Growing into Psalm 119

 Growing up I remember individual verses being extracted from Psalm 119 in a sort of moralistic way to teach us how important obeying the Bible was. When I was introduced to using the Psalms as a prayer guide by Bonhoeffer's book "Psalms: The Prayerbook of the Bible," I remember his encouragement not to rush through 119 because it was long and seemingly redundant. In my monthly prayer Psalm rotation, I use 119 in the months with 31 days (like today). Having done that for over 50 years now, I don't know that I am quite where Bonhoeffer got to, but I have come to appreciate 119 as a total package. Over those years I have come to recognize the various descriptions of God's Word/Law as an expansive expression of the character of God. As Verse 96 says, "I have seen a limit to all perfection, but your commandment is exceedingly broad." With that awareness has come a kind of reversal from the moralism I grew up with to see that God's steadfast love motivates and empowers me to live more and more into the character of God, not just following rules. As verse 17 says, "Deal bountifully with your servant, so that I may live and observe your word."

Sacramental and Mystical Reflections on Our Half-Century Plus Marriage Norman D. Stolpe - Eastertide 2022

Candy and I were married on January 25, 1969. We have three sons, two daughters-in-law, and four grandchildren. We have lived and served congregations in Illinois, New Jersey, Wisconsin, Texas, and an interim pastorate in Oklahoma. We are now back in Wisconsin sharing a duplex with our son David, his wife Rachel, and their children Sam and Elizbeth. I began my career in Christian education writing and editing, curriculum development and research. Our marriage and family life were fairly calm and private. Five years and two children in, we transitioned to pastoral congregational ministry: two in associate positions, two as senior pastor, five interim pastorates. Our marriage and family life, with the addition of a third child, became public and brought congregational expectations. In 2016 Candy was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and I immediately terminated my professional career to devote my full attention to caring for her. 

When I “retired” from my full-time called pastoral career and began serving interim pastorates, I did considerable retrospective thinking about how my relationships and experiences through those years shaped me, both strengths and scars. I wrote four novels to process those reflections. As I transitioned not into real “retirement” but into a whole new vocation and calling devoting full attention and presence to my wife on her journey with a disease from which decline and not recovery is inevitable. To be sure, we are all mortal, but for most of us the last leg of our life journey is not as prolonged and relentless as Alzheimer’s. Six years in, I feel compelled to acknowledge how I recognize that I am being shaped in unanticipated ways. I am certain that I will continue to be challenged and molded on this journey. Much of this is congruent with and an extension of how our marriage, family, and my career formed me for over half a century. 

Rather than using fiction as the vehicle for this as I did for the retrospective on my career, I am using a process more like an Ignatian examen. Though I didn’t have a vocabulary or categories to describe it, early on I was certainly drawn into spiritual practices that opened the way to mystical and sacramental experiences and outlook on life. Enticing, seemingly disconnected hints came to a watershed when reading the book of Job as a high school senior in a public school world literature class. That did not answer my imponderable questions, but in it I heard God’s invitation to wrestle with life’s ambiguities and paradoxes in God’s very presence. This welcomed me into living and growing with mystery. Reducing mystery to settled explanations was crippling to an intimate relationship with God and stifled awe and wonder.

Thus, I am not intending to teach how to have a good marriage nor even how marriage can nourish spiritual growth. I certainly am not offering our marriage as any sort of model to follow. Rather sacramental and mystical lenses allow me to recognize how God has shaped me through this long relationship with one woman since we were very young, starting together with only the vaguest idea of what we were getting into or where life would take us together. Only now that we have been on the Alzheimer’s journey for a few years (I know this route is often traveled over decades), am I able to see that the sacramental and mystical shaping of our relationship with each other and with Christ did not conclude with Candy’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. Rather, we are moving together through an intense season that is molding us both.

Though I had what I now consider sacramental and mystical yearnings quite young, I grew up and was educated in an evangelical context that seemed to ignore them or relegated them to superstitious Roman Catholicism and maybe regarded them as dangers from Eastern religions to be avoided. Rather than sort through those arguments, I think I need to define what sacramental and mystical mean to me, especially in this context of reflecting on our marriage.

The evangelical/Zwinglian context in which I was raised was suspicious of the very word “sacrament.” To them it implied a magical superstition of a priest changing bread and wine into the physical body and blood of Christ, and of regeneration or salvation by  baptism (especially infant baptism). Communion was a memorial meal of bare symbols. Even more objectionable was claiming seven rather than two sacraments. Arguing that the word “sacrament” doesn’t occur in the New Testament, they preferred the word “ordinance,” ignoring that it isn’t in the Bible either. As I got a broader theological education I discovered that a classic Reformed definition of sacrament was something Jesus gave to the Church in which something physical conveys a spiritual reality. Thus water, bread, and wine make real to us as physical/spiritual people the reality of Christ’s redemption. 

By this definition, marriage is not a sacrament in the same sense as baptism and communion. Marriage was instituted by God (not specifically Jesus) from creation, and marriage was not just for the Church but for all people. Having said that, I believe that marriage is sacramental in the sense that the physical realities of living together in lifelong intimacy convey the spiritual reality of God’s relationship to the community of faith, Israel as God’s wife and the Church as the Bride of Christ. Though not in an ultimate sense, I am convinced that our marriage has enabled us to participate in this divine mystery. 

Though not in quite the same way, my “sacramental” perspective has also been informed by the Eastern Orthodox iconography. An icon is not a picture to look at and does not intend to portray events the way modern TV news and news publications or history books do. Rather, an icon is a window to look through to contemplate mysteries beyond our physical experience. We in the western Church, especially in our post-enlightenment era, have a hard time with this. We want to explain and measure everything in chronological, rational, and linear terms. We eschew mystery. Genuine icon painters follow a path of prayer and biblical contemplation as they work within centuries of conventions and representations. Painting an icon is not the production of a tangible item (though I myself was given an icon that was done quickly for Eastern European tourist trade), rather painting an icon is a visual prayer that merges spiritual and physical. Something of a “thin place,” as recognized in Celtic spirituality, in which our present draws close to the eternal which affords a glimpse into God’s mystery beyond through a translucent portal.

In this sense, I see our marriage as an icon looking through our daily human relationship into the deeper eternal reality of the relationship of God and Christ with the community of faith. As we experience our marital love for each other, we get a glimpse of God’s love for the people of faith through the metaphor of God as the husband of Israel and Judah. Perhaps even more vivid is the reality of the Church as the Bride of Christ.  Yes, this happens in the intimacy of our marriage, but when we observe love in other couples’ marriages, they become icons expanding our vision of the eternal anticipation of the Wedding Supper of the Lamb. Even if others do not have the categories and language to articulate it, we believe others catch flashes of the divine love bond with the community of faith. 

I am not suggesting this as a pedagogical concept for teaching how to be married, though we do find it inspiring for our relationship. Furthermore, I am not at all claiming we are a model marriage to imitate. Recognizing the sacramental nature of marriage, does not mean only extraordinary couples function as icons into the great eternal realities. The very definition of sacrament is that ordinary things - water, bread, wine - convey the divine and eternal to which they point. I would go as far as to say that loving marriages between unbelievers point to God’s covenant love, even if they are not aware of it.

The mystical dimension of sacramental perspective is much more than knowledge and awareness but is a matter of participating in these great mysteries, even if flawed or partial. The mystery is not an ecstatic experience in and of itself, but it is to be personally encountered by God. Jean-Pierre deCaussade gets at this in his little book The Sacrament of the Present Moment at the turn of the 17th and 18th centuries (originally titled  Self-Abandonment to Divine Presence). He suggests that only the present moment is sacramental. That is that we don’t compel God to come to us by our practices or piety. Rather God is the one who chooses to come to us in life’s very ordinary present moments, thus making them sacraments. By abandoning ourselves to God in these present moments, we transition from observers to participants in these sacramental mysteries. We surrender claims from the past and control of the future for full abandonment to the presence of God, which is at the heart of sacramental reality.

In our years together, Candy and I have not claimed to have consistently practiced good biblical principles for marriage and parenting. Nor have we tried to present ourselves as teachers or examples of Christian family life, even though my public role may be perceived as teacher. Rather, we have lived a great adventure together, with all of its perils and delights, in which Christ has met us over and over, often by surprise. Psalm 23:3-4 portrays this vividly.  The whole imagery of the Psalm is of the shepherd’s full attention and presence for the sheep. Jesus, of course, built on this when presenting himself as the Good Shepherd (John 10). I sense the stanza break between these verses in most English translations misses something essential. We are inclined to think of the “paths of righteousness” as contrary to the “valley of the shadow of death.” I am not making an interpretative argument, but I am suggesting contemplative pondering the possibility that sometimes the paths of righteousness lead through the valley of the shadow of death, which is exactly where God is present to us with sacramental comfort. 

All of this is prelude to the examen on which I am embarking. Though I have no expectation that anyone else will read this, stranger things than that have happened. But even if it is only for my own clarity of thought, I believe the presuppositions from which my observations spring are essential to the observations themselves.

Our Marriage and My Sacramental, Mystical Journey

In over half century of marriage, with fifty years as parents, a significant midstream career change, pastoral ministry in four very different congregations (and five interim pastorates), living in four states in different regions of the US (plus brief times in Ontario and Oklahoma), contrasting careers of our children (engineer, teacher, musician), our marriage is a widely varied, rich tapestry of relationships and experiences. Constantly learning and growing have significantly shaped our spiritual formation and relationship on our journeys with Jesus. I am not going to presume to explore too much of Candy’s pilgrimage, except as it has had impacts on me. She can tell her own story if she wishes, but that is neither her natural inclination which her Alzheimer’s has further diminished. In the form of examen, I will explore my development in these areas.

• Sacramental Sexuality

• Spontaneous Spirituality

• Pastoral Teamwork as a Couple

• Changing the Rules in the Middle of the Game

• Ventures into the Unknown

• Team Parenting

• Relationships: Family, Friends, Neighbors

• Vocational Caregiving

• Aging and Mortality

Sacramental Sexuality

Sacramental and mystical life is essentially and necessarily intimate. This is reflected in the metaphors I have already mentioned in both the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament. It is hinted at in the passionate longings of the Psalmists and certainly at the heart of the Song of Songs (Solomon). Since at least the time of the Desert Fathers and Mothers in the fourth century, many of the great Christian mystics have described their intimacy with Jesus in terms of marital sexuality. One of the most notable is Teresa of Avila (1515-1582) whose writings inspired and informed the sculpture by Bernini in 1652: The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa.  So I believe starting with the sacramental and mystical dimensions of sexual intimacy in our marriage is neither purient nor tangential. 

During our engagement as we anticipated marriage and grew in our expressions of affection for each other and grew in anticipation of our wedding and life together, we talked about our understandings and hopes for sexual intiacy in our marriage. To be sure, we did not have the level of understanding we have now after more than a half century of marriage, but we were definitely aware of and desire for deep holiness in our sexual love. Of course, I am writing in retrospective, but I do believe that from our wedding night, our sexual relationship has shaped me profoundly and spiritually.

On that wedding night, January 25, 1969, we checked into our motel room. Before unpacking or going out for dinner after our afternoon wedding, we embraced and kissed passionately. Gradually and gently we undressed each other. For the last step, Candy pulled down my briefs for her first encounter with my erect penis. She pulled back the bed covers, laid down, and invited me inside of her. We laid there connected for quite some time, kissing softly and holding our bodies close against each other. We seemed to melt and merge together, experiencing the “one flesh” of Genesis 2:14 as much more than genital linking. We both knew this was a holy moment. (Jesus drew on “one flesh” in Matthew 19:5,6; Mark 10:8, and the Epistles in 1 Corinthians 6:16; Ephesians 5:31.) 

Our sexual relationship that began that night grew and remained vigorous for over half a century. It was far more than the exchange of mutual pleasure. It confirmed and renewed our covenant of exclusive love between us. It was a recurrent affirmation of just how much our unity as a couple was enacted in Candy’s body. On that wedding night, we went out for Chinese dinner. As I looked across our shared pea pods and beef, Candy smiled at me, and I marveled that just a while ago I had planted something from my body into her body. She was the perpetual, living embodiment of our one-fleshness. Awareness of this great wonder often awakened during our sexual encounters. It took an even fuller form as our children were born. Yes, they are now adults, but they bring our one-fleshness together in their own persons that began as we expressed our sexual love for each other. Those three boys were not manufactured out of even genetic parts of each of us, but they grew within Candy during our three pregnancies. Inside of her grew from our one-fleshness, the full persons, whose one-fleshness with their wives have produced four grandchildren. Though one is adopted, she is fully embodied in this mystery of generations.

Of course, not every sexual experience was wonderful or fully loving. Just as the sacramental significance of baptism and communion is not diminished by the flaws and brokenness of those who administer or participate, the sacramental power of marriage is greater than our feeble floundering efforts. Just one example. When my father was dying in Illinois, we were living in Texas. His condition deteriorated after surgery, so we immediately left to drive through the night to get to him even faster than we could have booked a flight. When we arrived, he was unresponsive in ICU. Recovery was not possible, and he was moved to a quiet room where family could gather in peace for his final hours. Interestingly, he roused that evening just enough to say to his granddaughter who was close to the head of the bed, “Little Red, I’m going now.” He breathed only a few more times and was gone.  I think we were well prepared for this day. My Dad had been an undertaker when I was growing up. As a pastor I had plenty of end of life ministry and did many more funerals than weddings. That evening we went back to the guest room of the senior residence where my parents had lived for years. Candy and I didn’t talk much. Once we were in bed, she more than snuggled up close to me, she clearly indicated she wanted to meet me that night by having sex. No, it was not an erotic romp. She quietly affirmed not only that she loved me and my Dad, but was the sacramental means of conveying God’s grace to me in my moment of grief.

After Candy’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis in 2016, very little changed in our sexual relationship. But after about three years, her interest slowly declined, and with my aging, my performance wasn’t what it had once been. After what I am sure was a twice a week average for fifty years, by 2020 we were down to once or twice a month. We had probably not had sex since about Thanksgiving. Then came our 52nd Anniversary on January 25, 2021. We did some reminiscing about our wedding and first years of marriage. We laughed about our honeymoon that was planned for Duluth, but we only made it to Hinkley as the roads were too icy.  We reminisced about our wedding night. Our first time in the motel room, Chinese dinner of pea pods and beef, Candy wearing a lime green peignoir when we got in bed that night, reprising our new experience when we woke up Sunday morning. After our usual time of devotions and prayers, we went to bed, still savoring some of our memories. I asked Candy if she’d like to try sex on our anniversary night. She agreed, and I believe we were truly loving to each other, but as sexual experiences go, it was not especially satisfying for either of us. We both knew that would be our last time to have sexual intercourse - exactly 52 years after the first time.

In my first novel, Sure and Certain (2011), a pastor Ben Davis, examines his own faith and mortality after getting a terminal diagnosis. As his physical condition weakens and he reflects on his marriage, he ponders the reality that just as he and his wife had sex for a first time on their wedding night, he knows a last time is coming. I wrote this when Candy and I were still vigorously active in our sexual relationship, indicating that it was clearly on my mind. After slipping on ice and banging my head, getting a concussion, which led to enrolling in a research study with the Medical College of Wisconsin. Somehow, the questions the young woman who was interviewing me asked about changes in my sexual relationship with my wife after Alzheimer’s and after my concussion. I sort of reviewed what is in the previous paragraph. That somehow prompted her to diverge from the interview questions to her personal thoughts (perhaps not professional but obviously important to her). She said she had wondered how her sexual relationship with her husband would end. What would the last time be like? We didn’t go any further, but it prompted me to realize how the realities of our sexual relationship have been  a means of pondering my finitude and mortality. Yes, there would be a last time, and contemplating that was healthy for embracing the hope of the resurrection to eternal life and the mystery that is well beyond yet connected to the daily realities of mortality, perhaps something akin to some monastic orders having cemeteries outside the refectory with the next grave always dug for the next death in the community that would be a reminder of mortality every time they gathered for their meals.

As significant as our sexual relationship has been in the total context of our marriage, I would acknowledge grieving as it wound down and concluded. However, I have found that expressing an overt, private prayer of thanks for how wonderful and significant it had been for over half a century, not only brings joy to the grief, it nourishes my intention to be as loving and mutual with Candy on her Alzheimer’s journey. Intimacy has taken different forms, some of which might seem counterintuitive to those who don’t have this experience. We even laugh about it at times. From our wedding night on, undressing each other was a delightful prelude to sexual intimacy. Now with her Alzheimer’s, dressing has become increasingly challenging for Candy. So instead of unbuttoning a blouse to remove a bra, I am putting on a bra and top to get her ready for the day. Instead of slipping off a nightgown in bed, I am helping her get arms and legs into the right parts of her pajamas before getting into bed. Though no longer a prelude to intercourse, it is still the intimacy of complete comfort with each other’s bodies - naked and not ashamed as Genesis 2:25 says - and loving gentleness and respect for each other’s sensibilities.

Spontaneous Spirituality

When we were dating and engaged we built Bible conversation and praying together into our times together. After we married and were involved in different tasks through the day, we each developed our personal rhythms of spiritual nurture. 

Dissatisfied with the cumbersome maintenance of a prayer list, shortly after our first anniversary, I learned of the practice of praying through the Psalms each month and allowing them to prompt me to tune into God’s priorities for each day’s prayers. Over time, I transitioned from a sequential journey through the Psalms each month to selecting five Psalms a day, starting with the date and adding thirty. I am continuing that practice after over fifty years. Also looking for a more balanced spiritual diet than I was getting in most devotional guides, I began using the common lectionary to focus on something from the Hebrew Scriptures and sometimes Acts, the Epistles, and the Gospels for a whole week. Only some years later did I learn the practice of lectio divina (divine or holy reading) that has continued to enrich me to this day.

Candy’s temperament, on the other hand, was more spontaneous and less structured.  Sometimes she would say things like, “I’m sorry I am not as disciplined and organized as you are,” as though my approach was better. However, I observed her with a spontaneous spiritual life that I admired. Rather than sitting down for a specific time to pray, she has narrated her life in prayer throughout the day. While preparing meals, I would hear her say such things as, “Alright, Lord, I am going to fix chicken for supper. OK? Do you think the boys will like it?” Or when she had a long list of errands and tasks for the day, I’d hear, “Lord, I’m going to need energy to get all of this done today.” As the seasons change, she’ll say, “Thank you God for the beautiful snow.” or “Thank you for the new daffodils” or “Thanks that we could go swimming today.” or “The trees seem especially brilliant this autumn. Thanks!” Though she has heard me talk about Jean-Pierre deCausade’s The Sacrament of the Present Moment, I don’t believe she ever read any of it. Nevertheless, Her prayer life stirred in me a hunger for living with the continuous awareness of the presence of God that I later learned about from Theophan the Recluse. 

To say that I am musically challenged would be understatement, though I have a great appreciation for a wide variety of music. Yet all three of our boys are quite musical, and Erik has built his career in music. Whatever genetic component there is to that comes from Candy. She has a deep reservoir of hymns and popular songs. When we were active in small Bible study and prayer groups, her contribution was often to begin singing a song that connected to the scripture text or an unfolding theme in the prayers. That music is so deeply embedded that even now into her Alzheimer’s she regularly retrieves songs for daily events as well as responding to scripture. She doesn’t sort through a music inventory but songs arise spontaneously from her faith and relationship with Jesus. While she generally sings or recites a song without explaining its connection to events, scripture, conversation, and prayer, they not only apparent but suggest insight into the spiritual implications of whatever prompted the song.

While we did have Bible reading and activities, and prayer as a couple and with our sons, we never got established in the routine of a daily “family altar” at supper or bedtime. However, since getting settled into the duplex with share with our son David and his family since Candy’s diagnosis, we have a very dependable evening practice of devotions. At the core we use Moravian Daily Texts and Daily Guideposts. We have supplemented with a variety of other things along the way, generally taking turns reading the devotional and the associated biblical text aloud to each other. As Candy’s Alzheimer’s has continued to diminish her cognitive abilities, I have become aware that though the selections we read are brief, she is having an increasingly difficult time following them. That does not seem in any way to impair her savoring and cherishing these evening rituals. With the emphasis on rational thought in both culture and church, I am sure some would be uncomfortable with my recognition that the point is that we are present to each other in the presence of God, which seems to me to be entirely congruent with vespers in the Benedictine hours of prayer. 

I have personally followed the Benedictine prayer rhythm for a number of years and find that it encourages me to broaden the scope of my praying. This is also true of my monthly prayer journey through the Psalms. Every day I am prompted to chat with God about something or someone I would not have thought of on my own, especially reaching beyond my personal concerns to hurting people in our needy world. Over the years, when Candy and I have prayed together, she frequently invoked God’s engagement with people in pain and suffering, both near and far. But since her Alzheimer’s diagnosis, she is easily distressed and often anxious when she is aware of crises whether among close friends and family or in the wider world. As a result, we no longer subscribe to a newspaper or watch TV news (either broadcast, streaming, or cable). We no longer discuss current events, though sometimes protecting her from upsetting developments is not possible. As a result, our prayer time after reading evening devotionals tends to focus on what we are thankful for and ways we have observed God at work in our ordinary living. A lot of our intercessory prayer involves family, close friends, and neighbors. Yes, these folk do have real issues of which Candy is aware, but the prayers tend to be focused on specific details and not profound crises. I have learned to pray about pain and suffering, evil and cruelty in my Psalm and Benedictine prayer times and not aloud in Candy’s presence. This is not teaching people to expand their prayer life, as I did when pastoring, but as with the reading aloud we do, it is about being present to each other in the presence of God. I have personally benefited by repeating some liturgical and contemplative prayers. And I have come to view our evening prayer times in much the same way. The similarity of our prayers from night to night is not a weakness but a faithful resting in God, perhaps similar to some of the sung Taize prayers.

Pastoral Teamwork as a Couple

I know plenty of couples cringe when a congregation expects a sort of “two for one” deal when they call a married pastor. This is all too often an unspoken expectation when the pastor is male, and the congregation has an unwritten but specific “job description” for the pastor’s wife.  In this day of more clergy couples, many congregations do not expect to pay for two professionals, not just in salary but also in needed job supports and supplies. My undocumented observation is that when a woman is called as pastor, the congregation generally assumes he has his own career and will function more like a lay person in the congregation. I am not intending to explore or resolve the gender justice of these issues but only to recognize that while Candy was always a partner in my pastoral ministry, she was not cast in the role of “pastor’s wife”(Sunday school teacher, choir member, piano player).

One of Candy’s most beneficial roles for me was as a kind of radar about dynamics with both individuals and groups in the congregation. She was not a conveyor of gossip, so people did not tell her things to tell me that they didn’t want to talk about. But she had a great sensitivity to both people’s delights and discomforts. She did not often tell me what I should do or even if I needed to address an issue, but by paying attention to her, I got important signals that were not necessarily spoken.

The reverse of that was that I restrained myself from talking with her about some of the sensitive issues, both congregational and personal. Not too long after I came to the church in Dallas, one of the women experienced some significant mental health issues. Some of her friends asked me to intervene and encouraged her to talk to me. In the middle of that one of the friends said something to Candy about the situation, of which Candy knew nothing. Word got around within and beyond that circle of friends that I did not share pastoral confidences with my wife, and my trust credibility in the whole congregation immediately increased. 

On several occasions in every congregation I served, I was deeply, emotionally affected by crises that called for the utmost pastoral confidentiality. Candy’s sensitivity included being able to detect when I was struggling with these, and she lent me great support without probing for details that I could and should not disclose. She respected my commitment to pastoral confidentiality, and sometimes (maybe most times) the issue would become public. She would ask, “Is that what you were upset about?” When I would acknowledge, she would say things like, “I know it was painful for you. How did you handle it?” I never blew that off as though I was capable of handling anything, but would affirm that I felt her love and prayers as well as the support of others who were knowledgeable. 

Her sensitivity was also a kind of warning sign of potential dangers. Some of that came in ministry with people in the community who could sometimes be unpredictable or even threatening. But perhaps most significant was her ability to pick up unhealthy signals from women of which I was oblivious. I was never interested in anyone else (which is not to say that I was not aware that some women were attractive), and I did not perceive myself as appealing to anyone else. Sometimes she would express her misgivings openly. “You be careful around her.” More often she would signal me more subtly that I might be missing untoward attention from another woman. From this, Candy shaped in me an awareness of my vulnerability and the unspoken vibes of other people, not just women. I came to trust and depend on Candy’s relational radar in many situations and not to dismiss her concerns just because I wasn’t aware or thought I could handle it. Several times subsequent events confirmed her suspicions.

Candy did not participate in church strategy education or planning. She was not conversant with the categories and principles that church leadership pondered. Yet, she was always supportive, not only of me, but of the congregation, my ministry colleagues, and the lay leaders. She actively and constructively entered into congregational life. When I was preaching, by looking at her I could tell if my message was getting away from what people could assimilate. Having served in multiple staff situations where we trusted and supported each other, we all recognized that different people related better with one or another of us. Rather than jealous rivalry, we were thankful for each other’s contributions. This was also true with Candy. Some women in each congregation connected with her better than me, or the other staff members or their spouses. I did not think of myself as either her resource person or primary referral, but I observed and believed that she had a very special ministry with certain people, mostly women, that others could not or did not have.

On a broader scale, Candy contributed to my awareness that my perceptions were fallible. I not only could be but was often wrong. Sometimes I was just oblivious to things that were not only obvious to her but to plenty of other people too. I can’t exactly say this was humiliating but Candy certainly did nurture my humility in healthy ways. She helped me relinquish my compulsion to be an expert, even the expert. That tendency in me sometimes enticed me to speak far enough beyond what I actually knew, so I was not always fully honest. So with her partnership in pastoral ministry, Candy helped me grow in honesty, integrity, and humility.

Changing the Rules in the Middle of the Game

My transition into pastoral ministry came in two steps. When we had been married five years, the congregation with which Candy and I were active called me to a part-time pastoral ministry. At the same time another para-church education organization hired me part-time. It was a good combination for a couple of years. This gradual introduction of pastoral ministry convinced me that was the direction of God’s calling. Since we were already known and active, it enabled Candy to adjust to a new role with fairly low expectations. Candy adapted pretty well to this more public setting. 

However, complex developments that were painful for me brought this arrangement to an end in about two and a half years, which left me questioning whether I had discerned God’s calling. I still think of this as my “dark night of the soul,” though I know that’s not exactly how John of the Cross understood the dark night. My other part-time job had already been asking me to consider full-time, so I had no unemployment gap, but I never sensed it was God’s vocation for me. I took over a year just to keep forging ahead in what seemed like trackless darkness. I doubted not only my calling but also my confidence to discern God’s direction and even presence. As I emerged from the dark into a sort of spiritual dusk, I became quite intentional about spiritual examen along the lines of Psalm 19:12,14. “Who can detect their errors? Clear me from hidden faults. … Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” And Psalm 139:23-24 “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” This spiritual recovery took another year. 

Then in a small group Bible study, almost by accident, we read Proverbs 17:22. “A cheerful heart is a good medicine, but a downcast spirit dries up the bones.” This was almost like switching on a flood lamp in my dark night. In that light I clearly discerned my calling to a pastoral vocation and was able to seek direction for a congregation in which to fulfill it. After an interview with First Presbyterian Church in Mt. Holly, NJ, the pastor, Jim Kraft, phoned me and asked what it would take to accept a call from them. That night, I told this to that same small group as a prayer concern, and one of the men responded without hesitation, “You should call that pastor back tomorrow and tell him, ‘I’m the man for the job!’” I took that as a word from God and in fact not only accepted that call, but served with that congregation for seventeen years, which I still see as the pinnacle of my career.

Of course, we were building new relationships in an unfamiliar community with a congregation rather different than those we had been active in previously. And now, Candy was an associate pastor’s wife raising our children in a proverbial fish bowl. What has been a real but gentle transition in Illinois became a totally new experience. When we married, we anticipated a fairly calm, private family life. Now she felt everything about us was public. The rules had indeed changed in the middle of the game. While we were welcomed graciously, Candy put herself under considerable scrutiny. Nevertheless, I often described her as a “good sport” not only accepting but adjusting and performing very well in this public life. She build some warm friendships that continue to this day.

The other rule change, if that’s a legitimate parallel, was how she supported and affirmed me through my “dark night,” wandering and exploring, and accepting a call to a part of the country where we had no relational connections or experience in the New Jersey culture. She alone was allowed into my bumbling around in the dark and shadows. I don’t know how much of that she grasped, but she never wavered in her loving presence and non-judgmental listening. She never said or even implied that I should do one thing or another, but assured me she had no doubts about my faith nor qualms about my discerning or following God’s leading for us.

When our New Jersey experience wrapped up, I accepted a call to be the first pastor of a non-denominational new church that seemed to be building momentum with some very creative thinking. It felt like “love at first sight,” but after the “honeymoon,” the thrill faded quickly. What I didn’t know was that two groups were competing for leadership with contrasting expectations of me as pastor. The search committee that I worked with specified they were looking for a pastor who was a shepherd-coach. The shadow but powerful group wanted a pastor to be an executive director in a corporate model. I was clearly a shepherd-coach and not an executive director. Within six months the jockeying between those visions collided with representatives of the executive director group meeting with me privately to basically say not only was I not what they were expecting, but they didn’t consider me competent or qualified to be pastor. 

This did not plunge me into another dark night as I experienced in Illinois. I was confident enough in my calling to persist as their pastor, but the conflict between the two groups escalated to the point that proceeding became impossible, and I left after two years. Though I never felt doubt about my calling, I do think of this as the nadir of my career. Candy was perhaps even more wounded than I was. It coincided with menopause for her, and she began taking an anti-depressant. I discovered there were a number of retreat and counseling centers for wounded pastors all over the country. We went together to Fairhaven Ministries in Roan Mountain, TN for counseling and renewal of perspective. They helped us work together as a couple on discernment of our future. Previously Candy had affirmed my perspectives, but now she was fully participating in discernment, which was a new arena for her.

We thought we wanted to stay in the Midwest for proximity to our parents. Our middle son, David, had met his wife, and they settled in Wisconsin. However, for over a year nothing suitable surfaced. Thanks to some generous friends, I did a pilot project in community chaplaincy. It paid the bills, and I believe I did some pastoral good for some folk, but it clearly was neither my calling nor a comfortable home for Candy. Our youngest son Erik felt uprooted in his early teens. Quite unexpectedly, a congregation in Dallas, TX expressed considerable interest in us. We accepted this call to this Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) congregation though not too familiar with that group nor in the Texas culture that was a significant contrast to the Midwest and New Jersey. We were there for 17 years, but no one ever thought we had become Texans. 

This congregation was almost 150 years old with a proud, prestigious history but struggling to find their way in new realities, including the aging and passing of the generation that had led through the 50s and 60s. Candy was now in the clear role of the senior pastor’s wife. After what she went through in Wisconsin, she was ready to become the “first lady” though she never identified with that title. One of our largest concerns was that Erik was uprooted again in adolescence, and this congregation did not have the vigorous youth ministry that the New Jersey congregation had for his older brothers. With puberty, he began to struggle with depression, which continues even now in his late 30s. 

One incident shortly after my retirement was announced indicated to me just how well she had fulfilled her role for eleven years. The serving elders, deacons, and choir were assembling for the processional. People were arriving for worship, finding their seats, and buzzing with welcomes. Candy was circulating near the door most people used, greeting them and connecting with many. One of the women elders was standing close to me. As much as I dislike how labels narrow real perceptions of people, she was clearly one of the identified “feminists” in the congregation. As she observed Candy’s hospitable ministry, she leaned over and whispered to me, “Our next pastor’s wife needs to be as good as Candy.” Ironically, the next pastor was actually a clergy couple. The husband was also a military chaplain, so most of the pastoral leadership fell to the wife. I still recognize that moment as a wonderful affirmation of Candy’s role in that congregation.

Candy had lived her whole life in metro Minneapolis, which had deep roots for her whole family. Her Dad didn’t understand or appreciate why people would move away from their extended family base. Candy and I met at Bethel College and moved to Wheaton, IL when we married. To her Dad that was too far away, and he frequently said things like, “Education breaks up the family. Young people go to college and meet and marry someone and leave their home where they belong.” When we went to New Jersey and then to Texas, it was almost like moving to a foreign country. Perhaps because she was her parents’ only child, this sense of missing out on connection with our family was particularly acute. I mention this because besides the midstream change of career, Candy adapted to significant geographic and cultural changes that were not at all in her family experience or expectations. In many ways, she kept us identified as Midwesterners, though I had come from California, which when her Dad first met me was a source of anxiety and misunderstanding. I think that actually facilitated my ministry with those congregations in the sense that they seemed to feel that God had sent us to them. In our marriage, Candy’s adaptability to these differing regions with differing cultures and differing congregations is something I admire and appreciate about her. Had she kept pining for Minnesota or even the Midwest, it would have made ministry in those settings untenable. 

Though she wouldn’t have articulated either the exegesis or the metaphor of living in tents from Hebrews 11:9-10, she modeled and encouraged us to live lightly wherever we were, recognizing that our home was Christ’s kingdom and neither the place where we were at any one time nor in Minneapolis, MN nor Oakland, CA where we had grown up. She clearly lived in each place looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. 

Ventures into the Unknown

Candy grew up in a family, a congregation, a community that was content and comfortable with familiar patterns and not inclined to embrace too much adventure. So besides adapting to the unanticipated ways our life changed as my career developed, she entertained new experiences and thinking with grace and joy.

We both grew up in Baptist General Conference congregations (now called Converge International) that was known as the Swedish Baptist Conference when our parents were growing up in the distinctively Scandinavian ethnic heritage. When we married and settled in Wheaton, IL, we visited Evangel Baptist Church a few times, but just didn’t feel a fit, though it was of that tradition. Interestingly, when my parents moved from California to Illinois, they joined that congregation without hesitation. By that time we were well established with Countryside Chapel, a small, non-denominational congregation that was exploring and experimenting with innovative ideas different than we grew up with.

This was exhilarating and refreshing for me, and Candy joined right in. We made our first couple friends in that congregation, and we still have contact with some of them.  Along with my work with Christian Service Brigade, this introduced us to shared worship and fellowship with African American congregations and neighbors. Even though I had gone to school in racially diverse urban settings, this was really my first significant connection with the Black Church. Though that had not been a significant part of her suburban upbringing, Candy entered right in and enjoyed establishing a number of warm relationships. She was well prepared for subsequent interratial marriages and adoptions in our family.

I had grown up the the urban realities of Oakland, CA, which were rather different than the suburbia of Richfield, MN where Candy grew up. Even when we lived in Carol Stream and Wheaton, IL, we were engaged with urban Chicago, and our journey had a distinctly urban flavor. It was almost as though Candy was oblivious to the culture shift but just entered into wherever we were. 

Another aspect of that was personal engagement with people living in poverty and with serious challenges of addiction, mental health, violence, and abuse. Candy’s Christlike compassion overrode anxiety of the unfamiliar and fear of belligerent people. She went beyond administering the distribution of food and clothing, but build relationships with many who came in regularly. Occasionally, she would go to their homes to try to offer assistance beyond the routine services. She witnessed and responded to squalid conditions. 

So we went from our ethnic, baptist congregations, first to a non-denominational congregation, then to 17 years with First Presbyterian Church of Mt. Holly, then to a very different and stressful time with MorningStar Christian Church, a non-denominational congregation in Wisconsin, from there to Central Christian Church in Dallas, TX and others in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). On returning to Milwaukee, we found our home base with Milwaukee Mennonite Church along with our son David and his family. But we also participated for a while with Spirit of Peace Lutheran Church walking distance from our home. Many of the folk of this small congregation have had hard times finding Christian communities who would accept some of their baggage and marginalism. Again, Candy’s gracious, hospitable nature and gifts enabled her to build friendship and understanding with people who had never been part of her previous experience.

In 1992 we had a sabbatical leave from First Presbyterian Church. In exploring those options we got acquainted with folk of Spring Valley Bruderhof in PA. Though we didn’t go there for our sabbatical, we did form bonds with these Anabaptist folk, and two Bruderhof women spent a summer living with us in Dallas and serving with some community ministries. 

We did, however, take four months at L’Arche Daybreak in Richmond Hill, Ontario. Daybreak is a Roman Catholic community for mentally handicapped adults. We regularly participated in mass with the community, and Fr. Henri Nouwen invited us to feel free to partake of communion. Candy helped in the Day Program. These were folk whose disabilities were severe enough to prevent them from taking jobs in sheltered settings in the community or in the city. Candy gained comfort with people who could not necessarily speak or walk. Besides getting comfortable with caring for people with extreme needs, she got a significant exposure to Catholic worship and culture. 

By venturing into these unfamiliar church settings, Candy also encountered theological and spiritual approaches and thinking that were new to her, and to some extent new to me. She never was one to engage in theological discourse or debate, so she never articulated either a mental understanding or an interior response. She took things at very straightforward, simple face value. She neither challenged nor sought greater understanding of either my theological studies or spiritual practices. She accepted and affirmed that these were valuable to me without feeling compelled to explain or adopt them for herself.

I have been deeply enriched by the wide variety of things I have had the privilege of learning about and getting exposed to, especially through people whose walk with Jesus has inspired me. Growing up I was dissatisfied with the dispensationalism that was presumptive but not prescribed in the congregation I was raised in. In fact, my parents were quiet discenters. I got some exposure to broader theological thinking at Bethel college and introduced to Reformed Theology at Wheaton Grad School. As I studied, I found the theology I had been forming as I came of age was a basically Reformed theological perspective, though I would quickly add that this did (and does) not match the Points of Calvinism (which came from the Synod of Dort and not John Calvin). Though not an official conscientious objector, my father as well as my mother and especially my maternal grandmother who lived with us for 12 years were definitely pro-peace and anti-violence at both personal and communal levels. So in the upheaval of the Vietnam War years, I rather naturally gravitated toward a pacifist ethic and eventually declared myself a conscientious objector. Anabaptists were respected as kin to our Swedish baptist history, and Quakers were held in high esteem.

Particularly after being encountered by the Book of Job, I was awakened to contemplative and mystical traditions. However, my exploration was limited and personal. Along the way I engaged in reading some of the pre-Reformation spiritual classics. I had been quite diligent about the spiritual disciplines of daily Bible reading and prayer, but on entering adulthood I found these cumbersome and not particularly satisfying. Perhaps the first big step was beginning my monthly prayer journey through the Psalms, five per day. I was able to shed the awkward written prayer list and found God prompting my prayers in unanticipated directions through the Psalm texts. Richard Foster brought a rich trove from the contemplative traditions to popular accessibility. That enabled me to embark on a life long contemplative journey: lectio divina, Benedictine hours of prayer, all in the tradition of kataphatic prayer (with words and images). This path also brought me into the realm of apophatic prayer (without words or images): centering prayer and praying in tongues.  (The Spirit intercedes with groans too deep for words - Romans 76:26-27). Especially post-Enlightenment Protestants in the West have lost quite a bit of contact with contemplative tradition that the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches have kept alive, at least in specific communities even if not so much in ordinary parish life. Nevertheless, I have benefited considerably by drawing on both of those traditions and some Roman Catholic folk (including three spiritual directors) for whom contemplative life is vigorous. From the Eastern Orthodox tradition, I have benefited from books such as The Art of Prayer and The Way of the Pilgrim.

If I can bring this full circle to its significance in our marriage, Candy has played an important and essential role in my journey with Jesus on these paths. As I have already indicated, her openness to exploring new areas has been critical. Had she resisted these things, I am sure our marriage would have suffered, and I would not have had the confidence to explore in areas that have been so influential in shaping my spiritual life. Though a contrast in many ways, her comfortable, casual, conversational relationship with Jesus has been an inspiration to me. In a certain sense I had to work more intentionally to get to what seemed to come so easily and spontaneously to her. I also believe this also echoes what I wrote at the beginning about the sacramental aspect of our marriage and sexual relationship. I have to say that on occasion during centering prayer I have experienced such complete absorption in the presence of God that even my body responded not unlike orgasm (though not genital). This is not something I control or elicit at will. It happens surprisingly and suddenly, not something I do but something that comes to me unbidden. 

Team Parenting

As I already explained, our sons embody our one-fleshness as separate living persons with their own identities and paths. As we have watched them come into their adulthood (ages 37, 47, and 50 at this writing), we recognize they are extensions of us and our union. This is more than a matter of traits they have inherited from each of us. Rather, they have presence and vocations that go well beyond us that yet carry our callings into arenas which we could never enter ourselves. That awareness shaped how we worked together to raise them. 

In my Chritian education vocation, I became convinced that parents in the family setting were far more effective educators than the congregationally based education programs such as Sunday school and youth groups. I researched and wrote curricula for use by parents in families. With Countryside Chapel and First Presbyerian churches I sought to prepare and encourage parents in this perspective, and I believe a number of families got the idea and practiced it. Of course, Candy and I built this into our family life by using the Hebrew Festival Cycle and Liturgical Year as opportunities for learning experiences that were fun rather than laborious and stimulated conversation. This, too, was unfamiliar territory for Candy, and I was doing a lot of research and exploring as well. She became an active partner in event planning and food preparation. Occasionally we invited other families with children to join us, which deployed Candy’s hospitality gifts in creative directions.

An important part of our teamwork was encouraging our boys to find their own paths and vocations. Not only are they all quite different from each other, they all have ventured into realms that were unfamiliar to us. They challenged us to trust them into God’s care when the paths ahead were unclear to us and to them. They had their challenges and stumbles that called for patience and faith. Though Candy didn’t necessarily connect it to Psalm 31:5, we regularly relinquished our boys into God’s care. “Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.” These were not occasions of one instructing or even assuring the other, but leaning together on the steadfast love of God, neither of us up to it alone or even combined, but walking together when the path of righteousness led through the valley of the shadow of death, assuring each other by faith that God was with us. In one way or another we have often said, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

To be sure, we experienced challenges with each of them. Most of these were notion the form of what is usually called child discipline but more in the realm of trying to be available when they encountered rough spots and crises. I can’t say that we ever strategized ways to present a united front, but grew out of our shared core, not so much of child rearing philosophy or approaches, but more out of our shared roots in relationship with Jesus. More of that was probably shared agony than applying skills and principles. Though I would have to add that my Christian education career did equip me with a sort of practical toolbox. We did not experience a definitive boundary between adolescence and adulthood, with any sort of “our job is done; you’re on your own now” sort of thinking. Even now well into adulthood, and Leanne and Jon with post college adult children and Rachel and David with one in college and one in high school, the sense of teamwork and mutual support that was built in some of the turbulent times has established reciprocal communication for their journeys and for ours.

Relationships: Family, Friends, Neighbors

Candy’s spiritual gift of hospitality has been far broader than as hostess for gatherings in our homes or with the congregations we served. She has fostered relationship building in which we have been able to welcome people with needs and problems, not as objects of ministry but as friends to be respected. In my professional roles, particularly with people on the margins of not only the church but also the communities, I found it comfortable to be the one authorized to offer guidance and assistance. Candy taught me not only how to relate on a basic human level but to recognize and respect the full humanity and dignity of every person, no matter how dire their straits.

From early in our marriage I identified Candy as being much like Nathanael in John 1:47. When Jesus saw him coming, he said of Nathanael, “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!” I rather like the King James Version use of “guile” rather than “deceit” as many modern versions do. I am neither criticizing modern translators or expressing a primacy of the King James Version. Instead, “no guile” implies for me not just impeccable honesty but a wholesome attitude toward people: no slander, no ridicule, judgment, no condescension, no name calling. Instead expecting and looking for the best in other people. That is not to say Candy has no moral sensibility or principles, only that she seems to naturally look at people through the eyes of grace, much as Jesus did.

For Candy, “no guile” also implies nothing twisted or crooked, but always straightforward and transparent. When the boys were growing up they would sometimes laugh when she didn’t get a joke that depended on some twist in logic or play on words. Sometimes she would respond, “I’m sorry. I’m just naive.” Over the years I have grown to see this as even much more than innocence, but more as intrinsic integrity. Often she has challenged me if I told a story or reported an event omitting or adding details or stretching to make a point. I must credit her with coaching and nurturing me into greater authenticity and integrity. Now with her memory faltering with Alzheimer’s she all the more depends on me to recall our past as accurately as possible.

She cherishes relationships and feels regret at not keeping up active contact with people who have been intrinsic to our past. With the gaps in her memory growing as Alzheimer’s advances, she struggles when she is unable to recall someone from our past, even family, neighbors, church friends from her growing up in Minnesota. Assuring her that the problem is not her but the disease that hampers her is only limited consolation. Her regrets are signs of just how much she has valued people and relationships all her life. She has prompted me to offer prayers of thanks for people who have contributed to my growth and journey, including those from the congregation in California in which my spiritual yearnings were awakened and nourished. After “retirement” I added prayers from the New Testament Epistles to my long-time Prayer Psalm pattern. I identified 15 of them and printed them on a sheet that I keep with the Bible I usually use for this. That means I get through these brief prayers twice a month. Growing out of Candy’s awareness of the importance of people who have been with us on our journeys, I noticed that almost all of these prayers (attributed to the Apostle Paul) include a thanks for people in the churches to whom Paul was writing, or people who have been partners with him in his mission, or people who have made significant contributions to churches and individuals. This has made an almost daily practice of giving thanks for people on our path.

Candy’s Dad, Charlie Miller

Relationships with in-laws can be challenging; yet marriage connects with a whole family, so the influence of Candy’s Dad came to me with marrying her. Before I focus on him, I do want to acknowledge some of the extended family. Candy’s mother was not married when she was born, and she did not marry Candy’s biological father. I gather that as a teen and young adult she lived what she herself called a “wild life.” She credits her bout with tuberculosis with getting her attention for a turnaround to the way she had been raised. On that path, she met Charlie Miller. They married, and he adopted Candy when she was six years old. By the time I met her, she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, which defined much of her life. 

 As Candy and I had gotten better and better acquainted since we met in February, I had told her of enjoying sardines with rye-crisp as a backpacking lunch. I had been invited to the Ronngren side 1967 Christmas celebration. Candy must have told her Grandma Ronngren because she wrapped up a can of sardines for my Christmas gift. In this way I felt she was the first to signal that I was in the family, even though we wouldn’t be engaged for another four months.  From that point on the whole Ronngren side welcomed me as a legitimate heir of their heritage. 

About that same time Candy’s Grandma Miller began collecting Betty Crocker coupons to start getting Twin Star stainless tableware that we still use. Looking back on how all of this developed, I am convinced that Candy’s grandmothers were the first to know we were getting married, even before we actually talked about it. Grandma Miller was an eminently practical person and assembled a substantial collection of functional things a young couple would use starting out, even if they weren’t romantic or elegant gifts. The Miller side was not as expansive as the Ronngren side, but given that Candy was adopted, that welcome was particularly poignant. Led by Grandma Miller, they were powerful conveyors of Christ’s grace. We all might have been the “almost relatives,” but we were fully included as though marriage and adoption were no different than genetics. Candy’s mother Roma, Candy, me, and our boys (who were full fledged Miller grandsons).

Though the Ronngrens were Baptist and the Millers Lutheran, they were strong in Christian faith with high regard for righteousness. The first challenge of grace came when the Ronngrens not only loved Roma through her unwed pregnancy, they actually raised Candy for her first six years, and Candy’s aunts, especially Velma, doted on her enthusiastically. Charlie did not let that history preclude loving and marrying Roma. He was quite strict and vocal about moral standards all his life, yet he was an amazing channel of grace to Roma and to Candy. Several times he told me that he was so much in love with Roma that he really didn’t consider the implications of becoming the father of a six year old. Blind love? Perhaps, but I think blind grace. Both sides of the family lived through tongue wagging and their own standards to be Christ’s agents of grace that I believe Candy and I, our boys and their wives, and our grandchildren are still enriched by. 

With that, I want to focus on how Candy’s Dad, Charlie Miller, shaped me spiritually. Indeed he was clear about high moral standards and could even speak harshly about some who failed. He also held a very literalistic understanding of the Bible and was skeptical of theology (and almost all academics and almost any professionals). He took much longer than the rest of the family to grant me full acceptance. Not long after Candy and I met, I was invited to dinner at their home to meet him (I had met her Mom when she came to some Bethel College campus events). The very first thing he ever said to me was, “So you’re from the land of the fruits and the nuts,” indicating his basic attitude about California. He had sold me my first car, which I am sure was as significant to him as the sardines had been to Grandma Ronngren. One afternoon talking about how to take good care of the car, he asked me about my intentions for Candy. I told him that though I hadn’t proposed yet, I loved her and wanted to marry her. He responded with concern that she not be disappointed or hurt. I assured him the best I could that I would never do that. In my mind, this was the prospective son-in-law asking the girl’s father for permission. But when we announced our engagement, he scolded a bit that I hadn’t come to him with a formal, traditional asking for his permission. Some years later, when All in the Family was on TV, he said to me, “Well you’re not a meathead, but you’re still the son-in-law.” To him Archie Bunker was a hero and Roma was just like Edith; he never picked up that this was satire. Toward the end of his time in Minnesota as he needed more and more care, he thanked me for something I had done that seemed special to him (which I cannot even remember now), but I do remember saying to him, “Well, Dad, I hope you think you got a good son-in-law.” He answered, “I didn’t have much choice.”

As Roma’s decline accelerated, the relationship between Charlie and me began to turn in a more positive direction. When Roma was no longer able to get out for worship, he regularly declined pastoral visits but fussed that she wasn’t getting communion. When we visited, I brought my portable communion kit and celebrated the Lord’s Supper with them around their dining room table. Though he didn’t seem to understand what my pastoral ministry was about, he did appreciate the spiritual substance I brought to these simple observances. (When I was the pastor of MorningStar Christian Church in Brown Deer/Mequon, WI, we met in a school and at first I worked from home without a secretary or custodian. He asked who made sure I put in my 40 hours. Personal accountability and the range of things that occupy a pastor’s time and attention were a mystery to him. Still, I grew to understand and appreciate not only how his grasp of my spirituality but also I was learning better how to communicate my spiritual journey to him. That helped me attend to the simple realities that were so important.

After Roma died he drifted into an understandable loneliness. He often repeated, “It’s a lonely life without a wife.” His parents had died. His brother and sister-in-law moved to Arizona before they died. He grieved that he had been the one to insist that Roma not have any more children after Candy. Family at a distance was something he struggled with. It just didn’t fit his expectations. We did communicate by phone, cassette tape, letters, and as many visits as we could manage. I put a high priority on being sure our boys engaged with Grandpa as much as possible. My responses shifted from supporting Candy as she expressed some of her childhood misgivings and gratitude that we didn’t live in Minnesota, to doing everything I could to affirm that we loved him and would always be available to him.

This increased as his strength declined. David (and Rachel) made a number of excursions from Milwaukee to Minneapolis to help and be with him. We took a huge step when he involved me more in handling his finances. He objected to women managing money and had no confidence Candy could do it. When he got where arthritis in his hands made writing painful and illegible, he would have his caregiver Sue write out checks for him to sign, but he never trusted her to make any decisions or recommendations. Each visit he involved me in more and more of these things, eventually adding me to his checking account and naming me as both medical and financial power of attorney. I recognized those were huge steps of trust for him and did everything I could to respect how he wanted things done. He was very old school about money management. He refused to have a debit card or to set up an account so he could check his bank account online. He never wanted paperless bills or paying bills by phone or computer. He wanted a bill to put in a file folder that he paid with a check he sent through the mail. He complained a lot when his first assisted living facility insisted on automatic withdrawals. “They could go into my account any time and empty it out without telling me,” he often grumbled. Even before he moved to Wisconsin, he had me take over paying his bills and put me on his Treasury Direct US Savings Bonds account, which we used to pay for his assisted living. Once he was in Wisconsin he had all of his bills (and any other business) sent to our address. I always told him what I was doing and printed out an XL record of every transaction which I went over with him every month. At first I suggested using some of the electronic features that were available to h im would make things easier for me. He consistently assured me that he trusted me, but he especially didn’t trust the bank. “All someone would need would be my account number, and they could drain my account.

Once he was in Wisconsin, I handled much more of his personal care, even with the assisted living services (he went back and forth with assisted and independent living a couple of times): shopping, cleaning his apartment, laundry, showering and cutting his hair, setting up all medical visits including transporting him and being his ears (and sometimes voice) at these appointments. I increasingly recognized just how weak and dependent he was. He had been self-sufficient and in charge for nearly 90 years and hated losing control. I accepted that my convenience was a lot less important than his dignity. (Not easy to maintain your dignity when you ask your son-in-law to wipe your butt, floss your teeth, change your briefs - which he called diapers - and give you a shower with the vulnerability of being naked and wet.)

As I acclimated to the practical management and personal care, my mind went back to my 1992 sabbatical with L’Arche Daybreak in Ontario. We were encouraged to look for the presence of Christ in the pain of the (mentally handicapped - their term) core members. After that experience, I made a regular spiritual discipline of asking myself how I could see the presence of Christ in the pain of the street people our congregation served and in the lives of the members of that congregation as they worked through their crises. As I shifted away from what was hard for me caring for Charlie to recognize  how painful all of this was for him, I began asking how I might recognize Christ in Charlie’s distresses. I never came up with a definitive, objective list. But that wasn’t the point. The process and awareness made my intentions (even if not always my actions) more sensitive and patient. More and more these became holy moments for me when I stood in Christ’s presence when Charlie unloaded on me how difficult and distasteful his experiences were.

He had a long standing practice of asking people how he could pray for them as a sort of entry to his evangelistic approach. While I didn’t adopt his routine script, his example was an encouragement to me to build relationships with people when they expressed a concern by asking if I could pray for them, and then checking back, not to validate the power of my prayers but to engage with them on their terms. This was taking form in me as my engagement with Charlie increased and his practice encouraged my pattern.

Vocational Caregiving

Some of my friends have asked me how I feel about leaving my pastoral calling, often with the implication that caring for one person, even my wife of more than half a century, was less satisfying or significant than guiding a congregation. These sentiments were usually spoken with a measure of respect and admiration for taking such a step. Sometimes the visible pastoral activities such as preaching and teaching, preparing lay leaders and managing programs, counseling people in crisis and visiting people in illness and aging, must have been more exciting and rewarding than my present daily tasks: cooking and dishwashing, laundry and household chores, trimming toenails and emptying the bedside commode. For some who admire from a distance, I want to be clear that I do not consider myself to be a saint, a hero, or a role model. I don’t even view this as faithfully fulfilling the obligations of my marriage vows. Though some seem to respond with incredulity. For me, I am embracing my vocation, God’s calling for this time of our lives.

I believe these are helping me cultivate the practice of Jesus’ teaching and demonstration of humility and service. I believe I am learning the great significance, power, and ultimate impact of the hiddenness of the Kingdom (Reign) of God which is such a contrast with the lure to which so many in public leadership fall. 

I believe this is strengthening my focus on being alert to God’s presence in each present moment (per Jean Pierre de Caussade’s Sacrament of the Present Moment -  originally Abandonment to Divine Providence 1861). As the gaps in Candy’s memory expand, recalling the best (or the worst) of our history as a married couple or our journeys with Jesus are more depleting than nourishing. What we have are present moments to laugh or cry, to pray or sing.

I am learning to relinquish logic and reason as they make less and less sense to Candy. I am learning to embrace patience without annoyance when she asks repeatedly if all the doors are locked every night before bedtime or when she gets anxious and keeps asking whose cars are parked on the street. Though I try to prepare her for upcoming events, I make sure I don’t tell her I told her about it a week or a day or an hour earlier.

In our mid-seventies, serious illnesses and deaths of our friends and acquaintances are happening more and frequently. Fairly often something will come up about someone who has been gone for quite a while. When Candy doesn’t remember that they died, she grieves as learning it for the first time. Several times, this has happened repeatedly with the same person. When she asks about someone whose death she has forgotten, she struggles to put that into her hazy reality. On days when she's tracking better and aware of the unreliability of her memory, she will ask, “Are they still living?” Some relief when they are, but her perceptions of reality seem to protect her from overwhelming grief. One of the hardest things for me is when she can’t place someone who has been close to us in the past. She apologizes for not grieving. Except that the fogginess is increasing, she seems to bounce between these modes unpredictably. I have gotten to the place of being uncertain of how much to tell her. Will she remember? How will she respond? These days, she doesn’t need too much discomfort or uncertainty to plunge her into anxiety that persists even when what prompted it has evaporated from her mind.

For me this is a relentless grief spiral. I grieve for people who have been important to us, and sometimes especially significant to me. At the same time I grieve that I am losing perhaps the deepest intimacies of our marriage. I hurt realizing I am losing my wife in tiny increments. I am frequently trying to discern if or how much to tell her about developments in the lives of people who have been dear to us. I am still pondering how this is shaping me spiritually. It is straining my tolerance for ambiguity. Though not like the “dark night of the soul” I experienced in the 70s, I must trust God in the dark of not just knowing how to navigate when I can’t discern the path immediately in front of me, while being acutely aware of where the Alzheimer’s path ends. 

I believe and live by glorifying God by caring for Candy as essential to the sacramental dimension of our marriage. God is present to each of us through the other, even when it can’t be reduced to words or even principles. Like Anna and Simeon in Luke 2, I am waiting and anticipating the consolation and redemption of God’s people by caring for Candy. Without implying that God orchestrated all of this in detail, like Anna and Simeon I am aware of being in the place of God’s hope on this journey. They were old (probably older than I am), and I am aware of my aging which Psalms 39, 71, 90, and 92 remind me of every month. I read them differently now than I did forty or even five or ten years ago. I pray and hope to be strong enough long enough to care for (or see to the care of) Candy all of her days. Of course, I will grieve and miss her when her last day comes. However, I yearn to fulfill the trust to which God has called me. Unlike Anna and Simeon, I am not aware of a prophetic promise it will go that way. Yet, when her last day here comes, I anticipate echoing the nunc dimitis.  “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation.”