Christ's Family Rules

Family-Rules-600x400

 (Some of the “One Anothers” of the New Testament)

Love one another. (John 13:34)

Be at peace with one another. (Mark 9:50)

Be devoted to one another. (Rom 12:10)

Honor one another. (Rom 12:10)

Live in harmony with one another. (Rom 12:16)

Stop passing judgment on one another. (Rom 14:13)

Accept one another. (.Rom 15:7)

Instruct one another. (Rom 15:14)

Greet one another. (Rom 16:16)

Serve one another (Gal 5:13)

Carry one another’s burden. (Gal 6:2)

Be patient, bearing with one another in love. (Eph 4:2)

Be kind and compassionate to one another (Eph 4:32)

Forgive one another. (Eph 4:32)

Speak to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. (Eph 5:19)

Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. (Eph 5:21)

Offer hospitality to one another. (1 Peter 4:9)

In humility consider others better than yourselves (Phil 2:3)

Teach one another. (Col 3:16)

Admonish one another. (Col 3:16)

Encourage one another. (1 Thess 4:18)

Build one another up. (1 Thess 5:11)

Spur one another on toward love and good deeds. (Heb 10:24)

Do not slander one another. (James 4:11)

Don’t grumble against one another (James 5:9)

Pray for one another. (James 5:16)

Clothe yourselves with humility toward one another. (1 Peter 5:5)

Price of Suffering

by Joanie Butman

I read an interesting article last Sunday in The New York Times entitled The Value of Suffering. A timely piece given the recent anniversary of 9/11. The author, Pico Iyer, speaks of an elderly man he met in Japan who told him that “suffering is a privilege and that when he was a boy, it was believed you should pay for suffering, it proves such a hidden blessing.” My response to that statement is, “But don’t we? All suffering exacts a price, and it usually costs us dearly. Pain is its currency.” If you’re alive, chances are you’ve experienced suffering. Some suffering is public, but often much of our suffering occurs in the darkness of our soul hidden from sight. Sometimes that type of suffering is the most painful because it is so isolating. Suffering knows no boundaries and spares no one. There are varying degrees for sure, but pain is a fact of life.

Even with that said, I understand and agree with the assessment of the value of suffering. It promotes growth that for whatever reason wouldn’t otherwise happen. It brings us to a new level of understanding, a new depth. It offers a clarity seldom achieved without it. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t recommend sharing that point of view with anyone in the throws of suffering. Acknowledging their pain and walking beside them through it is the best we can do in that situation. Suffering’s worth only becomes evident in hindsight and often from a healthy distance.

All suffering involves loss. Loss of a

loved one

pet

marriage

friendship

home

lifestyle

job

reputation

health

dream

hope

The list is endless. When you are forced to face that loss, you are forced to face how tenuous this world is and everything in it. Whatever it is you hold dear could vanish in the blink of an eye. How could that realization not change you? Intellectually, we all know that truth; but we also tend to live like it will never happen to us.

Iyer cites a Nietzsche quote: “To live is to suffer; to survive is to make sense of the suffering.” In the cancer world I hear people describe themselves as ‘survivors’ all the time, but there are different kinds of survivors. The medical profession has made huge advances and can cure or control more and more cancers every year. However, continuing to remain alive beyond a cancer diagnosis doesn’t define a ‘survivor’ in my book. Learning to view the disease as a blessing rather than a curse is to survive in the truest sense regardless of how long you live – to come through it broken in some ways but stronger and wiser for having made the journey. For me suffering offers a new appreciation for what you do have. The people who choose to turn ‘why’ into ‘what’ and ‘how’ are the true survivors, whether they live months or years. What can I learn from this? How can I use it to help and encourage others? And this is true whether you are facing cancer or any other form of suffering.

I meet these kinds of survivors every time I visit my parents at The Farm, and this week was no exception. When I mention going to The Farm, people envision a bucolic setting with my dad atop a tractor and my mother picking berries to make jam. In reality, that couldn’t be further from the truth. First off, no one in their right mind would ever let my father behind the wheel of a tractor. The Farm is what my parents call their assisted living residence, and I imagine many ‘inmates’ (as my parents refer to themselves) might feel as if they’ve been put out to pasture. In some cases, this might very well be true, but certainly not my parents nor the cast of characters I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

Whenever I visit, I meet another ‘inmate’ and am always delighted by their stories and their fascinating life experiences. I love hearing about the goings on at The Farm – new romances, book clubs, a new bible study, outings and activities. There are some like my parents who feel they moved into assisted living too soon, but at 87 I don’t know how you could be too soon for anything.

Back to my original topic. These people know suffering. Most of them live it every day as their bodies deteriorate and for some, their minds as well. This visit I had the privilege of having breakfast with two relatively new recruits. During the course of our meal we discussed religion, the reliability of the Bible, politics, Syria, and the disposal of weapons in the U.S. – all before 9 am! Their bodies may be failing, but there is nothing feeble about the minds of these two. I had a hard time keeping up. I left with some reading homework to do and look forward to discussing the recommended book with them upon my return.

The residents at The Farm come from all walks of life, but suffering is a great equalizer. In the world of suffering, diversity reigns. It doesn’t discriminate. We are bound together more by our suffering than any other thing. Suffering shatters our defenses. It changes our perspective and priorities by turning our world on its axis. It snaps us to attention. If you choose to go through suffering unchanged, you are sleepwalking through life. If you choose to fight it, you will lose. That’s when bitterness takes root and, like any weed, proceeds to spread more quickly than any disease affecting all aspects of your life and splattering over everyone in your vicinity. That phenomenon isn’t unique to The Farm, but more obvious because of its small size and close quarters. It is difficult to avoid the victims of bitterness. If you find people evading you, it is a sure sign that you might be so afflicted.

The article I mention concentrates on a Buddhist approach to suffering. As a Christian, I can appreciate their attitude toward suffering as it was the main purpose of Christ’s life and the foundation of our religion. In fact, Christ warns us, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) Personally, I think the biggest difference between people with spiritual faith of any kind and those without is how they choose to face suffering. I love the way Iyer closes his essay and offer you his final observation to contemplate this week: “The only thing worse than assuming you can get the better of suffering is imagining you could do nothing in its wake.”

One of the recruits I mentioned shared an essay she had just finished in her Writer’s Group for The Farm’s newspaper. It is a precious, unexpected gift that speaks to this topic so beautifully I asked permission to present it to you, which she graciously offered. Enjoy! 

How do you choose to respond to suffering?

The End of Summer

Author wishes to remain anonymous.

What is ‘a gift of unexamined time?’

What might ‘summer’ bring as such a gift?

Does it consist of those moments when I could block out the extreme sadnesses in my life – my deceased children – the violence of their deaths – by my focus on summer’s great weather, blue skies, outdoor concerts and theater, sandy beaches, happy children’s voices and all those pleasured summer days and nights? NO! NO! NO!

Winter’s days and nights offer similar pleasures and most of the same enticements as those of summer. In fact, I consider each of the four seasons: spring, summer, fall and winter to offer gifts - not of freedom from my deep sorrows. Instead each season presents me with an opportunity to block sadness. There is no ‘end’ to the so-called ‘gift.’ If I choose to be happy and outgoing and to perform small acts of kindness, my choices stretch wide across each of the four seasons.

Happiness, outgoingness, helpfulness!!!! MY CHOICES!

What's in a Name?

by Joanie Butman

What’s in a name? According to my son who wrote his college essay about growing up with a name that evokes potty humor: EVERYTHING! I’m just glad I didn’t have to grow up in Brooklyn with the surname Butman. It would have been brutal.

My family has its own issues with names. I have two sisters named Mary: MaryFrances and MaryGrace. I, too, was destined to become another walking tribute to the Virgin Mother until my grandmother intervened. Thank goodness for family. For my son, Doug, it was my brother-in-law that stepped in and pointed out the folly in my name of choice for him, Harry. For those without sophomoric humor that translates to Hairy Buttman. He would have been scarred for life, ‘butt’ no one would ever forget his name!

I am much better with faces than names. Often it is the face and the context in which I see people that helps me identify them. That’s the problem with the internet. Unless people include a photo with their correspondence, often I am at a loss. You can call it a senior moment, a blonde moment, a brain fart or early Alzheimer’s, but it is what it is and it’s getting worse. Just last week someone sent me a nice note about my blog. Grateful she took the time to comment, I thanked her and asked how she heard about it. Embarrassingly, she graciously reminded me that I introduced her to it at a recent dinner with a mutual friend. Not that it’s an excuse, but had I seen her face I would have known her immediately, but without facial recognition it’s like driving blind.

Here’s a great example. I reconnected (or so I thought) with a woman on the internet a couple of years ago in regard to a mutual friend. We had an email friendship for almost a year before we decided it would be nice to meet face-to-face. When I arrived for lunch, I couldn’t find her because I thought I had been talking to someone entirely different. When she saw my confusion, she came over to introduce herself. I couldn’t hide my shock. Before I could stop myself I blurted out, “You’re Ruth?!?” I had another acquaintance by the same name (first and last) and had just assumed it was her I had been emailing all this time.

For some, facial recognition fails to overcome their handicap with names. There is a woman in my town that’s been calling me Janet for the past 15 years. I gently corrected her in the beginning, but she persisted. Considering Janet is better than a lot of other names I’ve been given, like my brothers’ personal favorite, Gastank, I decided to just go with it.

The name incidents that I disliked most were when I was growing up following my siblings through school. When I did not live up to my sister’s stellar academic achievements, on more than one occasion the nun’s we shared commented, “You’re no Mary.” No kidding, thanks for reminding me.

My mother-in-law is struggling remembering names, and on a recent double date she turned to me to inquire where my husband was. He was driving the car we were in but I didn’t want to point that out so I just pretended she asked about her grandson. I'm still not sure who she didn't recognize - him or me? It’s sad but to be expected at 96. I try to comfort her by explaining that she remembers her own name, which is more than many of her peers. My mom told me when my grandfather lived with us he would sit at the kitchen table and just write his name over and over and over. When she asked why, he replied, “So I don’t forget it.”

My dad claims to have Alzheimer’s, and maybe he does, but he’s the sharpest Alzheimer’s patient I’ve ever seen. He can recall volumes of information and can ace any Jeopardy category. Old movies are his passion, and he can recite every actor’s name. So I was surprised one day when he confided that the only thing about Alzheimer’s that scares him is that one day he would forget about God. Puzzled because he is and always has been one of the most faithful Christians, I could only respond, “Didn’t those nuns teach you anything? You have nothing to fear because God will NEVER forget YOU!” Yes, our human bodies and minds deteriorate and we may forget our spouse, our children, or even our own name, but God promises, “I will not forget you! See, I have engravedyou on the palms of my hands.”(Isaiah 49:16) For someone who frequently uses her palms as post-its, I can totally relate, but His hands must be HUGE!!!

Names don’t carry as much import as they once did. Current society doesn’t put much value on their meaning like they did in Biblical times, nor is it still mandatory for Catholics to be named after saints. Historically, your name may have characterized where you were from, whose child you were, or maybe what you did for a living. Kind of makes you wonder what profession was in the Butman’s past. My maiden name is Maresca, which means by the sea, and makes sense because that branch of the family is from the coastal town of Sorrento. As a mater of fact, half the population shares that surname.

During Jesus’ day, your name defined you. Throughout the Bible God changes people’s names along with their purpose just as Jesus did for many of his disciples. No name could be more defining than His. Jesus means ‘God saves.’ Another of His designations, Emmanuel, means ‘God with us.’ Christ or Messiah means ‘anointed one.’ Maybe my son was spot on with his answer to Shakespeare’s query, “What’s in a name?” EVERYTHING!

A reminder for my dad.

No Goodbyes

by Joanie Butman

September is a season of goodbyes. As summer slowly fades into fall, I bid farewell to lazy days, lobster dinners, the ocean, my daughter as she returns to school, a slew of relatives, and our summer neighbors: my in-laws. Because of their advanced age, every goodbye nowadays is said without knowing whether this will be the last. A couple of years ago, my father-in-law decided he didn’t like the idea of saying goodbye so he refuses to use the term. He changed it to “see you later” or “see you in a few months” – always something open ended. When I asked the reason for his sudden aversion to saying goodbye, he explained that the term sounded too final. His ultimate departure must be growing heavy on his heart as he marches towards 96. The fact that there are now always tears in his eyes as he sends us off leads me to believe he must be thinking the same thing, “Will I see them again?”

In order to appreciate the following story, you have to understand the amiable push/pull relationship I have with The Colonel (my father-in-law). Just this weekend his nephew informed me that the reason Paul keeps his coveted Makita drill (which I’ve asked him to bequeath to me) in the dining room is so I can’t find it! I shouldn’t have been shocked but I was, mainly because I’ve been borrowing it from his hiding spot for years. When I told him his secret was out, he didn't even try to deny it. Instead he said “half the time I don’t know whether to be irritated because it isn’t there when I need it, or impressed that a woman knows how to use it.” Then he accused me of stealing his hammers. My first reaction was deny, deny, deny. However, when I went home I found one of his hammers with his telltale identification mark on the handle. I thought about slipping it back into place without saying anything, but it would be cruel to deny him the pleasure of being right. I brought it back much humbled and begged for forgiveness, which he graciously offered. Then he asked what other tools of his did I have in my shed. He describes me as 'unusual' because I use tools and speak my mind – traits he doesn’t necessarily value in a woman.

He did something last Mother’s Day that convinced me that he must realize when you get to your mid-90’s, the length of your future is even more uncertain than most. He called me and gave me a long preamble about how he was about to do something that he’s never done, something he’s not comfortable with, something that goes against all his military training, and many other caveats. Intrigued, I had no idea what to expect because you just never know what will come out of his mouth. If he had to prepare me for it, this was going to be a doozy! I prodded him, “What are you trying to tell me? Is Elinor (his wife) pregnant?” Not to be deterred, he responded brusquely, “I love you,” and promptly disconnected. Stunned, I turned to my husband and said, “I think your dad just hung up on me.” I immediately called him back, but he let it ring quite a few times before answering even though I know the phone was still in his hand.

          “Did you just hang up on me?” I inquired.

           “Yes.”

           “Why?”

           “I didn’t want to deal with the awkward silence at the other end of the line.”

I just had to laugh. I thanked him, responded in kind and said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The reason I relay the story is twofold:

1. Since I’ve shared many stories of his comical and chauvinistic antics, I thought it only fair to give his loving moments equal billing.
2. More importantly, because of all the heartfelt declarations of love I’ve received in my life, this one may be the most valuable simply because of how difficult it was for him to offer it.

I don’t know what prompted him to choose that particular day, but it was the best Mother’s Day gift I’ve ever received. After giving it much thought, I have to assume it was something he wanted to express while he still had the chance. I am honored and grateful because I never would have known otherwise — when it comes to love, we speak a different language.  

My conversation with him reminded me of something I wrote years ago about the power of words. Aside from the obvious damage that hurtful words cause, I discussed the pain of words left unsaid.Though there are countless stupid comments and angry words I regret saying in my life, it is the ones left unsaid that sometimes can be the most damaging and the ones I regret the most. Maybe the person I wanted to say them to isn’t even in my life anymore so those sentiments are lost forever – a lost opportunity to possibly encourage, affirm, apologize, forgive, or express love. I’ve never known anyone who regretted offering a kind word, an apology, forgiveness or love. Even when it costs you dearly, choosing to offer affirmation is a gift that will last long after you’re gone.

As we reach the end of the summer and another goodbye hangs over us like a storm cloud, I knew I had to tell him how much I cherished his desire to express his love despite his discomfort. It was the best way I could say goodbye without actually using those words because he won’t let me.

I walked up for a visit during his daily noontime beer on the front porch. While we sat there enjoying the view and the warmth of the sun, I asked him if he remembered his Mother’s Day call. He laughed and admitted he couldn’t remember what happened yesterday never mind four months ago. I recapped our brief conversation and though he claimed he couldn’t recall, I could tell by his sudden awkwardness that he knew exactly what I was talking about.

His response to my question about what prompted his uncharacteristic display of affection was reminiscent of a mischievous little boy caught in a lie. He couldn’t explain other than to say it must have been a letter or something I did. It doesn’t matter. The reason was unimportant. The fact that he understood my need to hear those words gave me a brief glimpse into his normally well-hidden sensitivity.

When I described how much it meant to me, he blushed. “Well, I guess I scored!” It went downhill from there into more familiar territory with him pontificating about how men overuse the term  “I love you” and throw it around carelessly as a “route to get into women’s pants.” He followed up with “I’m beyond that capability now so no one can misconstrue my motives.” Here was the Paul I knew and loved. I quickly redirected the conversation to safer subjects like the lunch menu – food being the only neutral topic with him.

Having vastly different beliefs in many areas, he and I have engaged in many interesting conversations. The longest one has to be our ongoing discussion about the existence of God. I’ve never had any desire to convert him. Quite the opposite, he seems to have a vested interest in converting me to atheism. Maybe if I point out that there aren’t any goodbyes from my perspective, he may reconsider. As a Christian, our farewells are always open ended because we know death is not the end but just the beginning. It’s not goodbye, it’s until we meet again.

Matthew West wrote this for his grandmother’s funeral. It is a beautiful example of a Christian’s approach to death.