A Spiritual Replacement
“Emboldened and ever grateful for the advances in modern medicine, I find myself longing for more than a joint replacement. Suffice to say, 5 November broke me, and I have been unable, on my own, to repair the damage done to my spirit. Like my old shoulder, my soul has become impaired, incapacitated, impractical. What’s worse is that, in the past, my antidote for such despondency has always been physical activity. Moving my body has invariably helped me when dispirited or depressed. But here I sit with my sling and pillow, wondering if a swim or kayaking or digging in the dirt would be useful or if, like my old shoulder, my spirit is too defective, too far gone to repair.”—Rev. Robin White
Wing + Prayer
By The Reverend Robin White
PENDLETON South Carolina—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—I have a brand-new shoulder. The old one was, shall we say, defective. I couldn’t throw a ball for Scout. Swimming had devolved to a flutter kick wearing a snorkel and flippers; my arms stationary at my sides. I couldn’t raise my arm to retrieve a wine glass from the top of the cupboard or the cookies from the upper shelf of the pantry. Needless to say, I could have lived out the rest of my life with my old shoulder. I could have continued to compensate for its immobility but, when someone offered a replacement with the near certainty of a return to full range of motion, well, for me, it was an easy decision.
At present, I am three weeks out of surgery and composing this with my left hand only. I find I can do much of what I need to do with respect to my daily needs, but everything takes great concentration and a much, much slower pace than I prefer. Putting my socks on, for example, takes immense patience! Putting a shirt on takes concentration and careful planning and positioning. To say I am stir-crazy would be an understatement.
Limited to immobility with my sling and abduction pillow for three more weeks, I will happily graduate to sling-only soon and then, I hope, begin the real and undoubtedly difficult work of physical therapy. I am currently practicing the art of forbearance.
Emboldened and ever grateful for the advances in modern medicine, I find myself longing for more than a joint replacement. Suffice to say, 5 November broke me, and I have been unable, on my own, to repair the damage done to my spirit. Like my old shoulder, my soul has become impaired, incapacitated, impractical. What’s worse is that, in the past, my antidote for such despondency has always been physical activity. Moving my body has invariably helped me when dispirited or depressed. But here I sit with my sling and pillow, wondering if a swim or kayaking or digging in the dirt would be useful or if, like my old shoulder, my spirit is too defective, too far gone to repair.
I am, I confess, mightily tempted to compensate for this debilitated spirit. The thought of moving to another country or at least relocating to a blue state is alluring. The idea of resting on my laurels and living out my senior years in a safe and uncomplicated location is appealing. It would seem the sane, sensible choice given the state of my soul, especially at a time such as this, when all seems wrong with the world and the future is terrifying and uncertain.
And yet, unlike my decision regarding my damaged shoulder, I’m not certain I can live out the rest of my life compensating for my damaged spirit. I think I need a radical replacement.
Right now, and all through the unknown future, we all need robust spirits. We need souls that can withstand the emotions that accompany destruction, injustice, and death. We need our inner beings to manifest hope or all will be lost. I am desperate for “a spirit replacement.” I need full range of motion and emotion. I need strength and flexibility. I need my new spirit to evolve into one that is not afraid; one that engages rather than avoids; one that can see, recognize, and entwine itself with hope. Perhaps I can get one.
The question is, do I have the courage to undergo the process of incorporating something new? Do I have the patience and the forbearance to endure the waiting, the initial inertia, and then, the painful effort required over the course of the healing in process?
May it be so, for me and for all who despair and long for this newness of spirit. Maranatha, מרנא תא. May it be so.
Robin White
The Rev. Robin Kaye White grew up in a farming community in Central New York State: she is descended, on both sides of her family, from dairy farmers, and is most alive, still, in rural North American landscapes. A voice major, she studied Music at Ithaca College; then earned her MDiv at Lancaster Theological Seminary and did graduate work at Princeton Seminary and The Theological Institute of Advanced Theological Research in Jerusalem, Israel. Ordained in the Presbyterian Church (USA), White was recently a Co-Moderator of the National Board of More Light Presbyterians. In the summer of 2023, she served as Bridge Pastor at Mount Auburn Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati Ohio. White is passionate about liturgy—“the work of the people”—and preaching. In her sermons, she strives to illuminate the original context of scripture and tease out its messages for the fraught present. She has had the privilege of “holding space” for the dying and their loved ones and experiences this ministry of presence as a gift: she is most willing to go with people as they journey to desert places. She states: “I have lived my life by adhering to Paul’s words in his letter to the church at Rome, ‘Rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.’” She is just as likely, though, to quote Rachel Held Evans as St. Paul: “This is what God’s kingdom is like: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes. And there’s always room for more.” A Lesbian-Pescaterian-Presbyterian, Reverend White is most alive out of doors, whether hiking, biking, kayaking, golfing . . . or just sitting on a rock. (Banner and Author photos: E.B.-Herring; Author Head Shot Augment: René Laanen.)
One Comment
Rocco V Giannetta
Ah, if only words were enogh to carry us over the treshold of acceptance.
Or, of just saying yes to the hysteria I envision.
But no, there are armaments that need be bolstered.
Armaments like spirit, inner fortitude, outer strength composed of sinew that takes courage to manifest.
Not into a fist but an outstretched hand.
A gesture that will swallow the pride and lament the forebearnce of knowledge.
That the wrongs inflicted upon the governing body of today from a long ago era.
When they were the clods, the nerds, the unpopular take their stifled hate from that long ago period.
And with their own outstretched hand grasp the commonality of the cosine tangent of life.
They were down, now they are up.
Let’s not mis-understand that tangent.
It just may be the tangent of life.
Swing to it, marvel in it, just be it. If possible?