A vision, a promise

A World of Graves

Death puts on all kinds of clothes

For a hungry child, an empty stomach, a tomb
A no-job father finds Death in idle hopelessness
A mother fears Death's darkness, blackened in by her baby's tears
The homeless veteran cannot escape his plot defined by fear and hard, hard memory
Dying folk face Death in the eye, trying to stare it down, but no
Rejected, marginalized people move in and out of Death's shadows
Hated immigrants feel a Death separating them from home, while serving their captors right well
A poor beggar, standing at a busy urban intersection, wrestles Death a car at a time
The lonely know Death's solitude, resigned
Prisoners endure a life behind Death's locked door
The naked experience Death as humiliating uncovering
All sorts of blind people live in a darkness no one understands but Death
Abused, violated women live in a hellish sector of Death
Oppressed people know Death's weight
Homeless strugglers know Death in the great ourdoors
Crippled, broken bodies linger around souls chasing Death away
The world can be understood as a tomb
Death's home

What we need is a way out, through, beyond, up--liberation
The Liberator overcomes
The Warrior drives out fear
The Rescuer kills death
Leaving only an
Empty Tomb!

Our faith, in a world of graves

Loss

Death stalks my homeless neighbors.

Life on the street can be terribly unforgiving. 

The elements, poor diet, unattended medical threats, and toxic stress combine to injure and often permanently damage, not only the spirits, but the physical bodies of important men and women. 

Even when housing is secured, the affects of a previous life "out side" linger and often catch up to a person.  As a result, we lose a number of our friends every year simply because their past, deep wounds couldn't be overcome.   Dying with dignity at home provides small solace every time a friend slips away.

We count on losing people to the point that we have an annual memorial service for those who have slipped away from us. 

Most horrid is self-inflected departure from this world. 

We lost a young man to suicide a couple of weeks ago. 

He seemed to be doing well. 

He had been in housing with us for about a year.  He was a model tenant.  He had found a job at a local hospital.  He was working, and seemed to be ready to thrive. 

Then, came a shift change--what to most would be a small distraction calling for modest adjustments. 

Somehow though, for this friend, this disruption or maybe something else threw him off course. 

His pain mounted and broke him. 

He took his own life.

The community erupted with grief, despair and deep sorrow.  We won't soon get over this loss. 

We live in a mystery.

If you pray, pray for us and for all who loved him. 

Loss is real, very real.

Ron Anderson, MD

My dear friend, mentor and hero, Dr. Ron Anderson passed away Thursday evening after a battle with cancer. 

Reports abound in all of our media outlets, as in this article from The Dallas Morning News.

But, the news items that we'll be reading for the next few days won't be able to capture the heart, soul and life of this amazing man.  He served the hospital system, within the healing culture that he constructed, for almost 40 years. 

Dallas and the world lost a dear, devoted friend in his death. 

Throughout his career as the leader of the Parkland world, Dr. Ron continued to take his rounds with patients.  He wore his trademark white coat because he never stopped being a physician and healer. 

My sessions with Ron always left me with my head spinning, my soul nourished and my resolve made stronger.  We talked about poverty as the cancer and blight that it is.  His commitment to justice and equity amazed and strengthened me. 

He was something of an expert on Native American culture.  I will always remember my first visit to  his office at Parkland.  To my surprise, his office, like mine, had a number of Native American artifact and symbols.  The sense of community and universal connectedness of Native Americans and their thought/worldview were notions that made a lot of sense to both of us.  Ron worked very hard at building community among his team and in our neighborhoods in Dallas.

He always took the time to encourage me in my work.  He was a faithful partner in our common fight for "the poor." 

A few weeks ago, a longtime staff member close to Ron called me to ask that I go by the hospital to see Ron and to pray for and with him.  Of course, I gladly agreed.  That last visit was wonderful, almost magical.  He envisioned getting out of his bed and coming by CitySquare to do some work with us.  How welcome he would have been and how I wish he still had that opportunity. 

In my almost 40 years of ministry, I've never had a patient insist on praying for me.  But, Ron did.  He wouldn't let me pray for him.  He wanted the spiritual energy to flow in my direction. 

That story really sums up the life and heart of Ron Anderson.  "I'm okay," I can still hear him saying, "Let's focus on you." 

God have mercy on us.  I will miss my friend more than I can say.