Try to love the questions themselves...at present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Letters to a Young Poet
Oh, man. I'm not going into detail as to preserve my anonymity here, but suffice it to say that the person to whom we had offered a new staff position - a position which has caused some heartache in the congregation, over which we have suffered some conflict, and which has been damn near seven years in the making - turned us down. And not only that, but turned us down after we flew said person out here and said person gave us a verbal "yes" to the job.
Sometimes this work is bitterly disappointing.
I wish I had something more theological to say. Lament psalm, anyone?
Here's the thing.
Most of the time, the property committee at my church is a bit on the slow side. This is a pain when it comes to things like clogged toilets and simple repair jobs. It's a handy way of assisting me in my procrastination to deal with things that I just don't want to deal with. No excuses there. Just the truth.
So we have this flagpole outside our sanctuary doors. It's been leaning for the past seven years I've been here, and no one ever really talked seriously about fixing it. It only came up every so often, when someone would ask why we didn't have a flag, and I'd say, "well, the flagpole is leaning and there's no light on the flag, so we can't have it up all night, and we don't have someone to raise it up and down every day." We do have a giant American flag (right next to a giant "Christian flag," which, to be honest, I had never heard of until I came here...) in our coffee-hour area. But we have no flag in the sanctuary, which is my personal line-in-the-sand. Beyond here lie monsters, that sort of thing. I figured, as long as the flagpole is broken, and we have the gigantoid flag inside, we're good. No worries.
But then the property committee started speeding things up. Things are getting fixed, which is nice. Including the flagpole. Hmmm.
I'm happy to be American. I'm not overly happy with the direction of America. I realize this country is much more than the sum of its current leaders. And my father-in-law, a career military, Air Force, Base Commander guy, has some criticism of the current administration - so I feel okay about having similar criticisms myself. (Not that he and I should be talking about politics on a regular basis. We still have less in common than that which divides.)
But the whole flag/church thing troubles me. For now, I've decided that as long as no one tries to get any kind of flag anywhere near the sanctuary, I'm going to leave it alone. This is not the hill I'm going to die on, as one of my parishoners would say.
You know what bothers me the most? Two things. One, that flying the flag makes me sad. I should be proud to fly it in all my liberal glory, and claim that symbol for my left-wing voting, gay-rights supporting, women-preacher loving, pro-choice, anti-war, despise-this-president, place-way-too-much-hope-on-Barack-Obama self.
The second thing is that so many people equate faithfulness and patriotism. And that these are generally the folks who also equate no-badmouthing-the-president with patriotism. It's a sort of twisted problem you find on the SAT's: all patriots should support the war. All Christians should be patriots. Therefore, all Christians should support the war.
Flags are powerful symbols. It occurs to me that, when you stand on the corner and look at my church building, you see two powerful symbols: a huge cross, and a pretty big flag. All I can do is remember which one points me in the right direction, no matter who the president is. And hope that the worship, preaching, teaching, and fellowship of this place will help us all remember where our hope really lies.
But I still wish the property committee was a little slower.
Every once in awhile, you find a really good book. The latest one to arrive on my desk - a recommendation from our youth & family minister - is called The Dogs of Babel. I love to read good writing, even (especially?) when it has nothing directly to do with work. I'm only about halfway through, though I've gotten there in the last two hours. And I realize that "the story of a grieving man who tries to make his dog, the only witness to his wife's death, capable of speech" is a strange tagline for a book. But it's worth reading. Check it out.
Yesterday was my birthday. And my husband, my darling husband, gave me exactly what I wanted: the DVD set of the entire series of Sex and the City, in a special pink velvet box.
I realize that I probably should have wanted something more like the complete works of Luther, or at least the complete DVD set of Seventh Heaven.
Nope. Pink velvet joy, baby.
Today's task is to list five living people, whom I may or may not know personally, but whom I admire. Hmmm....
5. This young woman in my parish who shall remain anonymous. She came in to talk to me the other day about her faith. Not having grown up with any kind of church background, she feels pretty lost in the whole faith thing but has an astounding stubbornness to tackle it head-on. I admire that a lot. I admire her willingness to admit what she doesn't know.
4. Jimmy Carter. Best. Ex-President. Ever.
3. Terence Fretheim. My very favorite seminary professor. Great teacher, great passion for the bible, great asker-of-interesting-questions, and unbelievably good at remembering people's names. Super smart, but always makes you feel like you are just as important as anyone else. I aim to be the kind of teacher he is.
2. My husband. (He could also be listed at number 1: we have a tie here, really.) I have always admired his ability not to take everything personally. This is a gift I most assuredly do not have. Not that he's uncaring, but simply that he can hear a criticism, agree or disagree with it, and move on. He doesn't stew in many things the way I do.
1. My parents. (See disclaimer above.) These are people who take their faith seriously, but who are humble about it. I really admire the fact that they keep wanting to learn new things, that they're willing to re-think old assumptions. How devoted they are to their church, for all the right reasons. And how they want to challenge that same church, for all the right reasons.
It feels good to think about these people. Not a bad assignment for a Friday.
Remember that scene from The Princess Bride? At the end, when Wesley is laying paralyzed in bed, and the Prince comes in, ready to kill him, and Wesley dares him to a duel. "To the death!" says the Prince. "No, to the pain," says Wesley, and goes into this long description of how he will cut off the prince's hands, and his feet, and gouge out his eyes..."and my ears, fine, I get it," says the prince. But Wesley replies, "No; I will leave your ears, so that every scream of every child who sees your hideous form will ring in your head forever." And the prince gives up.
I'm teaching a class on Job, and this week we're taking on Job's first friend, Eliphaz. Whose first speech to Job basically involves the idea that Job is being tested, or disciplined, by God. Apparently, to the pain, since God has ruled out "to the death" in the prologue. ("Just don't kill him," God says to the Accuser.)
So I googled the phrase, "God never gives us more than we can handle," my nominee for "least helpful phrase ever uttered to a suffering person." And I found a few things. Oddly, I also found a link to something about Hillary Clinton's presidential candidacy. Not sure what the connection was there.
And I looked up "test" and "discipline" in my concordance. Most of what falls under "test" comes from a few things in the Old Testament about God testing Israel. There are some laments not to be tested in the Psalms. And there's a bunch of "don't put the Lord your God to the test" from the gospels.
"Discipline" pops up in Hebrews. Those verses, combined with some "testing" stuff from James, are what's really bothering me at the moment. Because I have a really hard time with this whole idea. It all comes off a lot like God saying, "this hurts me more than it hurts you." It feels highly oppressive; an idea easily abused to silence those who are suffering.
It sure bothers me in my own life. Is God sending us infertility to "test" us? To "discipline" us? (I wouldn't argue that I could use more discipline, but this doesn't seem particularly helpful as a teaching method.) Does God send cancer, or famine, or hurricanes, or political turmoil - you fill in the blank - to "test" us?
This is an area where I feel the need to remove my shoes. We are standing on holy ground, and I am full of the fear of the Lord - in its straightforward, terrified, sense. The only testing story which gives me any hope is of Jesus in the wilderness, turning down the temptations of Satan in favor of a modest, fully human life. That Jesus is the one with me in my suffering.
I am not sure, however, that I am ready to believe any of it is a test. I wonder what people will have to say on Sunday. Should be interesting.
The foolishness of the wise is perhaps nowhere better illustrated than by the way the three Magi went to Herod the Great, King of the Jews, to find out the whereabouts of the child who had just been born King of the Jews to supplant him. It did not even strike them as suspicious when Herod asked them to be sure to let him know when they found him so he could hurry on down to pay his respects.
Luckily for the holy child, after the three Magi had followed their star to the manger and left him their presents, they were tipped off in a dream to avoid Herod like the plague on their way home.
Herod was fit to be tied when he realized he'd been had and ordered the murder of every male child two years old and under in the district. For all his enormous power, he knew there was somebody in diapers more powerful still. The wisdom of the foolish is perhaps nowhere better illustrated.
From Listening to Your Life, a devotional book by Frederich Buechner.
This Friday Five is great because I have a January birthday too! I'm still waiting for mine. Now I'm really in the mood for a celebration...
1. "It's my party and I'll [blank] if I want to..."
My favorite way to celebrate my birthday? Lately, just dinner out with my husband and a great friend (and her husband) - both the women have January birthdays, so we call it our BIRTHDAY EXTRAVAGANZA (it's important to say this in all capital letters).
2. "You say it's your birthday... it's my birthday too, yeah..."
Yep, I share my birthday with someone famous: Martin Luther King, Jr. I have always been illogically proud of this - illogical because I, of course, had nothing to do with choosing my birthday. But I'm honored to be associated in any super small way with Dr. King, so I'll take it.
3. "Lordy Lordy look who's forty..."
Milestone birthdays...require a milestone celebration, in my opinion. I guess my next milestone will be 40, but that's a ways off still. But why ignore your great years? I say, pull out all the stops and party.
4. "Happy birthday, dear... Customer..."
Have I been sung to in a restaurant? Yes. When I was 10, and my parents took us to a local restaurant where they made balloon crowns for the birthday kid's head. It was fantastic then. I no longer crave this, however.
5. "Take my birthday--please"
One advantage of my birthday: see comments on MLK Jr. above. Disadvantage: petty, but true...it's awfully close to Christmas. I get all my presents in a 20-day period. Then that's it. Which is no big deal when you're my current age, but as a kid, it's a bummer.
I am so excited because I start teaching an adult class this Sunday on Job. It seems strange to me that "Job" and "excited" are in the same sentence, but nevertheless, there it is. I find Job completely fascinating. Stephen Mitchell's recent translation (called simply, The Book of Job) is great. We're starting with the introduction and Job's first raging response in chapter three this week. Good stuff.
And it's always interesting to me to hear what parishoners bring to the table. Cliche aside, I undoubtedly learn as much from them as I am ever able to offer. Particularly around issues of suffering and grief, and hope in the midst of them.
I wrote earlier about a list of items called "Wisdom for Pastors," by Krister Stendahl. Here's the one that's making the most sense for me today:
Be aware that you are not the only medium of the Word; God's Word will also echo to you from the hearts and minds of those you are to serve and shepherd.
This is most certainly true.
Let me preface this by saying that the following is not a New Year's resolution. Having only ever kept one such resolution in my entire life - a commitment, when I was about 15, to put lotion on my hands every day - I no longer practice this form of discipline. I do, however, think the following is a really good idea which needs to be incorporated into my life, and happens upon me at the start of a new year. Disclaimer noted.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that my husband and I have been trying to have a baby. In spite of all warnings by my 8th grade health teacher, it turns out that this process is not as easy - for us - as one would have anticipated. I know the struggle to conceive is mightily distracting for me. So I have been trying to face it head on. I have been trying to admit that, after one year, we are officially in the "infertile zone." Which doesn't mean we'll be there forever, but there's no longer any point in denying the problem.
I found a book the other day on infertility, written to help women with the "mind-body connection," and trying to encourage practices which help stem the panicking tide of "we'll never have a baby!" One of the disciplines mentioned was that of mindfulness. For some reason, this particular chapter struck me as deeply important.
Of course I don't have the book in front of me - I never have the book in front of me when I'm writing things like this - but the author talked about how much of the time we spend anticipating the next bend around the corner. For women struggling to conceive, you're always waiting for the next thing: the next time you'll ovulate, the next time it will be well-timed to have sex, the next time you might get your period. You skip over the present moment with worries about what might, or will, be.
I do this in my church work too. I am never content when things are going well, just waiting for the next crisis. And in the midst of the crisis, I am waiting for the next person to get angry. My anxiety has become almost overwhelming. I usually live at a sort of low-grade anxiety level - a kind of yellow-alert-stage thing, if the government were grading me - but even I have noticed that it is getting really, really bad. Time to do something about that.
Mindfulness is the intentional focusing on this moment. The sound of the keys as I type. The sound of the guitar as it plays on NPR in my office. The taste of the decaf (stupid infertility) latte I drank in the car this morning. This moment. Not the next day, not the next week, not the next time I will have to buy tampons, not the next person who gets mad about the liturgy I chose for Advent.
Of course, Jesus already said, "Today's trouble is enough for today." Damn, that man was wise. I think I will try that for awhile. See how that goes. It's helping already, I can tell you that. I'm sure I will fail regularly. But there I go again, anticipating something too far ahead. For right now, my office is warm. There is snow outside. It is time for Performance Today on the radio. And that is enough.
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