HEARTS

LET MY HEART BE BROKEN….

Vocational statement, July 2003
M. Christiana Adams


“Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.” This sentence was on a collage I saw in a high school where I was talking to the students about depression and other mental health issues. It is indeed heartbreaking when young people suffer from depression or any kind of illness. I have never forgotten the collage because I have made these words into a familiar prayer to which I have added another sentence: And let God heal our broken hearts. Even as we are moved by the pain of our world and as we act to diminish it, God is healing our hearts also and strengthening them for what lies ahead. What lies ahead for me, I hope, is chaplaincy or some other form of ministry in hospital, nursing home or hospice settings. This decision has been a long time coming. I have searched my soul for ten years, and it has taken me awhile to say “Yes!” and to feel ready for seminary. Now I am ready and here I am.

My years at United Theological Seminary will test my vocation and test me; I understand. It is also entirely possible that I am not suited for this work. But today, after a lengthy period of reflection and prayer, I believe I am. And I am going forward in this direction trusting that this is so. Let me describe some of the experiences that have brought me to this place.

After twelve years as a management consultant first in Paris, then in New York and finally in the Twin Cities, my first position in the nonprofit community was Director of Education at the Mental Health Association of Minnesota. We created many outstanding outreach programs, including Breaking Down Barriers, Building New Foundations for the faith community. My favorite program (I called it “Brainstorm”) led me to Anoka Regional Treatment Center on a monthly basis, where I spent time talking with the people hospitalized about what we needed to do to make things better and offering them information about community resources. This was,
I realize now and I think I knew even then, a form of ministry. I loved it; this was the part of
my position at the Mental Health Association that I missed the most when I went to work in public radio.

When I left the Mental Health Association, I was about to learn even more about caring. My father, once dynamic and full of vitality, had taken on many characteristics of the desert fathers. He had retreated from the world. Even our minister suggested one day that Dad should have been a hermit. But he was not.

Then he became very ill physically and I spent time caring for him, not in the same ways as we had cared for my mother when she was dying of brain and lung cancer, but in different ways.
I came to understand—finally, finally—that it did not matter what my father said or did not say. What mattered was what I did or did not do, what I said or did not say. What mattered was my presence and my love. After he died, I understood that something else mattered—and that was holding hands. Susan Andrews, our pastor, knew how very important this was. She said afterward, “John didn’t talk to me, but when I prayed and held his hand, he grasped mine fiercely.” Presence is important, but touch, I learned, conveys the thoughts “that lie too deep for tears,” the thoughts that otherwise might remain unspoken. Everyone needs a hand to hold.
This is a lesson I will never forget.

A friend of mine has been hospitalized for more than nine months at Anoka Regional Treatment Center, and she hates it there. Who wouldn’t? Recently she became very ill and was not able to form a sentence. I was extremely concerned—in fact, for the first time in my life, I thought “God! You have to do something!” I am not a family member; all I could do was pray. So I added my friend’s name to prayer lists. Then, adding insult to injury, she fell and broke her ankle, and her health declined even more. What was happening here?

A few weeks went by and I learned from her brother that my friend had been transferred to a nursing home in the Twin Cities. She would not have to go back to Anoka. I’ve visited her several times; she’s recaptured her speech and is already complaining about the nurses, a sure sign she’s getting better. The other day when we went outside for a little while, my friend looked at me and out of the blue said, “I am thankful.” And I am thankful to have had this experience with her. It allowed me to remember that sometimes things must get worse before they get better. It demonstrated how prayers can be answered in very unexpected ways.
God works in mysterious ways….

The mystery of God swirls around us constantly and we are blessed when we are given the sacred gift of feeling the immanent presence of the Holy Spirit. I have had several experiences of this, but one of them transformed my life. It occurred two days before my mother passed away. I was sitting with her and decided for the first time to pray the Lord’s Prayer aloud. I added, “You know, Mom, I pray all of the time.” My mother, who had not spoken intelligible words for two months, turned to me and said, “I know that you do.”

I am certain that God hears our prayers, that Jesus Christ suffers and rejoices with us, and that the Holy Spirit fills our lives. God is right here, right now, no matter where we are. God needs us to carry that message in many different ways. I feel particularly called to hospital and nursing home ministry; I feel comfortable in these places and with people, perhaps especially those who are somehow suffering and often wounded. Many of the people dearest to me, family members and friends, have experienced grave illness. I have spent many hours with them, learning how to be still and listen, learning when to speak. My own experiences with illness and the brokenness that we all share have blessed me with insights I would not otherwise have. I believe that all of it—all of the joys and sorrows that have graced my life and have made me “strong at the broken places”—will allow me to serve others with compassion and love.

“The place God calls you is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet” (Frederick Buechner). This is how I feel about my goal to attend seminary. I am as certain as I can be that my studies and all of the experiences I will have at United Theological Seminary will prepare me for the unique place to which God is calling me.