiritual growth. A sense of higher purpose in the stories of our lives can come through reflection on our experience over time. Also, the lens of another person’s story may help us to see a larger picture in our circumstances. Our stories communicate who we are, how we mature, and how we connect. In these pages, we are privileged to draw on several stories shared by caregivers and care receivers in various situations. These individuals share perspectives on both the challenges and gifts of their care experience. They also share words of encouragement with those of us who—in the trenches of daily care—struggle with an abundance of complexity and uncertainty.
Appendix C features condensed versions of these stories, while the main chapters incorporate elements of several for illustration. Such stories keep us grounded in the situations of real people like us, give us broader perspective on the experience of caregiving, and help us find new ways to see and tell our own stories. Along with Henri’s wisdom, the voices of these caregivers and care receivers will enrich our experience and understanding.
CAREGIVING: UNIVERSAL AND UNIQUE
The seemingly endless routines and responsibilities of caregiving can make us feel profoundly isolated. Indeed, many of us are physically alone for long stretches in our care of another person. Yet in a larger sense, we are by no means alone. Caring is a universal experience in human life. Our friend Henri would say that to be human is to care! This truth undergirded Henri’s life and teaching. In one instance he writes, “To care is the most human of all gestures,”2and in another, “caring is the privilege of every person and is at the heart of being human.”3We are very much together in the remarkable adventure of faithful caregiving. It is virtually certain that, within our life span, most of us will have the opportunity to take on primary responsibility for the care of at least one other human being. While this may feel sobering or daunting, caregiving is also one of the most meaningful tasks we could ever give ourselves to. For some, the opportunities will abound. In today’s world, it is not uncommon for a person to know the joys and rigors of raising children, caring for a spouse with serious illness, and juggling the demands of care for aging parents—usually, but not always, spread out over several decades. When caregiving responsibilities for different generations overlap in time, the challenges are greatly compounded.
Most of us know the joys and heartaches of caring for growing children. We are well aware how much time, attention, and energy are required to parent well, particularly when our kids are most vulnerable and dependent. Children with typically developing abilities pose ample challenges to their caregivers as they grow. In the process, parents know exhaustion, frustration, satisfaction, and exhilaration by turns. On the whole, however, the physical demands of parenting decrease as these children mature and become increasingly capable of handling needs on their own.
It is quite a different story when children are born with or develop serious physical or intellectual disabilities. Parents who must give their medically fragile children rigorous care, attention, and emotional support—day and night—carry immense levels of stress. If their child’s condition is chronic and incurable, such stresses do not diminish with time. These are some of the most challenging of all caregiving circumstances, echoed in varying degrees at the other end of the life spectrum by care for the fragile elderly. Yet such challenges can strike at any age. Consider: the couple unexpectedly caring for a young adult son after he suffered an accident that left him a paraplegic with a fully alert mind; the sibling who copes with a brother or sister battling depression and addiction; the middle-aged spouse immersed in care for a life partner suffering from sudden stroke, inoperable cancer, or a degenerative disease.
Along with varieties of circumstance, settings for care can differ widely. Many of us engage in caregiving primarily within our personal homes or nearby family homes. For others, the primary setting will be care facilities such as hospitals, rehabilitation centers, assisted care facilities, specialized group homes, residential hospices, or nursing homes. Settings may alternate between private homes and professional care centers as medical or family circumstances change. In our geographically far-flung families today, caring for elders is frequently managed at a distance, with adult children making repeated trips to assist aging parents in another state. Every setting comes with its own advantages and disadvantages.
We as caregivers are also diverse: family members, friends, persons employed as aides for in-home care, health care professionals, and pastoral care ministers. Care professionals may have personal caregiving responsibilities to manage alongside their day jobs, placing them in near-constant care roles. In this, they share the realities so familiar to those immersed in the demands of unceasing care for high-needs family members.
Courage for Caregivers is primarily directed toward ordinary people of faith engaged in giving care to family members at home or in nearby settings. Yet given the complexities of modern health care, the natural connections of our lives, and our great need for support amid the demands of caregiving, we trust that what is offered here will also be useful to care professionals, care ministry teams, and family or friends who simply wish to understand and support caregivers they love who are laboring “in the trenches.” We are, after all, in this human predicament together!
HENRI BROUGHT PARTICULARinsights to our experience of caring for each other. We can identify three keys to explore:
1. Care is not cure: true care allows us to be comfortable with weakness.
2. Care expresses and expands our compassion, understood as suffering with others.
3. Care draws us into profound mutuality, both in shared vulnerability and shared gifts.
HENRI’S WISDOM ON CARE VERSUS CURE
A helpful starting point is Henri’s insistence that “care is distinctly different from cure.”1Henri believed that our care for the elderly helps to reveal this truth with singular clarity, because more than other age groups “the elderly confront us all with the fact that the concept of a final cure is an illusion.”2In a culture fixated on problem solving, we are often more interested in cure than care. Care professionals like doctors, psychologists, and social workers are trained to evaluate their competence by standard measures of successful treatment. Yet, Henri notes, “our altruistic intention to cure the ills of others has oriented us toward success in the eyes of others.”3Success tends to build a sense of power and prestige in those who can cure. While we are surely happy for effective treatment, the drive to cure may not always result in true care. “Many people have returned from a clinic cured but depersonalized” by aloof or arrogant professionals. It is a real but often unconscious temptation for care professionals to relate to their patients “as the powerful to the powerless, the knower to the ignorant.”4
In contrast to cure, Henri lifts up the beauty and value of authentic care:
What is care? The word finds its origin in the word kara, which means to lament, to mourn, to participate in suffering, to share in pain. To care is to cry out with those who are ill, confused, lonely, isolated, and forgotten, and to recognize their pains in our own heart. To care is to enter into the world of those who are broken and powerless and to establish there a fellowship of the weak. To care is to be present to those who suffer, and to stay present, even when nothing can be done to change their situation.5
Care is the context within which cure, where possible, may be received as gift. Yet, Henri assures us, when we cannot cure we can still care. It is always possible to say—through our presence, listening, words, or gestures—“I see your pain. I cannot take it away, but I won’t leave you alone.”6
For too long care has been conceived of as either practitioner-centered or patient-centered. In actuality, the healing relationship has always been a crucible for mutual transformation.
—SAKI SANTORELLI
SUFFERING AND COMPASSION
Henri helps us to embrace care for others as a way of participating in their suffering. Those of us with long experience in caregiving for family members will know two sides to this suffering: the difficulty, weakness, and pain of those who receive our care; and our struggle as caregivers to balance family expectations, work responsibilities, time constraints, limited energy, and perhaps sporadic efforts at self-care. There are seasons when we feel we are barely staying afloat on a sea of swirling changes and swelling demands.
Since suffering is a reality on both sides of the care relationship, one constructive thing we can do is to ask ourselves long-term questions like these:
• How do I choose to face pain or distress with courage, hope, even curiosity?
• How might I not only endure but embrace these circumstances?
• What can I learn, here and now, that serves my growth in love?
As we engage our suffering and the suffering of others with courage, we discover growing compassion. Henri’s friend Parker Palmer likes to say that there are two ways a heart can break: It can be shattered into a thousand shards that explode and implode to wound others and oneself; or it can break open to receive more reality, insight, and love. A heart that breaks open under the pressure of suffering becomes more compassionate. Henri once wrote, “My true call is to look the suffering Jesus in the eyes and not be crushed by his pain, but to receive it in my heart and let it bear the fruit of compassion.7
The term compassion is rooted in the Latin pati (to bear or suffer) and cum (with). Compassion means “to bear with” or “suffer with.” It is closely connected with empathy which shares the Latin root pati, and signifies an ability to feel with the other. Yet while there is a strong impulse in our heart to feel with others, there is an equally powerful resistance to feeling too much! As Henri points out,
Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable . . . and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it.8
How many are the ways we recoil from physical and mental anguish! Suffering is a universal human experience from which no one escapes in this world. Yet no human experience raises so many profound and painful questions about the meaning and purpose of our earthly lives. Although we may ask such questions of people we hope are wiser than we, the real audience for our deepest questions is always God. Anguished questioning of God in relation to suffering is age-old, and never fully resolved by reason.
When we suffer greatly, painful questions fly from our hearts like flaming arrows: Why is this happening? What have I done to deserve this? Is God angry with me? Why doesn’t God heal me? Will God ever answer my prayers? We ask similar questions on behalf of those we love, especially when their suffering is hard to bear.
