The Promise of Resurrection

Fifth Sunday in Lent (Year A)
Ezekiel 37.1-14; John 11.1-45
St. Gregory’s, Long Beach

Today we begin the final leg of our Lenten journey – the journey to Jerusalem. For next week, on Palm Sunday, we enter with Jesus into Jerusalem, where over the course of what we know as Holy Week, we will witness betrayal, injustice, death. And after that, Easter. And the Resurrection.

Today’s readings give a glimpse of what is to come at the end of this long journey. A flavor of the final victory that is to come. The victory achieved by Jesus. The victory achieved for us.

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New Additions to the Family

I’ve been a little busy lately, so have not written anything on the blog about the latest additions to the family – kittens Latimer and Ridley (their names are almost bigger than they are). I got them on Thursday, July 27. They were just over seven weeks old when I got them.

The boys are a handful, spending virtually every waking minute chasing each other around the house and wrestling. Initially they would play for about an hour or two and then sleep for about three or four. Now they seem to be active for three or four hours (and even more) and then nap briefly before starting in again. Their youthful exuberance is so much fun to watch. And they are definitely partners in crime. They do everything together, including eating and using the litter box (or at least one will play in the box while the other is trying to do his business – strange).

As for the names, they are named after English Reformation martyrs, Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley.

Here are a few pics of the little devils.

Latimer on left, Ridley on right

Ridley on left, Latimer on right

Latimer and Ridley praying the Anglican Rosary. Latimer is using the beads to pray and Ridley is making the sign of the cross. They are very pious.

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RequiesCat for Akasha

Akasha in Redlands, California
July 3, 2009


Today was a very painful day. I took Akasha, my feline companion, to the vet to be euthanized. Since early last week, she had been very low energy and was not moving much. She spent most of her time laying on her mat in the kitchen and occasionally moved in and laid by her water dish in my bedroom. She also occasionally would get up on the bed, but with great difficulty. She was not eating much, and when she did, only ate a few bites at a time.

By the end of last week, I noticed that she was not having regular bowel movements. I noticed Sunday evening and Monday morning that she was trying to, but was unable to produce results. Monday morning I took her to the vet. The doctor’s preliminary diagnosis was kidney failure, and he ran some blood tests. I talked to him Tuesday and he said that the lab results are suggestive of kidney failure, although they are still functioning – not unusual for a cat of her age (17). She was suffering from anemia and had an elevated white cell count, indicative of some sort of non-specific inflammation (could be cancer or any number of other things). In short, there was a lot going on but nothing conclusive.

The vet said that all we could really do would be to subject her to all sorts of treatments in hopes of clearing up some of the problems, but there were no clear answers. Given her age, and not wanting to subject her to the trauma of continuous medical procedures with no certainty of any significant improvement in her health, we decided to do nothing of the sort. I told him Monday that I don’t want any heroic efforts. After talking it through with him, we were in agreement that the best thing to do under the circumstances, the most compassionate thing for her and for me, would be to let her go.

Since I did not want to just drop her off at the vet and have her spend her last moments of life alone, I opted to be with her when she is euthanized. The earliest I could get an appointment to do that was Wednesday. However, since I had a packed schedule, I would have had to clear my calendar to do it, and since there was no immediate urgency, I made an appointment for Thursday morning. That way, I would have a little more time with her, and I then take the rest of Thursday off, knowing I would be in no condition to work. Then I would have Friday (usual day off) to pull myself together.

This was a very difficult decision for me. I didn’t want to let her go, but know it is the best thing for both of us and was as prepared for it as I can possibly be. She was obviously uncomfortable and may well have been experiencing some pain. And I hated seeing her like this. I just couldn’t let her linger too much longer.

Last night, Akasha spent most of the night on my bed, lying up near my head – very unusual for her. She usually slept farther down on the bed. It was almost as if she wanted to be near me, that she knew something was up. This morning, I got up as usual and spent the last few hours before going to the vet with her. Before we left, I fed her a little bit of turkey – her favorite.

I got to the vet just before 9:40, the time of my appointment. When I arrived, my parents were already there, having driven over from Riverside to be with me. When I got into the exam room, the vet said she was going to give Akasha some “happy juice” to calm her down before the actual shot to put her down. I asked Dr. Blanchard if she could get something for the father, too. She said she is not allowed to treat priests. A couple minutes later, Dr. Blanchard came back and gave Akasha a shot of tranquilizer. Akasha calmed down, but after a couple minutes, started becoming agitated. Dr. Blanchard said that she thought she gave her enough given the fact that she was so scrawny, but apparently she needed more. So, she gave her another shot. Akasha calmed down again and we spent out last few minutes together, with me trying to comfort her and letting her know how much I love her.

After a few more minutes, Dr. Blanchard came back into the room and gave Akasha the final shot. She went peacefully and quietly, nestled in my arms. I spent a few more minutes with her before saying my final good-bye. Although she was gone and looked so peaceful, in death she looked so much more like her previous self.

When I left the room, I ran into Dr. Blanchard. We talked for a few minutes and she said that she hoped I would remember them when I was ready to get another cat. She said they occasionally have cats that they rescue or that people drop off. We talked about some of the cats they currently have. Then we went back to look at them. I think it was helpful to see some live cats. There were two there, just little guys, that were so adorable. I would love to have them, but know that I will need some time before getting any new companions.

After leaving the vet, the folks and I went back to my house and we talked a little bit before they left. It was a little strange coming home to an empty house. There have been a few times when she has been away, like at my parents’ house while I was on vacation. But to come home to an empty house and know that Akasha no longer lived here was kind of strange. The first time in 17 years that I have been truly alone in my own house.

After the folks left, I spent the rest of the day cleaning the house – cleaning out the litter boxes and food and water dishes, cleaning the hardwood floors, and mopping the kitchen and laundry room. All during the cleaning I was fine and at peace. Only afterwards did I occasionally have moments of breaking into tears and really missing Akasha. It’s the little things that remind me of her. Like going into the kitchen and having a clear spot under the window where her food and water dish used to be. Or going into the laundry room and having an empty spot where her litter box used to be. I know that it will take awhile to get over the pain and get used to not having Akasha around.

Akasha had a good life. She was born on May 2, 1992 in Grand Terrace, California. In September of that year, she and her brother Lestat joined the Fincher family. During her life, Akasha traveled to various parts of California, Illinois, and points in between. During her life, she lived in Highland, California; Riverside, California; Evanston, Illinois; Los Angeles, California; and Redlands, California. She even completed three years of seminary. She was a great and loving companions. She was preceded in death by Lestat (who died July 12, 2007), and is survived by her loving human companion, who will miss her greatly.

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A New Era Begins

Words cannot even begin to describe the joy I feel at this historic moment. Blessings upon President Obama, his family, and our nation as we step into a new, hope-filled era in our history.

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Mere Coincidence, or Hand of God?

Okay, God really does seem to work in weird, mysterious, and wonderful ways!

Last Saturday, I received an e-mail message with the subject line “Did you attend Havelock High School?” In the brief message, Annette, the sender, introduced herself (including maiden name) and noted that she went to school with a Mike Fincher, who moved away after the sophomore year (1978). She then asked if I was that Mike.

While the name sounded vaguely familiar, I was a little puzzled by the fact that the e-mail was sent to the account associated with my blog. I figured that she was Googling the names of former classmates and under my name found my blog.

I sent back a response that I was indeed the Mike Fincher who attended Havelock High, and left at the end of sophomore year to move to California. I noted that while her name sounded very familiar, I really couldn’t place it. I went on to note that, unfortunately, I no longer have my Havelock High yearbook, so I was not able to look up a picture to jog my memory.

Back story. Last August I finally decided to get clean out the storage unit that had serves as the repository for most of my worldly possessions while I was in seminary. After three years of seminary and another year of living in LA, I decided I no longer needed, nor missed, most of the things in the storage unit. I called Salvation Army and they came and took away most of the stuff (some things I did move to the shed in my parents’ back yard). That evening, I realized that I had inadvertently gotten rid of one or more boxes of things I actually wanted to keep. I had packed the stuff up over a year before and had not remembered what was in the box(es). When I did a quick check on the clean-out day, nothing jumped out at me as being worth saving. If I had dug a little deeper in the box(es), I would have discovered that there were indeed treasures I wanted to keep. Among the items I determined to be missing were some novels, a few photo albums, and my high school yearbooks.

Back to the present. Yesterday I received a follow-up e-mail from Annette. She said she and I didn’t know each other at Havelock High, but I knew her brother and her brother’s (now) sister-in-law. She went on to explain that she was recently on a nostalgia trip about high school but could not find her yearbook. So, she Googled “Havelock High yearbooks.” E-Bay happened to have a 1978 Rampage (the name of the Havelock High yearbook), so she bought it. It turned out to be my copy. Apparently, through more Googling (what did we do before Google came along?) she found me.

In her response, Annette wrote, “I do not believe in coincidences...I believe in God Almighty and that He always has a reason for doing things. Needless to say, I am now wondering what His plans are. I know one thing...it has to do with you and your yearbook. I would like to offer to send it to you or maybe my husband, David and I could meet you for dinner sometime and we could exchange it that way.”

Of course, I responded back, amazed at the way things are turning out. In her return response this morning, Annette told me that she lives in Buena Park! It’s amazing to me that a treasure from my past, carried for 30 years, from North Carolina to California to Illinois and back to California, only to be lost in act of stupidity on my part, was found by a classmate from North Carolina who now lives less than an hour away. Mere coincidence, or hand of God?

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Reflecting on Seabury's History

It occurs to me that what is happening with Seabury is nothing particularly new in the 150-year history of the institution. In fact, something of a similar nature happened 75 years ago, when Seabury Divinity School and Western Theological Seminary merged because of “complimentary concerns and common interests” (whatever that means). It sounds to me as if they discerned they needed to move in a different direction if they were going to meet the needs of the ever-changing Episcopal Church. The resulting institution, Seabury-Western Theological Seminary, reflected the characteristics of both its founding parts, being both evangelical and catholic, giving it the character and strengths that would carry it and be its hallmarks for the next 75 years.

Now, I would venture to guess that in 1933 when the merger occurred, there were a number of Seabury alums and Western alums who probably felt sad, angry, betrayed, stunned, shocked, whatever, that such an unthinkable think could happen to their seminaries. But the resulting institution would ultimately become greater than the sum of its parts. Hopefully, when the dust settled, most of them were able to see that the death of their former seminary and the resurrection that occurred was indeed glorious.

In hindsight, the merger was actually a very Anglican move. Seabury was evangelical. Western was catholic. In merging, they were able to appeal to and serve a broader base than either institution would or could individually. Just as the Episcopal Church is going through a little upheaval and is attempting to discern and clarify its identity, and just as the Anglican Communion is trying to figure out what it means to be Anglican, so too, I suppose it is only natural that our institutions of theological formation, the institutions that help form the identity of our leaders, must also go through some soul-searching so as to discern how best to meet the needs of a changing church in an ever-changing world.


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End of an Era for Seabury

This morning as I was driving to work, Moki called to tell me that he had been in Chicago for a couple of days between his meeting in Minneapolis and his meeting in Saint Louis. While he was visiting Seabury, they announced that the seminary would no longer offer the Masters of Divinity (MDiv) program after this year. The current seniors would graduate from Seabury, but the junior and middler MDiv students would have to find another seminary at which to complete their education. A statement from the Very Rev. Gary Hall, Seabury's Dean, can be found here.

This was a shock, although not completely unexpected. Even while I was at Seabury, the writing was on the wall. They had been dealing with financial difficulties for a number of years, and as my time ended, the number of entering students had plummeted (only six incoming juniors my last year, compared to my class of around 25). Moki and I had on several occasions talked about how it was likely that Seabury would eventually be forced to close. But neither of us expected it to be so soon.

Now, to be fair, Seabury is claiming that it is not closing, but rather is in a period of discernment to determine what its future would be. But to be honest, I don’t see how they can hope to survive without the MDiv program – the bread and butter of its existence.

I feel kind of numb about the whole thing. While, as I said, it is not completely unexpected, it is still a shock and very sad to hear. After all, Seabury was my home for three years, and was a very important part of my life. It provided me with some wonderful formation, a very good education, and allowed me to meet some wonderful people, who will be dear friends and cherished colleagues for the rest of my life. A great part of who I am today I owe to Seabury. And to think that it may soon be no more is almost unthinkable.

I had this horrid image of a conversation with someone a decade or so down the road in which I am asked where I went to seminary. I respond, “Seabury-Western Theological Seminary.” To which I am met with a blank stare and, “Where? Never heard of it.” How awful to think that my alma mater would cease to exist. That it may become unknown. Today, when you say “Seabury,” people know of it and its reputation. In another year or so, all that could be gone. I just don’t know how to deal with that.

Of course, the seminary is trying to figure out what it will do with itself. There is a possibility, albeit a slim one in my humble opinion, that it will rise from the ashes, reformed, resurrected into something new and wonderful. I can only hope and pray that I am wrong, and that that will indeed happen.

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The Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. Animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs are carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous union, never to be parted again. The happy kisses run upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

(Author Unknown)

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Ministering to the Minister

Yesterday while I was at the vet’s spending my last few minutes with Lestat, Maggie, one of my UCLA students, called. I did not take the call at the time, and forgot to call her back later in the day. This morning I called her and left a voice mail message saying (among other things) that I had not been able to take her call because I was having a personal crisis. She stopped by my office a little while later to make sure I was okay. I told her what had happened with Lestat. She really ministered to me as we talked about it. Then she took her cello and played a piece by Bach, dedicating it to Lestat. It was lovely – both the music and the fact that she wanted to do that for me. I felt really blessed to have her come by and be with me in a time of personal pain, to minister to me both with her gift of presence and her gift of music.

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RequiesCat

Lestat in San Simeon, California
December 2006


Today was without a doubt one of the most difficult of my life. Today Lestat, one of my feline companions for the last 15 years, was committed to God’s loving care following a brief illness.

Monday I took Lestat to get dematted and have a bath. When I got him home, he did not have hardly any energy and was not even able to jump up on the couch. Monday evening and all day Tuesday, he did not eat anything and hardly had any water to drink. He just laid around and when he did get up, he moved very slowly, appearing to be uncomfortable, if not in pain. I initially thought he was just traumatized by the dematting and bath. I figured he would be back to his old self in a day or so. Tuesday afternoon, I called a vet our parish administrator recommended and described his condition. They said it was probably just trauma, but if he didn't return to normal by Thursday, to bring him in. Wednesday morning, I stopped at a vet just down Sunset Boulevard from my apartment and asked for their advice. They said to bring him in for a check-up and happened to have an open appointment time for later that morning.

When I took him in, the vet looked at him and said he was very dehydrated. His body temp was low for a cat. He weighed only a little over 7 pounds, compared to 12 pounds the last time I had him weighed. All the symptoms were pointing to kidney failure. The doctor said that the stress of the dematting and cooler water temperatures of the bath probably resulted in his rapid deterioration. But he did say that without all that, he still may well have hit this point in a few weeks. He has undoubtedly been failing for some time, but cats are very good at masking their pain, so there was no indication that anything was wrong. The fact that he was getting so matted also indicates that he had low energy and was not taking care of himself, another possible indication of kidney failure.

They kept him overnight to run some blood tests and urinalysis to get a definitive diagnosis. They also put him on an IV to rehydrate him and to give him some nutrition, and put him on a heating pad to raise his body temperature. They said they would have the lab results back the following (this) morning and would let me know what my options are. When the doctor started talking about kidney failure, I started crying. After the initial exam, I was able to spend some time with Lestat, just petting him and crying the whole time.

The vet called me at 9:00 this morning to give me Lestat’s lab results. He was experiencing kidney failure, liver failure, thyroid failure, and diabetes. We arranged for me to go into the office at 10:00 to discuss options. I decided at that point there probably was really only one option. When I got to the vet’s, the doctor told me that there really was not much that could be done. If there were just one problem, there might be hope, but with four major systems failing, there was little possibility of recovery. He said if it was one his cats (he has four), he would let him go, because he is obviously suffering. I told him that I agreed that that was the only compassionate thing to do.

While I was talking to the doctor, one of his assistants brought Lestat into the room. After the doctor left, I spent 30 to 40 minutes with Lestat. I mainly just stroked him and talked to him, telling him what a good cat he was, how he had been a great companion, and that because I love him so much, the best gift that I could give him right now was to let him go, to end his suffering. I also told him that it was okay to give up. When I first started talking to him, he actually purred a little – the first time I had heard him purr since Monday morning. It was good to hear, and I felt like he appreciated me being there. But most of the time, he was pretty quiet, using most of his energy just to breathe and stay alive. Several times, he groaned a little, and one time meowed, apparently in pain. He just laid there letting me touch him. At one point, he got up and shifted his body so that he could be nearer to me and lay his head on my arm.

When I felt I had said all I had to say, I told the assistant that I was ready whenever the doctor was. Dr. Kumar came in a couple minutes later. He said that it would only take about two minutes. Before he gave Lestat the injection, he gently touched Lestat and softly said to him, “I’m sorry.” Within about 30 seconds of receiving the injection, Lestat was gone. He died at about 10:45. Dr. Kumar then spent a few minutes talking with me, ministering to me in my pain. I spent another five or ten minutes with him, petting him and telling him how much I loved him and what a great companion he had been. I also prayed that God receive his soul (of course, some say that animals don’t have souls, but I’m not so sure about that). He died peacefully and is now out of pain. I will miss him terribly, but am comforted (at least a little) in knowing that I gave him a blessing and a great gift by releasing him from his suffering and letting him go.

Lestat had a good life. He was born on May 2, 1992 in Grand Terrace, California. During his life, he got to travel and visit various parts of California, Illinois, and points in between -- more than many cats ever see. And he met some great people along the way. He even completed three years of seminary. All in all, he was a great and loving companion. He will be sorely missed. Lestat is survived by his sister and litter mate, Akasha.

I don't know how much Akasha understands of what's going on. But I think she is beginning to realize that things are different. She has been spending a lot of time in my lap, which is somewhat unusual for her. This will be a big adjustment for both of us.

This afternoon one of my parishioners called to see how I was doing. Last night after our book study group I was telling some people about Lestat’s medical problems. I told her what had transpired today. I said that it is sort of strange being here without him. I am usually aware of the location of the cats, even when they are in another room. Her response was that it is a “very present absence.” I thought that was a perfect way to describe it. After having been with me for a full third of my life, his loss will most certainly be a very present absence.

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