Ouch! A Spirituality of Chronic Dis-ease

Some of you whom I haven't seen for a while may be saying to yourselves, "What in the world is he doing with all that hair. Looks kind of peculiar." Well, I'll tell you. There is a perfectly logical explanation. Virtually all of my male relatives spent the first half of their lives with a thick, healthy head of hair, and then, usually in under a year, lost it all.

Well, once, before that happens to me, just once, I want to look like my second favorite Biblical character, John the Baptist. My other favorite biblical character, is King David. Now, those two may seem to be on opposite ends of a wide spectrum, but actually it seems to me that they had in common two qualities which I try to imitate, but seldom achieve. Both of those qualities, I think are very relevant to what we will be talking about this morning. The first was a genuine zeal for life, the truth of it, value of it. Even when David sinned, he did so with great enthusiasm and dedication. John had such a zeal for life, that even the certainty of being beheaded couldn't dampen his enthusiasm. I rather doubt that even actually being beheaded calmed him down much. And the second quality in each was a deep and enduring conviction that it is God's world, not ours and that in order to live in it happily, successfully it must be lived in on His terms, according to His design. So much of what I will say this morning will be based on just that simple truth.

Then too, there's a good deal to be said for the value of doing something simply because you want to do it, within the bounds of civil law and common decency, of course. That too, I think, has some real relevance to our topic. Well, that is enough about hair.

Very happy to be here with you this morning, pleased to have been asked by the Presentation Prayer Center to come and spend some time with you reflecting, and I hope, exchanging views on a subject that may at first glance seem almost a morbid one, hardly the sort of topic geared to add much to the experience of a good lunch and pleasant company.

It was a topic we found a bit difficult to publicize, even title. But still, it seemed a topic worth pursuing in some way, so finally we settled on "OUCH! A Spirituality of Chronic Dis-ease". The word, you'll notice if you read the poster carefully is hyphenated. We aren't going to be talking so much about a specific disease, or medical condition, as about the wide variety of ways in which our lives can be robbed of ease, and the particular kinds of physical, emotional and spiritual challenges that presents.

And it's a topic worth pursuing, I think, because that is a challenge with which most of us are presented at one time or another over the course of our lives. In fact, it may not be too far from the mark to say that the corrosion of ease is probably about as close to a genuinely universal experience as any we can define. Actually, a good friend of mine pointed out that since the theme is chronic dis-ease and the single word "Ouch!" seems to suggest an isolated moment, the title might have been more appropriately, "Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch!"

I said that the corrosion of ease in our lives, to one degree or another, for one reason or another is probably about as close to a genuinely universal experience as any we can define. That is certainly true when we are dealing with the single, isolated ouch. Absolutely everyone everyone has at some point in their lives had occasion to say ouch, that hurts.

Now, most of the time those isolated ouches are just that, and the corrosion of ease they introduce into our lives, even if unpleasant, even if very unpleasant, is relatively short term. Most of the time the challenge that sort of experience presents is a matter of finding the appropriate resource or remedy and applying it as effectively as possible. That resource may be nothing more complicated than a Band-Aid, it may be a trip to the doctor or a counselor, it may be the welcoming arms of a friend. It may be just to duck. But certainly the most effective resource of all in such situations is simply the realization that this too will pass. It will get better, and the ouch will be gone.

But sometimes not. Sometimes you just can't duck. Sometimes the conditions that prompt that first ouch settle in and become permanent, become a part of one's life, become something that colors every other experience, every other perception, even the perception of one's self. And when that happens, when the corrosion of ease is not short lived at all, but a constant, relentless pattern of experience, then the challenges presented change indeed.

And the resources, the remedies required change as well. Certainly everything I mention remains valuable, and necessary. Medical attention, professional help, the support and encouragement of friends, all of these must still play a critical role in responding to the challenge of chronic diseases. The difference of course is that once those resources have been used, the challenge is still there and our resources must be used again and again. That all important resource I mentioned, the knowledge that it will change, it will get better, seems to be gone. And that changes everything.

Well, I promise that is as close to morbid as I intend to get this morning. Well, almost. What I would like to do is spend a bit of time reflecting on the experience of chronic pain, the effect it has on a person's life, and then spend some time suggesting to you a framework that may prove helpful in establishing a pattern of resources, and bringing that pattern into play in your own response to whatever chronic corrosion of ease there may be in your own lives.

And suggest, really, is all that I can do. It is simply too individual a concern. The conditions that challenge me will almost certainly not be exactly those which challenge any of you. And even if very similar, my resources will not be exactly the same as your own. That is why I said earlier that I would like to close out this gathering with some time for an exchange of views. As I look around this group, I easily recognize that there are a number of you here who could speak to this topic with considerably greater experience and insight than my own.

I am going to use as my point of reference the experience of chronic physical pain, dis-ease, but I truly believe that most of what will be said is equally applicable to the challenges faced by those whose lives are touched by chronic emotional or psychological pain as well.

Chronic pain is isolating. It changes your relationship to those around you, even those closest and dearest to you. It changes your relationship, in fact to the whole rest of the physical world. It can even isolate you from yourself. It is isolating in that there is a terrible temptation to believe that no one truly understands how I feel, truly understands my experience. And, the fact is that in large part, that is simply true. They don't understand. How could they possibly? And a constant sense of not being understood, even by those you most desperately want to understand you, can be a very dangerous and damaging thing to ones emotional and spiritual well-being. Corrosive of ease, indeed.

And in a very ironic sort of way, that sense of not being understood can be especially damaging when you are dealing with your doctor. Now, in any discussion of health care, it is awfully easy, even a bit trendy, to fall into a pattern of doctor bashing. It is not my intention to do that. I have a great deal of respect for the medical profession and for many fine men and women who genuinely strive to be healers. In fact, for most of my childhood, I wanted to be one of them, and truly believed I would. Nevertheless, to great degree, I think it is still true that to the medical profession, pain is seen as a symptom, rather than as a human experience. Something to be understood, rather than as something to be healed. Now certainly, that is changing. And that, I would propose, is in no small part due to the influence of Hospice, and the impact that that movement has had on the mindset of medical practice.

Chronic pain can be isolating in that the number, the range of experiences easily shared with others can be quite markedly reduced. Even the simplest, most immediate experiences. A walk in the park, a trip to the mall or the supermarket feels considerably different to a person in chronic pain. That doesn't necessarily mean it doesn't feel good, but its not the same kind of good, not the same experience.

Chronic pain can be isolating in that the sufferer can choose to close himself off from others, fearful of being an oddity, an object of pity, fearful that if I talk about how I feel, people will avoid me, fearful that if I ask for help once to often, I will be resented.

Chronic pain is exhausting. And here I don't say it can be exhausting. It is. Everything takes more energy than it otherwise would. Getting up, getting dressed, getting into the car. Everything. Just the thought of how challenging your day is going to be can be exhausting, even before you start to do it.

And when you couple exhaustion with a very real reduction in the ability to enjoy what you do the result is always, always depression. Every single person I have ever met who has had to live with chronic pain has also had to wrestle with periodic bouts of depression. It is simply a part of the experience.

In a TV documentary a while ago there was a segment about one of the more ghoulish figures ever spawned by our society, Dr. Kevorkian. And the narrator at one point observed that someone had concluded that probably about 25% of those sufferers of chronic pain who requested the service of Dr. Kevorkian were clinically depressed at the time, and more than likely unable to choose wisely. Well, I don't believe that for a minute. I think the figure is much, much higher. I wouldn't hesitate to say approaching 100%. Those people are at their weakest and most vulnerable, and that creature should never be allowed to ply his sleazy trade in our midst.

Chronic pain can rob our lives of spontaneity. Everything needs to be planned more carefully, sometimes just the next step, literally where to put your foot, needs planning. And that too, can be very tiring.

Chronic pain can change one's self perception, self image. Ours is a society of doers, producers, accomplishers, often enough self-image, self worth is measured by productivity. If I can't work as productively and effectively as another then I am less valuable than that other. Even if I don't think that about myself, I may well suspect that others think it of me, and that suspicion can add to withdrawal and isolation.

Well, I said I wasn't going to sink into morbidity this morning, but I seem to have done a fairly decent job of just that. So now let's change the thrust of this reflection completely, and move on to reflect a bit on just what sort of strengths, what sort of resources we can bring to bear on the meeting of all these challenges, on the healing off chronic pain. And let's do so specifically, explicitly as believers, as Christians, as God's people, living in God's world as He designed it to be. And I hope to leave you this morning with, if not the conviction, then at least the awareness that those resources are vast, those strengths are powerful. God's people are indeed a people of power and of wholeness, and in the face of that great truth there is nothing, no threat, no danger, no force, that can possibly be deadly. Inconvenient, yes, demanding, challenging, painful, hampering, certainly, but never deadly. God has created us, each of us, to be a unique, an infinitely wondrous and mysterious blend of the physical and the spiritual. He has set us to live in a wonderful world, in the company of a holy people. In the earliest pages of revelation, in the book of Genesis, we are told again and again that at each stage of bringing into being all that is, God looked at what He had done and saw that it was good.

But what a weak and passionless interpretation that is. The Hebrew words used in this passage are much more accurately interpreted as "God looked at what He had done, and took delight in it." No mere airy abstract philosophical concept, God's goodness is a visceral thing, a truth felt in the body not merely approached with the soul. Please keep that sense in mind, I'm going to return to it again and again.

And I'm going to propose to you an image to use this morning as a sort of springboard for our efforts at piecing together a spirituality of chronic dis-ease. It is the image of statue, a statue by Michelangelo, that now stands in a church in Rome. The statue is entitled the Risen Christ. There are two elements to this sculpture. One, of course, is Christ. Christ's body here is a magnificent thing, idealized, powerful, beautiful, perfect. As he so often did, Michelangelo was attempting to stir the soul with the shape of the body. Someone once wrote of Michelangelo that he understood all the passions of God and none of the passions of human beings. I'm not so sure that's true. I really don't think he saw much difference between the two. But what is to me most striking is the second component. Smaller, lighter, far less powerfully sculpted. It is the cross. And at first, that struck me very strangely. After the resurrection, Christ still bore the cross. Why? Why hadn't he simply cast the hated thing away, in a gesture of risen power. It could have no power over Him now. But then, as my own awareness of the piece deepened, at least a bit, it became clear that now, after the resurrection, Christ was not bearing the cross. In fact his touch on it was light, He held it in His fingertips, with a familiarity, almost a fondness. It was still there, alright, still a cross, still a symbol and instrument of suffering, of dis-ease indeed. It was still there, but it was no longer a burden, no longer a limiting, shackling thing. And what had made all the difference, was the resurrection. And perhaps that is the only real signpost to use as we piece together a model of the spirituality of any human experience, pain or pleasure, emptiness or fullness. Perhaps we most closely approach the truth of our condition as God's people moments of insight, those hints, those "rumors of resurrection" that mark our lives everyday. Let's build our spirituality on that, rumors of resurrection. I like that phrase. It might have been an even better title than ouch.

I can remember very clearly one such rumor of resurrection which I was blessed to witness a number of years ago now. But it is still very clear in my mind, it made quite a difference to me.

I have spent a good many years, the past twenty five, really, working in one capacity or another with people with developmental disabilities, primarily mental retardation. I've learned a great great deal from these remarkable people, but no lesson more important, nor more powerfully put than this, I think.

I served for some time as resident chaplain to the Sisters of the Presentation and lived with them at Sacred Heart convent, which is, some of you may know, right next door to Friendship, Inc, where I currently work. The grounds around the convent are beautiful, and I used to greatly enjoy walking around and watching whatever there was to see. And I can remember being struck very powerfully by one sight, especially, that of a young lady who was at the time a resident in one of the group homes just west of the main building at Friendship. Connecting the two buildings is a concrete walkway of perhaps some 75 feet in length. Each afternoon, at about the same time, this young lady would walk from the group home to the main building. I don't remember exactly why, I believe it was to pick up the mail, actually. But what a journey. This young woman was physically challenged to a terrible degree. Simply nothing worked right. But day after day, it was always the same. She would struggle down that walkway with what I took to be a grim determination, literally seeming to drag her body along with sheer force of will. Feeling a little bit like a voyeur, I watched that struggle I don't know how many times, and always with the same reaction. Some anger, that such a charming and faultless person should have to bear such hardship. Pity that it should be so. And awe at what I genuinely took to be an heroic display of courage. What must it take, inside, to just keep going.

Well, one afternoon, before too terribly long, I learned what it took, and after that I felt no anger, no pity, and very little awe. I did, however feel more than a little foolish at having missed the point, so badly, for so long. And the catalyst for all of that, was a puppy. Hardly the stuff of epic drama, I know, but perhaps that is the way it is supposed to be. Perhaps rumors of resurrection are hardly ever epic. Perhaps they are in fact just that, rumors, not shouts. Perhaps they are much more fittingly the stuff of everyday experience, quick, fleeting, easy to miss if we are too pre-occupied with our own presumptions.

Anyway, it was a puppy. That afternoon as I was standing a respectful distance off, again watching that painful journey, suddenly out of nowhere, a very small, very energetic puppy came bounding up and plopped down on the grass just off of the walkway, perhaps fifteen feet from where the girl was standing. Why he went no closer, I don't know. He certainly wanted to. His tail was going a mile a minute, and every muscle in his body was quivering with anticipation, as well as a very wet tongue that had to have been at least three time as long as his body. Well, when that girl caught sight of that puppy, and the perfectly obvious invitation he was sending to her, her face broke out into a smile that would light up an auditorium, and she started to move toward the puppy. And as she did, I suddenly realized how badly I had misinterpreted what I had seen before. What she was displaying was not courage. It was something far more profound, far more whole and healing than that. What she was displaying was a far deeper sense than I have ever had of proportion, of perspective. A far deeper insight than I have ever had into what truly matters, and what simply does not. All that mattered for her, in the whole wide wonderful world, was to get to that dog. How difficult it was to do so, how much effort it took, how painful it was, simply was not important. It hadn't gone away, it just didn't matter. Pretty much like Christ with the cross in Michelangelo's statue. There was nothing to be angry about, nothing there to pity. She was doing exactly what she wanted to do, exactly what was most important to her. She wasn't showing courage, she didn't need courage. She wasn't afraid.

Well, I turned around and tore back to my room (I was better at tearing in those days) to get my camera, and I did so praying with a fervor I've never since matched, that the creature would stay put till I got back. And for reasons known only to dogs and the Good Lord, he did. The girl had reached the dog and the two of them were on the ground, both perfectly pleased with what they had accomplished. I got the picture, and though poorly focused and badly exposed, it is still one of the best pieces I've ever done.

And what a sacred moment that was, what a revelation. Suddenly it became so clear. The best, perhaps the only true healing for chronic dis-ease, chronic pain, whether physical or emotional, is a sense of purpose, a conviction that what we do is important, that it means something. And simply enough, the stronger that sense in one's life, the less important the challenges the obstacles that the circumstances of life may raise. I'll say it again. A sense of purpose, a sense of the importance of what we do. It changes everything, because it is all that matters. It heals, it sanctifies.

And here is the great truth, that sense of purpose that healing sense of value is our birthright as believers, our legacy as Christians. Through His life death and resurrection, Christ saved us from pointlessness.

And that sense of purpose is equally the legacy of every single one of us, regardless of the circumstances of our life, regardless of our fullness our or emptiness, our ability or our disability, whether we are in a position to be productive and to care for the needs of others or are in a position, from time to time, where we must be cared for by others. All of it is equally purposeful. I want to recall to you the second of two qualities I so admired in John the Baptist, (besides his hair) and King David, and that is what I described as their deep and enduring conviction that it is God's world, not ours and that in order to live in it happily, successfully it must be lived in on his terms, according to His design.

And anytime, in anything that we do or are, that we faithfully testify to that truth, anytime that we make even slightly clearer to ourselves or to those around us the truth of God's design for His people in His world, then we act with an infinite purpose and what we do is of infinite value and importance in contributing to the building of the Kingdom of God. So true is that, in fact that without that testimony, without that prophecy offered by the people of God to one another in a constant living flow and exchange of revelation, our Advent prayer, shortly to begin again, Maranatha, Come Lord Jesus, will be prayed with a hollow ring.

A great many. I'll settle on just two. Truths so central, so much at the heart of God's design that we need to hear that prophecy. Purposeful indeed is the raising of their voices.

The truth that by God's design we are physical creatures and that we will be so forever, a truth unchanged even by death. We will never be angels, abstract pure spirits, we will be for eternity what we have been caused to be, creatures of flesh and blood and bone and sinew. To deny that or even to demean it, to be embarrassed by it is to refuse to prophecy to the goodness of God's design. Chronic pain is a powerful reminder of corporality both to those who bear it and to those who see them do so.

Now I do not for moment believe that there is anything inherently good or saving about pain. But I do most firmly believe that it is inherently good and saving to be faithful to one's purpose, convinced of the value of one's purpose even if that means bearing pain. Christians, from time to time it seems to me, slide too easily into a mindset once summed up in the adage "There is no salvation without the cross." I don't really believe that. Rather I believe it is much more accurate to say that there is no salvation without a willingness to bear the cross if that is what must be done in order to be faithful. The cross, after all is a saving thing not because on it Christ bled, but because on it He was willing to bleed if that was what was necessary. Remember, on Holy Thursday night Christ was so terrified of what He knew was to be that He literally sweat blood. Three times He asked the Father to save Him from this ordeal. On the cross, just before He died, Christ in His human heart felt what so many others through the centuries have felt, the distance of God, abandoned by God, a feeling very familiar to those who suffer pain. Yet as constant as the fear and pain and far more powerful was His sense of purpose. I will do what You want Me to do, because that is what matters.

So I think it would be more than naive to believe that Christ willingly and lovingly embraced His pain, and that we must do so as well in order to be His followers. I doubt that he did. But He most certainly willingly and lovingly embraced the physicalness of the human condition that allowed the pain to happen, and we must do so as well in order to be His followers, His prophets.

So if there is testimony to the truth in the willingness of Christians to endure pain when fidelity to purpose demands it, so is there testimony to the truth to challenge pain, to ease it when there is no reason not to do so. And in many ways, that may well be the more difficult prophecy for Christians to offer one another. Well, as difficult in any rate.

For many centuries in Christian tradition, the most widely proposed model of spirituality, spiritual excellence, was the monastic, even what is called the eremitic, the life literally of a hermit, an attempt to disentangle oneself from the world and its concerns, its dangers, its temptations. It was called "fuga mundi," flight from the world. And necessarily that entailed what was called "fuga corporis," flight from the body. The body after all was all too clearly part of the world. Spirituality became a constant effort to become what we never meant to be, pure spirits, unhampered by this complex, demanding thing that weighs us down. And in this macabre flight from reality, pain came to be seen as almost something of an aid, an ally. Pain contributed to spirituality by intensifying a disdain for the body, a hatred for it, a desire to be rid of it.

Well, phooey. It didn't work. And it didn't work because it isn't true, and as Christ assures us, it is only the truth that will set you free. Now, certainly, mainstream Christian thought has shifted markedly away from that mindset, but I think in many ways we are still to one degree or another tainted by it in living out our own personal spirituality. I think it is still very difficult for many of us to see pleasure, feeling good, as any sort of spiritual perfection, as any sort of real prophecy to the goodness of God's design. Easing pain, even just distracting ourselves from it can seem to us very unspiritual, even cowardly and the pursuit of pleasure, to actively set out to make ourselves feel physically good, can be seen as downright sybaritic, even sinful.

Well, I hope that by now it will come as little surprise to anyone here if I say I just don't believe that. I am perfectly willing to take the Father's word for it when He tells us again and again in the creation accounts and again in the Book of Proverbs in the exquisite imagery of Wisdom playing at the feet of the Father as He does the work of creation, I'm willing to take His word for the fact that we are by His design meant to take delight in what He has done, how He has made us, where He has placed us. I firmly believe that we are called to celebrate the goodness of God and His creation, even the creation of our own bodies, and that whenever to do so poses no threat to fidelity, or to ones purpose, it is indeed holy prophecy, every bit as much and every bit as necessary to God's design as is the willingness to bear pain for the sake of fidelity and purpose.

So use what the world has to offer in order to feel good. Those who are in pain do so because it will ease the pain, as it should be eased. Those who are not, do so because it feels good. We should demand that the medical profession serve us well. We should refuse to be a case study or a lab specimen. We should remind them if need be that we are human beings, and they are healers. We should demand that our doctors and nurses take pain management seriously, as a top priority. We should challenge in ourselves the sometimes lingering notion that to avail ourselves of medical pain management is somehow a sign of weakness, even cowardice. It is not.

But short of that, the Good Lord has built in to us into our bodies any number of ways to challenge and distract pain, and take delight in life.

Laughter. It literally heals. Pursue what makes you laugh, from Oscar Wilde to the Three Stooges, it just doesn't matter. Surround yourself with humorous people, avoid like the plague dour, cynical and joyless people. Actually, I think they are the plague.

Massage. It is no accident that healing in the Scripture is literally a matter of the laying on of hands. Natural chemicals are stimulated in your bloodstream, and I really think there is, somehow, a genuine enhancement, even a transfer of energy in the human touch. I kind of suspect that that may be in part at least why the old time General Practitioner we went to as children seemed somehow to be able to make us just feel better than do so many of the technical specialists we see today. We got poked and prodded by a real human being, someone we knew and liked, not by a machine. I don't know. Something to that.

Moving water. Again, a strong scriptural image. It feels good, and works real changes in the muscles and joints.

I don't want to make too much of this next natural healer, but getting just a little silly with a good bottle of wine, a good meal and the company of good friends can be a wonderful thing. In one of his epistles, St. Paul advises his student Titus to do just that, and not take everything so seriously.

And I certainly don't want to offend anyone, but I would equally certainly be skirting the issue if I didn't include in this list of God given natural healing experiences, erotic arousal, if the circumstances of your life are such that that is a possibility. In the scriptural book Song of Songs, or sometimes called the Song of Solomon, wonderfully erotic language and imagery is used to describe that bond of delight between God and His people, and it is a prophecy to God's design. With obvious reservations, of course.

And the second great truth to which those in chronic pain can testify, perhaps more eloquently than anyone else, is that by God's design we are interdependent people, and we are meant to be. I don't think that can be emphasized too strongly. Our interdependence, our need for one another, our reliance on one another for our well being, is by God's design. And to realize that, to act on it, far from being a failing of human perfection, IS that perfection. The image of the completely self-made, self reliant person is a heresy, and a particularly poisonous one. When I say to those around me that I am incomplete, and need help, I am in truth saying that in this at least, I am what God intended for me to be. And the nature of that incompleteness, the kind of help I need, simply doesn't matter at all. Whether it be intellectual stimulation, a spiritual advisor, a financial consultant, a sympathetic ear, plain ordinary companionship, or just help getting out of a chair from time to time, all of it speaks with an equal eloquence to the human condition, and to God's design. There is no ranking of nobility in human need, and there is no need, no incompleteness we should be ashamed or even reluctant to express.

And in precisely the same way, there is no ranking of nobility in the help we are willing to offer one another. No gift we give to the completeness of another human being is any less important than any other. I said that the company of people with a developmental disability has been a blessing for me over the years, and so it has. But no less a blessing has been the company of those who serve their needs. What a wonderful revelation these men and women have to offer us everyday I hope that they are as utterly convinced as am I of the importance, the sacredness of what they do. When I watch a staff person at Friendship help someone cut up their food, or get dressed, or take a few steps around the room, and then I go home, turn on the news and hear about the organization of a massive aid effort overseas, or the latest attempt by diplomats to defuse the madness of yet another trouble spot, I really see no difference. All of it speaks with an equal eloquence to the human condition, and to God's design.

And that can be a helpful model, I think, for all of us to use as we move through our day expressing and meeting human needs, needs that can often enough strike us as petty and irritating. The endless demands made on the time, energy, just plain old patience of parents as they serve food, bandage knees, settle squabbles, help with homework, and then do it all again the next day. The challenges of dealing with the incompleteness of co-workers, of spouses, of friends, of family members, all of it. Whenever a human need, a human dis-ease is honestly expressed and willingly met, then together we speak with a powerful voice to the great truth that until the day when God completes us all, we must complete one another.

So. Enough. To those of you who ease the pain of others, either with your professional skills, your companionship, your support, or your love, many of us have need of you. You are our prophets, our constant reminders of the truth, that God has filled His people with His own goodness, and in the care you show you are truly His ministers.

And to those of you who bear a chronic pain of any kind, speak your needs with an utter confidence in that goodness. Look for the puppy and move toward him. Find what is important, what is of value in your lives and devote your efforts to the realization of that value. If you do, I promise you that you will make clearer in our eyes the goodness of God's design for His world, His people. I promise you further, the pain will still be there, but it simply will not matter very much. You, more clearly than any other, have a great and holy role to play in that design. To trumpet the truth that there is nothing, nothing at all that can finally destroy the ability of God's people to move in the midst of what He has done, and take delight in it.

A Lenten Presentation Prayer Center Fund Raiser Brunch, October 22, 1998. The Prayer Center is a ministry of the Sisters of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Fargo, ND.