Give to everyone who asks

Give to everyone who asks.
Emphasis on the ask. 

I must confess, this particular post was conceived after reading another seminarian's blog post from about a week ago.  His point (which is obviously a very valid point) is that we are to give to everyone who asks.  Period.  The end.  Not "give to everyone who asks and seems to have need," not "give to everyone who asks and is willing to repay you," not "give to everyone who asks and seems like they're telling the truth."  We are called to give to everyone who asks.

Luke 6:30 says, "Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back."

Matthew 5:42 says, "Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."

But what if we are only called to give to those who ask.  Not the people we see as having a need.  Not the people we hope we can fix or help in order to get something out of it ourselves.  Not the people who are high profile and the world presents as "needy."

One of my biggest flaws is that I think I can fix things that I simply cannot fix.  Actually, I think I can and should fix things that people have no intention of fixing or don't want help in fixing.  I'm a chronic fixer.  A codependent fixer.  I want people to fix me too.

But I rarely wait for people to ask.  I never wait for "what do you think?" before giving my opinion.  I rarely wait for "how should I do it?" before letting them know how I would do it.  I barely ever wait for "can you help?" before I've offered three or four solutions to a problem.

What if this phrase is a commentary on our mission as a church?  What if the author intentionally didn't write, "give to everyone?"  What if we aren't supposed to walk into the impoverished part of town and declare their needs and hold out our hands for the "needy?"

I think it is especially an important self-care issue for caregivers.  We aren't going to be able to help all of the people who we think need help.  We aren't going to be able to help all of the people who we think deserve help or would benefit from help.  But we are able to help the people who ask for help.

Think about it: how many times did Jesus roll up, diagnose people, and decide to solve their problems?  Not too many times. In fact, in most of the time people are flocking to Jesus and asking for his help.  Of course, he responds appropriately to every single person- he helps them.  Even when he's in the middle of helping someone else.  Then after he helps people, he oftentimes retreats to the mountainside, the lake, or the wilderness to take care of himself.

Maybe this blog post isn't really going anywhere. (Did it go anywhere?) But I'll leave you with this:

Give to everyone who asks you.

CPE

CPE stands for Crazy People Emoting.

CPE stands for Creating Proper Empathy.

CPE stands for Crummy Perspectives on Everything.

CPE stands for Cram-Packed Emotions.

CPE stands for Constantly Praying for the Eschaton.

CPE stands for Clinical Pastoral Education.

I'm a chaplain at a hospital here in Columbia for eleven weeks this summer.  CPE is the infamous horror story told by every middler to every incoming junior at seminary.  The tales are tall and sometimes exaggerated.

But when I first started CPE I had all of those stories in my head.  And I was terrified.  I was furious.  I didn't want to be there.  I didn't know what would happen when I started orientation six weeks ago.  I thought about fighting "the man" (who in this case in my candidacy committee and the entire ELCA) and throwing a fit until I didn't have to do CPE.  Because I thought that would work. Ha.

I just thought it was pointless. I had a normal childhood. I have a good relationship with my parents. My brother is weird but functional.  I have good friendships that go back for years.  I'm now in a relationship that is most definitely the most healthy romantic relationship I've ever been a part of.  I didn't need this CPE thing and all the crap that came with it.

I also didn't think I had any authority to walk into someone's hospital room and ask them to share their shit with me.  Who do I think I am that I might make a tiny bit of difference for anyone ever?  Psh. That's some wishful thinking that I'll "touch" someone or that I'd actually benefit from delving into my own shit during group sessions.

But look at me.  The girl who wanted so badly to hate chaplaincy is loving it and constantly talking about it.  Weird.

I learned a few things these past few weeks:

1. No matter how you were raised or what kind of family you come from, it's really nice to talk to someone who is paid to listen to you.
2. If you look for disaster and depressing situations, you're going to find them.
3. If you look for miracles and small joys throughout the day, you're going to find them.
4. Music can pretty much explain any sort of emotion you're feeling at any given moment.
5. "Talking through" things isn't something annoying people do, it's something healthy people do.
6. Community is insanely important because of #5.
7. You're never going to be perfect, so you might as well take some risks.

I can't share any of my awesome stories yet because of HIPAA stuff, but I have some awesome stories.  I have fallen in love with ministry.  I have fallen in love with caring for people.  I have fallen in love with the helplessness of crises.  I have fallen in love with what God is doing through the people here at the hospital and through me.

I'm still learning and I'm still pretty much scared to death, but I'm here.  I'm in it and I'm not hating it.  Actually half of me wants to recommend it to everyone who plans to care for another human being anytime during their life.  Half of me wants to run away from trauma pages and Code Blue's and half of me wants to run toward the families with open arms and an open heart.

I'm torn and broken and so in love.