For all of us who are aged, or who have aged parents or grandparents, here's a very important article, in this week's New Yorker magazine (dated April 30, 2007), entitled, "The Way We Age Now: Medicine has increased he ranks of the elderly. Can it make old age any easier?" Essential reading.

I've been following with some interest the recovery of New Jersey Governor Jon Corzine, who was critically injured in a car crash a couple of weeks ago. His injuries were to his chest, and his treatment has had many similarities to what I experienced in the hospital.

So, I've been right there with him as I've read about him being weaned off the ventilator. (He had it in for less than two weeks, so they didn't have to do a tracheotomy on him.) And as they've removed the feeding tube. (When he was allowed real food, his first request was for a cheeseburger!) And as he sat up in a chair -- for a whole hour. And as he was released from the ICU. And as he took a short walk for the first time.

They're talking about possibly releasing him from the hospital on Monday. I remember my own longing to be released, to get back home, which was the best thing for the next stage of my recovery.

(Below is a piece I wrote for the Williamsburg Area Bicyclists newsleter.)

When Riding The Bike Is A Matter of Life and Death

I nearly died this past October.

Over the past several years, I had been bicycling a great deal. I rode more than 5,000 miles in 2004 and 2005, and had ridden more than 2,000 miles by October of last year. During that time, though, I had had a persistent cough. A chest x-ray in 2004 revealed nothing suspicious, so I was referred to one allergist and then another, both of whom, it turns out, treated me for ailments I did not have. The cough continued. In frustration, I went back to my family practice doctor late last summer, who ordered another chest x-ray. This one did reveal trouble spots on my lungs. I was referred to a pulmonologist, who performed a bronchoscopy (a thoroughly disagreeable procedure that allows the doctor to extract lung tissue for biopsy). From that biopsy, the disease appeared to be something called sarcoidosis, which is treated with prednisone. But I quickly began feeling terrible, with fever and chills, and when my blood oxygen level dropped below 80%, I was hospitalized in Williamsburg. Within a day, I fell into acute respiratory distress, and was transferred to Sentara Norfolk General Hospital. There, respiratory therapists kept me alive on a ventilator for nearly a week while the infectious disease doctors worked to find out what was wrong with me.

Thank God, one doctor thought to do a test for a fungal infection called histoplasmosis. Bingo! The doctors disconnected the seven IV medications they had been giving me (they were considering that many possible diseases), and filled me with an awful but highly effective drug that attacks histoplasmosis, and my recovery began.

My case was so unusual it was presented in medical conference at the Eastern Virginia Medical School. Only weeks before I was hospitalized, I had ridden 77 miles in the Surry Century. How could someone in such good physical shape fall into respiratory crisis so quickly? One answer appears to be that steroids, such as prednisone, cause fungal infections to grow wildly out of control.

Because it was an unusual case, a number of doctors became interested. One was an internist who took over the traffic control of my treatment, who was himself a tri-athlete. He treated me as he would an athlete, and took his cues from the fact that I was making a surprisingly strong recovery following the correct diagnosis. He was aggressive in discharging me from the hospital after I had been there for a month. I thank God for that, too! I spent December and January at home, recovering, before returning to work. And when the temperatures started getting above 50 degrees, I started getting back out on my bike.

I’ve omitted a lot of details, to cut to the chase. (I haven’t even mentioned the tracheotomy and the feeding tube!) And, you may be asking, why is this piece even in a bicycling club newsletter? It’s because of this: one of my doctors told me that, if I hadn’t been in such good aerobic shape from bicycling, my heart and lungs would have failed during that first week, when I was on a ventilator. And, he said, my recovery was surprisingly strong because of that fitness I had taken into the hospitalization. So the moral of the story is: get out there and ride! It could indeed be a matter of life and death.

I’ve recently bought a new bicycle, to celebrate my recovery. In the past several years, though, I rode all those thousands of miles on the only Schwinn that I ever saw out on a club ride. And so, as the club’s resident Mr. Language Person, Bob Austin, said to me, “You were saved by the Schwinn!” Yes, that, and having some awfully good doctors in Norfolk.

Finally! Warm enough to have a bedroom window cracked opened during the night; able to hear the bird chorus just before dawn.

The light has changed so that the bird chorus is timed perfectly to be a wake-up call: just before 6:00. What joy they sound, in anticipation of a new day!

Warm enough to sit on the screened porch in the early morning light. A mug of coffee. The book I felt called to prayerfully read this morning. The health to be home, enjoying these simple pleasures. What gifts of grace! How God fills each day with blessings!

I've been back to work for nearly three months since my illness, and I've been working differently than before. I'm much more conscious that it's not all up to me! Of course, that never was the case, but it's what I usually assumed -- that the fate of the whole enterprise was on my shoulders, and upon how hard I worked. What grace comes when God punctures that assumption.

During the weeks of helplessness, in the hospital and during the recovery at home, I couldn't carry any of the load. But the world kept on turning! That was a first-time experience for me. Since then, I have had eyes to see more clearly how little of the load I carry.

Just some examples from yesterday (Sunday). Riding my bicycle to the church, and seeing that the parking signs and cones were already in place on Jamestown Road. Hearing Michael's morning organ practice. Greeting members of the Altar Guild who were already busy at their work. Welcoming the acolytes as they arrived. Standing in the back hallway and listening as the choir warmed up, and greeting choir members as they came out of the choir room. Sitting before the service and watching as worshipers came in and made their ways to their places. Was there anything unusual in any of that? No, it was a typical Sunday morning. But what a miraculous thing the Spirit does every Sunday morning: calling us together, instilling in us a desire to worship and to serve. And, of course, that holds true during the week, as the Spirit motivates you in your ministries.

What release there is in realizing how little I do to make any of this happen! How joyous it is to receive it all, as gift from the Holy Spirit!

For weeks and weeks after the twin towers were destroyed in 2001, The New York Times ran short profiles of the victims, with the heading, "Portraits of Grief." This morning, the Times has done the same thing for the identified victims of the Virginia Tech shootings, with pictures and a few sentences of biography. What terrible, terrible loss!

Yesterday afternoon I needed to make calls at the hospital. So I rode my bicycle home to get a car, and started out. The radio was tuned to NPR, but for some reason the normal program wasn't on. Instead, I heard the ringing words of a preacher. I was confused for a few minutes, but then I realized that this was some sort of memorial service at Virginia Tech. And I was extremely impressed with the preacher, and his theology! He told the crowd that their grief feelings of anger and complaint were quite understandable. For support, he brought up the figure of Job in the Hebrew Scriptures, who reacted in the same way after suffering unimaginable loss. He talked about the significance for Christians that even Jesus felt such emotions, saying on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" But, the preacher said, both Job and Jesus remained faithful through their suffering, and he concluded by urging the crowd to do the same.

Do you know who the preacher was? It was our Governor, Tim Kaine! (You may know that Governor Kaine practices the spiritual disciplines of the Roman Catholic tradition, and spent two years doing missionary work in Central America.) What a wonderful job he did, at that Convocation, and later, during interactions with students, families, and the press, in providing leadership and focus for the grieving Virginia Tech community.

Yesterday a woman I had never met came into the church, looking for a place to pray. It was only a few minutes before noon time prayer. She was distraught over the tragedy at Tech, and wondered where God could have been. I spoke as a Christian, centering on the incarnation and the cross: that God was most certainly there, suffering with those who were suffering and dying. That's what we must say of a God who became human flesh, and who suffered and died on the cross. God suffers with us. God embraces us in our grief, with its sadness and anger. Even when we are kicking and screaming, God holds on to us.

Indeed, it is only when we journey honestly and openly and humbly into God's presence in our suffering and death that Easter has any meaning.

Like many of you, I struggle to come to terms with the unspeakable tragedy of the shooting deaths yesterday at Virginia Tech. Questions abound, many of which cannot be answered well. Could the administration and campus and town police have responded better? (Think of the extreme stress they were under!) How can it be that an individual could have such rage that he would target groups of people he didn't even know? How can it be that we allow someone like that to get his hands on a gun?

There were so many students killed, and there are so many students at Tech from across Virginia, that surely there will be mourning in every community of our Commonwealth.

In the days to come there will be heroism among the healers in the Virginia Tech community. Pray for the campus pastors, the medical professionals, the counselors, and others whose job is healing.

I was impressed by the editorial in the Daily Press this morning. It encourages me to repeat what I've often said. Catastrophe can strike at any moment during any "ordinary day" -- caused by a physical illness, or an accident, or an act of violence, or even a fall -- and so, there is no such thing as an "ordinary" day. Each day is a precious gift from God. Who knows if we will be given another?

Spend time in the present. Love each other.

I was in Charleston, SC for several days this past week, and I visited my father's grave for the first time. Staring at that ground, with the funeral home's temporary marker -- "Andrew W. Ballentine" -- made me know the reality: he has died. In the days since, I have discovered that the visit to the cemetary has enabled me to begin grieving for my father, nearly six months after he died.

In February, Dr. Larry Rassmussen was at St. Stephen, as our 2007 Theologian in Residence, talking about our responsibility as Christians to care for the environment. I very much appreciated his nuanced presentation. For instance, he said that he does not use the term "global warming" very much. Instead, he talks about "climate change." That's because there are so many unprecedented climatic events occurring around the world. As an example, he told us that England is experiencing tornadoes for the first time since human beings have been writing down their observations. Something significant is obviously going on!

May I offer another example? Today, it is April 7, in Williamsburg Virginia. Flowers and trees are in full bloom. Hundreds of high school and college track and field athletes are in town to compete in the Colonial Relays today. Teams of professional bicyclists are in town, to begin a race to Richmond in about an hour.

And it's snowing!

"The Mystery will be as intrusive in us as we by listening allow." So writes John McNamee in one of his poems.

It is my prayer that the Mystery that is God will use our Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Vigil liturgies to be intrusive! It is my prayer that worshipers will be in listening mode. We will listen to scripture, in readings from the Bible and in liturgy. Such words encourage us to formulate concepts of God in our minds. But there is danger in that -- because God is so much greater than any idea we can have of God. And so, what is precious to me in our evening Holy Week liturgies are the periods of silence. It is when we are silent, I think, that we are most likely to allow the Mystery to be intrusive.