Jeremy L. Berg

In case it has escaped your attention, today is Day 22 at Children’s Hospital with our 10-year old son, Isaak. It was four Mondays ago I rushed him to the ER in stomach pain. Things continue to improve and there is real talk of going home “soon”. I haven’t had the energy or time or focus to write during this ordeal, but thought I’d post the story from our Caring Bridge here for anyone who is interested and wants to join our amazing prayer and support network.

Isaak’s Story (In a Nutshell)

Sunday (10/22) Isaak had extreme abdominal pain and Monday morning (10/23) we went to ER with appendicitis like symptoms. The CT scan revealed 3 perforations in his intestine and an inflamed appendix, so emergency surgery was performed Monday evening at Children’s in Minneapolis to repair the intestines and remove the appendix. It often takes several days for one’s digestive system to “wake up” and begin functioning again after such an invasive surgery – slowly introducing water, moving on to jello, and eventually solid foods. We had hoped to be home after a few days. Unfortunately, on day 7 his system hadn’t begun to “wake up” and he hadn’t even been able to keep down water all week. Then things went downhill over the weekend, clear signs that something was wrong inside. On the second Monday (10/30) there was a second surgery, finding a 4th hole in his intestine the surgeon had missed the first time allowing fluid to slowly leak into his poor gut all week, making him miserable and preventing him from healing.  They removed over a gallon of green fluid! Then four days later (11/2), after spiking a fever and an elevated heart rate, Isaak was rushed to a 3rd surgery that drained additional fluid (this time blood) from his abdomen (but also confirmed the 2nd surgery fixes were still in tact – yay).  As of Day 19 (11/10), Isaak’s bowels are awake and functioning (yay!), but an abscess formed that we are now trying to break down and drain out so we can get him up and moving and ultimately home. Read daily updates from this crazy ride here.

Aside from daily updates, I shared a Sunday “sermon” on “Divine Bowel Movements” and a “pastoral confession” on how this trial has challenged my faith. I will post those below for those who wish to read them.

Sunday Sermon: “Divine Bowel Movements” (Nov 5 – Day 14)

The surgeons and doctors we have chatted with — unfortunately we’ve started a punch card, trying to collect trading cards for all the surgeons at Children’s — describe the bowels in remarkable ways. They are the most sensitive part of us. Very temperamental and moody, as we all know. When you poke and prod them like a surgeon, they play dead like a possum, and take time for them to decide to wake up again. We all know our “gut health” is deeply connected to the rest of us: our mental health, our immune system, etc. 

Overnight, Day 14 of Isaak’s journey, his bowels have started to wake up and work. I’ll spare you the brown slimy details but Isaak (and Keri) were up all night hitting the toilet and stuff is “moving out.”  Still a mild fever which could indicate infection, so keep praying! But moving in the right direction. Yay!

Let me offer an unconventional Sunday “sermon” on divine bowel movements today. I’ve always wanted an excuse to title a sermon, “Sh*t Happens”. 

The Bible uses vivid anatomical language to describe various human (and divine) emotions. So do we in popular jargon. As someone puts it, “We speak of breath-taking music, heart-breaking stories, gut-wrenching suffering, stomach-knotting tension, fire in the belly, or a burning in the bosom. I might “spill my guts” to “get something off my chest”… A plucky athlete has heart, as a courageous soldier has guts, an irascible person has spleen, and a coward is a lily-livered person.” According this astute commentator:

“The bowels are subjects about which we are often embarrassed to talk. And yet the scriptures put the bowels unavoidably in our face. Our resistance to reflection about bowels is itself instructive. The bowels sit at the center of the human body and yet nothing is so furtive as the act of doing our business. But it is an experience “common to man,” one to which we can all relate and one we all had to master at an early age. The bowels may repulse us, but few distresses are as acute as when they malfunction. Bowels are the part of embodied life which we rarely articulate but which is most intimately our own. When they are discussed, they are usually the stuff of bawdy humor, snickering puerility, or scatological writing, not scriptural truth. The bowels may be the most personal and hidden of all organs. The sheer relief of the bowels being moved—the release of inner containment—may serve as a secret metaphor of what it is to go beyond ourselves, to let our insides go, to stop holding back. Perhaps in some ways, compassion, as the Greek suggests, has a similar motion” (Source).

The New Testament uses perhaps the “gutsiest” metaphor of all to describe the deep love and compassion of God: a bowel movement. The Greek word splangchna describes tender feelings and mercy.  Paul described his deep love for the far away Philippians saying, “How greatly I long after you all in the bowels of Jesus Christ” (Philip. 1:8). In Philemon, Paul wrote on behalf of a beloved slave, Onesimus, whom Paul called “mine own bowels” (Philem. 1:12)—meaning someone tied to his inmost affections, or as we might say, a bosom-buddy. Or this verse from the old King James: “But whoso hath this world’s good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?” (1 John 3:17).

When Jesus was confronted with human pain and suffering and the general brokenness of this world in Matt 20:34 and elsewhere, we prefer language such as “his heart went out to them” or as most translations “He had compassion on them.” Yet, the original Greek actually says, “His bowels were moved toward them.” For a God of infinite compassion, human suffering is a punch in His gut. Jesus’ insides are twisted up in knots over our condition. Closer to Isaak’s experience, perhaps we might say God’s intestines are torn up in agony toward His groaning creation.

As a pastor in these days of growing violence and division, I’m seeing more and more evidence of “blockages” in human souls and society, an increasing inability for  many to be “moved with compassion” toward people who don’t look like us, think like us, vote like us, etc.  Expressions of tenderness and grace may move  through us and out of us toward those who are on my team, but something blocks these same feelings from moving out toward “those people” on the wrong team. The inhumanity and callousness toward innocent life in the Middle East is just one obvious example where there’s clearly an obstruction in the bowels of compassion of many.

For two weeks, we have sat next to Isaak’s twisted, torn and traumatized inner bowels. We’re waiting and praying and fighting for them to heal, and to “walk up.” Infections prevent healing. Blockages can prevent flowing (we haven’t had any blockages, by the way). Trauma shuts things down and prevents life-giving movement. Likewise, our world is infected with sin that prevents wholeness and flourishing. Spiritual blockages in the soul prevent the flow of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, etc. through us and out to others.  Anger and prejudice shuts down our compassion center toward others.

Thankfully, Jesus came to show us the deep compassion of God toward those who suffer. God doesn’t remain aloof or indifferent. He doesn’t just dish out divine Imodium AD from a distance. In Christ, God took our worst tummy ache onto himself in order to heal us from the inside out.

In this darkness, the Light has shone all the brighter. For two weeks our family has been the beneficiary and recipient of too many “bowel movements of compassion” to count.  (I’m gonna take this metaphor to the breaking point!) Gifts on our door step. Meals in our fridge. People watching our kids. Hugs and shoulders to cry on. Heroic nurses and superhero doctors. Money for parking. Words of encouragement and prayers that help God’s healing power move more freely into Isaak’s body.

As it happens, in the darkness of the pandemic, I put together a unique Easter message called “In the Belly” or “Resurrection Vomit” in 2021 likening that collective groaning experience to being trapped in the smelly bowels of the great fish from Jonah. I spoke of Jesus resting in the bowels of the earth (tomb) between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, and how his victory over death brings fresh hope, life, and wholeness to all. You can check out that video message starring our cute kiddos describing the inside of a belly HERE. I wrote on this many years ago in my book Dear Philippians available here. A fascinating deep dive into this topic can be read here. 

A Pastoral Confession: “Lament Shows Faith”

I shared a little personal reflection with our church this week, and I thought maybe it was worth sharing it here as well (and I’ve expanded it a bit). I’m a pastor of a church that values being real and vulnerable in weakness, and I am blessed to have a congregation that lets me be just as clay-footed as everyone else.  Despite our human tendency to deny it, the Scriptures say, “God’s power is made perfect in my weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Corinthians 12:9). So here’s some of my rambles:

I was running on what I call “Dadrenaline” for the first 16 days of this ordeal, just doing what needs to be done, keeping other kids going, getting to and from hospital. Then this Wednesday I woke up and it felt like my 16 day supply of complimentary “dadrenaline” had finally worn off and I suddenly felt my own feelings finally. And I felt totally depressed, unmotivated, sad and mad. I cancelled my classes at both Bethel University and University of Northwestern on Tuesday and Thursdays and drove to Half Price Books (my happy place) for “consumer therapy”. I suspect Keri’s supply of “momdrenaline” will keep her going a few more days than mine. She’s no doubt made of tougher stuff than me; she did birth 3 babies naturally without any pain meds! But eventually she’ll need to feel all of her emotions too (get ready, girlfriends!). Abby and Peter will also need to process this crazy ride. And soon Isaak will hear the full details of what his body endured while he lie asleep or in the fog of pain meds.

For now, we keep fighting one day at a time, one obstacle at a time. I’m a pastor and a theologian, whose “professional life” involves helping others navigate life’s woes and making sense of a world full of senseless suffering through the power of faith, so you would think I might have an advantage on doing this well. Hogwash. My faith has been tested in this. I try to silence the voice that tells me I need to turn this situation into an evangelistic opportunity, I need impress everyone reading our Caring Bridge with how spiritual we are, that I need to end every update with a Bible verse and a shiny red bow. Nope, I won’t pretend I have felt God’s presence and peace every moment when I haven’t. 

Faith is faith, not certainty or confidence or even calm. It’s clinging desperately to a rope dangling in the fog that you hope has someone holding tight on the other end. Faith is not always experiencing peace in the middle of the storm. Faith sometimes looks like a guy swerving in the express lane on I394 at midnight screaming at God in anger through tears wondering what God-forsaken wave will crash into us the following morning. Faith is sometimes leaning on others’ faith when your own faith seems lacking. Faith is being carried along mysteriously day to day by the prayers of thousands who we can’t see or feel or hear or even know. The faith I have tried to teach and model at MainStreet is bringing our real self before a real God who makes a real difference, even when we can’t see the difference yet. In fact, a hallmark of MainStreet Covenant Church is our insistence on being brutally honest about the messes of our lives and a refusal to put on a fake happy smile on Sundays, sing and clap and pretend things are okay when they’re not. And they certainly are not right now. My favorite card hanging on the wall in the hospital says, “Sorry things suck right now” (see photo).

But we are grateful for your support. We are grateful for your prayers even when they may feel quick and hurried or futile. We’re grateful for the prayers you pray even while doubting that they are making any difference. That’s praying with faith, not certainty. I know the Bible says “the prayers of the righteous are powerful and effective” (James 5:16), but I suspect in God’s gracious economy even the prayers of the feeble “availeth much.” I invite you to be real with God in all of this too. Pastor Mike mentioned Romans 8 last Sunday where even when we don’t know how to pray, the Holy Spirit intercedes for us in inaudible groans. Feel free to lavish praise on God for His goodness. Feel free to also groan and express frustration as well. 

This ordeal has pressed Keri and I into the Psalms more than any other scriptures. Before this crisis, I had already begun reading a Psalm to Abby and Isaak before bed each night. Honestly, it’s awkward reading many of those intensely emotional poems — desperate, fearful, angry, violent — to children as you tuck them in. But they remind us that God wants our brutal honesty, our unvarnished sighs, our scandalous rage and quiet whimpers of despair. Consider Psalm 69: 

Save me, O God,
    for the waters have come up to my neck.
² I sink in the miry depths,
    where there is no foothold.
I have come into the deep waters;
    the floods engulf me.
³ I am worn out calling for help;
    my throat is parched.
My eyes fail,
    looking for my God…

Do not let the floodwaters engulf me
    or the depths swallow me up
    or the pit close its mouth over me.

¹⁶ Answer me, Lord, out of the goodness of your love;
    in your great mercy turn to me.
¹⁷ Do not hide your face from your servant;
    answer me quickly, for I am in trouble.
¹⁸ Come near and rescue me;
    deliver me because of my foes.

At one particularly dark moment, lying in bed for hours in tears, playing worse case scenarios in my overactive imagination, trying not to wake up Abigail who’s taking mom’s spot in bed through this,  I texted a pastor friend saying, “My faith is faltering.” He responded, “Let it falter. I’ll keep the faith for you. Lament shows faith.”

Lament shows faith. I like that. Lament is something I can still pull off even with an emotional tank on empty, even if my lament sounds like a guttural Holy Spirit groan. The other words that ministered to me were from Mr. Wardlow from Hilltop whose son spent 20 days at Children’s six months ago with very similar issue. He said, “There’s no right way to get through this as a family, but you’re doing it right.” So much grace and affirmation in that statement. 

This is Isaak’s journey and his Caring Bridge, yes. But it’s all of our journey, and so thanks for letting me sharing a window into my soul tonight. Keri snuck out to go help coach Abby’s basketball team (a good distraction she enjoys). Peter has his first basketball tournament tomorrow. Then next Thursday-Sunday Peter stars as Prince Erik in middle school musical “The Little Mermaid.” Get tickets here! He’s been working his butt off memorizing all those lines and we couldn’t be more proud how he’s kept focused with all this other stuff happening in the background. Our hope and prayer is to get Isaak home before Thursday to enjoy the musical together as a family, not in shifts. 

Isaak is sitting up, eating a cheese stick, drinking a juice box and playing a video game right now as I finish this post, after days of fevery sleep. A great sight to behold. 

Please pray for our family and Isaak’s continued healing. Grace and peace in Jesus.