a christmas miracle

It is December 18. And (drum roll here) the Christmas Eve sermon is done.

That, my friends, is a gen-ew-ine Christmas miracle.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

church nerd alert level: orange.

You know you are an unrepentant church nerd when you spend most of the day doing the bulletins for Christmas Eve, and then, when someone asks how your day was, you say, "Great! I had so much fun!"

I may need to get out more often.

advent. again.

I used to love Advent. Along with Lent, it was my favorite church season: short enough to be tightly woven with text, song, and imagery; a place apart from the frantic nature of the Christmas-Industrial Complex surrounding us; a time full of promises and babies and hope and joy.

Yep - I used to love Advent. Used to.

I'm not sure whether I hate Advent now. I think 'hate' would be a bit too strong. There are still things I love about Advent as a pastor: that text/song/imagery thing is still awesome, and I love the hymns especially, and I love preaching during Advent. (Mostly.)

But those babies. Those damn babies. They're everywhere during this season, this freaking baby-centered season, damn babies showing up right and left, born after long times of waiting, born before they were ever expected - they're omnipresent. Like fruitcake.

I know what you're saying: who hates babies? Who is this woman? Who hates babies during Advent?

Infertile women. Infertile women hate babies during Advent.

(Please note that I do not actually HATE babies. But sometimes it feels that way.)

This is, in case you were keeping track (like me), my fifth Advent sans baby. We are now officially beginning our fifth year of trying to get pregnant. Which, if you were counting months (like me), would bring us to a grand total of 48 consecutive non-baby months. (Except for last April, when I was pregnant for about 24 hours until it turned out to be ectopic. I don't count that.)

Yesterday, my brother and his wife sent us a card to tell us that they are pregnant. This is very nice, in theory. The card thing was very thoughtful and indeed, did give me space to react (i.e. rage and swear until the paint practically blistered off the wall) in my own time. I appreciated that.

I was doing pretty well until that announcement. We are gearing up for another treatment cycle starting in January, so I was focused on that. It felt good to be hopeful again.

And now, it's just another Advent where someone I love is pregnant, and it's not me. And where the thing I hate the most, much more than said pregnant person, is my own hideous, self-centered reaction to the news. Another Thanksgiving where I have to stand up in the pulpit and talk about gratitude, which today feels a million miles away. Another Advent where I will watch other people's children dress up in old bedsheets and fall over themselves trying to get up the aisle to be shepherds so that their parents can smile and take their photo and then go home and put their sleepy shepherds to bed. Another Advent where I will preach about Elizabeth and Mary and secretly curse them both during the hymn of the day.

It's Advent. Again. Without child. Again. And today, I wish I could fast-forward to January 1. Again.

Good luck with me, God. You've got your work cut out for you this year.

on being patronized

Nearly eleven years into ordained ministry, and I still run into this problem.

Today, I was visiting with some people from a neighboring congregation. They'd come over to see our seniors group, since they're thinking about starting one of their own - we started chatting, and then suddenly they were asking all sorts of questions. Our conversation went something like this:

Patronizing Ladies: "So, are you the senior pastor here?"

Me: "No, I'm the associate."

PL: "Oh, that's nice. So how long have you been here?"

M: "About two years. And I was in Old City for about nine years before that."

PL: "Oh, my goodness! You don't look old enough for that!" (and here one of said ladies put her hand on my arm in that SUPER PATRONIZING sort of way, the whole, "you just look so young" kind of thing.)

(Let me say that, in fact, I do take some steps to keep myself looking young. Or, young-er. Young-ish. I take care of my skin. I, yes, I dye my hair, because I am seriously prematurely grey and would be very, very salt-and-pepper hair if I didn't, and I'm just not quite ready for that at age 36. However, my grandmother - who gave me this super-curly hair in the first place - had gorgeous silver hair, and my goal is to slide into that in my 50's or 60's. I refuse to be the old lady with suspiciously black hair. It's too weird.)

Anyway. Interestingly, I find that this sort of patronizing, "but you're so young!" behavior comes almost entirely from women. I can't remember the last time a man said that to me. Maybe guys just don't notice age the way women do. Or maybe they have decided that commenting on a colleague's appearance in any way is dangerous territory, and they're staying out of it. (Probably wise.)

But I think there's more to it than that. Why is it always women who insist that I'm so young, that they "could never have been a pastor" at my age (yep, I've gotten that one), that, well...let's finish today's conversation.

Patronizing Ladies: "So, what year did you graduate from college?"

Me: (Dreading probable response) "1995."

PL: "Oh, my goodness - you're just a baby!" (Insert Patronizing Arm Grip again here.)

WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ABOUT? First of all, I'm two months away from being 37. I'm freewheeling toward forty here, people. I'm still young - you bet. But a BABY? What is THAT about?

Would it have been okay for me to say to her, "you're getting pretty old, aren't you? Are you STILL working? Wow - you're no spring chicken."

Obviously that would be bad. I would never do this. Because it would be irritating, and rude, and I would probably get beat up a lot.

I have no idea where to go with this, which is probably why I came here. It's just that it really bugs me. It bugs that it's women that do this (at least to me). I've made it a personal creed not to do this to women in ministry who are younger than I am. Does this ring true for anyone else?

one of those days

I'm having one of those days. You know, the kind where it's raining and dreary and you are about to welcome a speaker for a class you are pretty sure no one will show up for, and also you screwed up and double-booked yourself on a Sunday and had to admit your foolish mistake because there was no way out of it, and also you're suffering from pretty serious jet lag. You know, one of those days.

At text study today, we got into a discussion about general lack of participation in our churches. It seems to be something of an epidemic at the moment, people saying how much they want a certain program, or class, or worship opportunity, but then never actually showing up for the stuff you put together. This gets old. Fast. Because of my jet lag, I woke up at 5:00am this morning with DOOM, DOOM thoughts running in my head - this is the sort of thing I usually do at 3:00am, when it's possible to go back to sleep and then wake up and realize what an idiot you were, but when you do it at 5:00, there's not much time to clean the slate. So I got up, and I'm still spinning in a vortex of worry and frustration.

It's partly exhaustion, for sure, but it's also the trail end of the honeymoon period in New Congregation. They just don't show up for the stuff I do at the rate they show up for the stuff my colleague does. He's been here 25 years, so this makes a lot of sense when you look at it from a purely objective perspective (at which, let's face it, I suck). And right now a few no-show-things are coinciding, along with the jet lag, which makes me much more negative than I really am.

Sometimes the minutiae of ministry - the administrative stuff, the human-resources stuff, the petty arguments and the anxieties and the ego bruises and the tiredness - just gets you down. It always passes. Sleep helps, for one thing.

And sometimes you just have to admit that you're having a crappy day. Nothing dramatic; nothing life-altering. Just crummy. This too, shall pass. Soon and very soon, I hope.

damn yankees.

Sigh.

I guess the value of the widow's mite doesn't apply to major league baseball.

Stupid Yankees.

That is all.

keeping it in perspective

Okay. I don't know if you do this, but I tend to blow things way out of proportion. As in, let's say, one person in the congregation is mad about something involving me, and by the time I'm done with my 3am freak-out session, I'm sure that I'm about to go into the office and get fired because everybody hates me. You never do that, do you? No. Certainly not. It's ridiculous.

But it does help to write down some perspective-keeping things. In the spirit of which:

1. One angry person is just that: one angry person. Not the whole church. Chill.

2. This person's particular anger is probably not about you at all. Even though it's aimed at you. Don't take it personally.

3. This person's particular beef is way, way off base. You know this.

4. You have the full and complete support of your fellow staff members and the council and, I'm guessing, 98% of the congregation. Not bad.

5. Tomorrow, this whole conversation you need to have with Angry Person will be over and done with. And life will go on.

6. The last, oh, one hundred times you've had to have a conversation with an Angry Person, it never went as badly as you thought it would. (Except for that one time, which was worse. But that was an isolated incident. Let it go.)

7. You can be firm and gracious at the same time. Really.

8. Also, there is apple pie in the fridge when you get home. Not that you want to go overboard with this as a coping mechanism, but it's there.

Okay. Ready to go.

sideswiped

Huh.

After ten years of ordained ministry, you'd think I would be accustomed to random, 'where the heck did that come from' attacks. Rare (thankfully), but they do happen.

However...not accustomed to them. They still hurt. Even if they are easily dismissed as baseless.

Definitely leaves a dent, though.

to bless or not to bless

I haven't been blogging much lately, for which there are a few legitimate reasons and some not-so-legitimate ones. But, on the off chance that anyone is still reading this, I'd love some opinions on a family situation.

I have two younger brothers, neither of whom attend church. I've always been very cautious about even mentioning that to them, both because a.) my mother mentions it enough for everyone; and b.) my experience is that many people assume pastors will pressure people to go to church, and I don't want to play that role in my family. (Or ever, really.)

A year ago - almost exactly - my middle brother and his wife had a baby girl. Whom we love and adore and cannot get enough of, but whom they did not baptize. This has been hard on my parents, who (in spite of my mom's attempts to get my brothers to go to church) are very generous and progressive Christians and who see faith as the center of their lives. They have not pressured my brother and his wife to baptize their daughter, but she is their only grandchild and I know they are sad that this hasn't happened.

My sister-in-law has not much religious background. Her parents were divorced when she was a teenager, after years of a very rocky and unstable relationship. Her dad, who is a really nice guy and close to my sister-in-law, is not religious at all. Her mom, who is a high-maintenance, demanding, and self-centered crazy lady, is also the Christian in the family. GREAT. She and my sister-in-law don't have a great relationship. When I look at those dynamics, it's no wonder my sister-in-law doesn't have much interest in Christianity - even in spite of the very different example she's seen for ten years in my parents. As a small addition, when my sister-in-law did go to church in her younger years, it was a Baptist church, so there's no tradition of infant baptism in her life anyway, regardless of how she feels about church now.

So. This week is my niece's first birthday, and my brother and sister-in-law decided to have a 'blessing' ceremony for her. They really want me to officiate at it, which I was delighted to do. My first thought was that this is a way for me to participate in something important to them, and to honor their spirituality (my sister-in-law's, really). Although I would love for my niece to be baptized, I really don't think it's appropriate unless her parents take seriously the promises parents make at a baptism - to bring the child to worship, teach them the faith, etc. - but this seemed like a way to keep the door open, just in case. God works in mysterious ways, right?

Then they sent me a copy of the ceremony. And here's where I'm hitting some problems.

It's very nice and Mother-Earth-y, very "will you help her grow to accept her beauty...may she walk in ways of peace and compassion, etc." No problems there. No mention of God, but I'm not interested in forcing that on them.

There's really just one line which grates on me: it's a question for the parents, asking if they will "help her to grow and hold her close" (fine, sounds good), "and let her go when it is time" (okay, all well there), "so that she may know that she alone can complete herself" (uh-oh).

She alone can complete herself? I don't believe that. I think I get what it's supposed to mean - that she doesn't have to have a boyfriend, or husband (or wife, if that's the case), or any other person on whom she depends for her self-esteem in an unhealthy way. But I don't think she can "complete herself." I don't think any of us can. And really, although I think I understand what it's supposed to mean in this context, I don't think my brother and sister-in-law believe that either.

Of course, the big reason I don't believe that is because I think the good news of the gospel is precisely that we can't complete ourselves, in spite of all our efforts to the contrary, and that God has already loved us so deeply that we are complete in that love. But that would require me to talk about Jesus, which doesn't seem like a good idea in this context.

For the sake of the family relationships here, I'm going to do this blessing even if I have to cross my fingers behind my back for the "complete herself" part. But while I've been writing this out, it occurred to me that what I could do is talk through my disagreement on that one with them and see if we could re-word that bit. We do have a great relationship, and they did ask for my thoughts on the ceremony, so I think they're open to suggestions.

In other words, after all this explaining, I may just have answered my own question. But I'd love to hear from others. When the spirituality of those you love crashes into yours, what do you do?

if only peace were so contagious

To the two parishioners who are FREAKED OUT that they are going to get the swine flu from passing the peace by handshake on Sunday mornings:

Chill.

Out.

No, we are not going to stop sharing the peace.

No, we are not going to install hand sanitizer dispensers in the sanctuary.

No, we cannot save you from getting the flu, unless we outfit everyone with a hazmat suit, and that seems to be pretty bad theology (not to mention expensive. And distracting).

If you wish not to shake hands during flu season, then just don't shake hands. It's that simple.

Besides, let's do the math: there are 168 hours in a week. You spend ONE of them here. Maybe three, if you're around for other activities (during which there is no forced handshaking, so I'm just going to count the one). 1 of 168 hours is about .005% of your time. Yes, you might get the flu here. Definitely possible. But not overly likely.

Everybody should just calm down. Wash your hands. Take a deep breath, and RELAX.

Sincerely,
Your slightly irritated pastor.

just a Friday

Now that I'm one of two pastors and I don't preach every week, I don't really know what to do with my Fridays. I still carve them out on my schedule as 'sermon-writing day' and, out of 9 years of habit, I rarely make appointments on Fridays, but then I find myself on a day like today, with no sermon to write, and I feel...a bit disoriented.

Don't get me wrong: I have stuff to do. But it still feels weird.

I think we have figured out how to handle the 'should we or shouldn't we' situation from the post below. After a meeting with the interested parties last night, we decided that our committee which works with these matters should come up with a proposal for how the congregation might go about endorsing a political issue. I don't think we can even start thinking about the possibility unless we all agree on the ground rules beforehand. And while it's a bit late for this election cycle, there are a few things we can do related to this particular referendum - not as public as some would like, but better than nothing.

Today I'm going to the funeral of a friend from elementary school. A strange reality. She died after a surgery - the cause is not yet clear, and it seems impossible to me that the girl who ran up and down the basketball court like a ball of fire is being buried today. I haven't seen her for years. Her mom was our CampfireGirls leader (mostly we sat in their basement and ate cookies, with the occasional craft project interjected).

After the funeral, I will be racing home to finish cleaning my house, as my in-laws arrive today. My mother-in-law, whom I love, is about the cleanest person you have ever met. And while I know she would never judge the cleanliness of my house, I can't stop myself from purging the place as if the President were coming whenever they're here for a visit.

A meeting with a baptismal family tomorrow. A graveside service for the father of a church member on Monday (switching day off to next Friday). An adult education class to plan for next week.

I suppose these aren't especially blogworthy moments - no great stories lately - but sometimes I lose sight of the promise that our ordinary days are infused with God's presence. So I'm trying to remind myself of that on this ordinary Friday.

things that make you go, "Huh. I have no idea what to do about that."

Well, I think I have myself a genuine, bona-fide dilemma here.

I've had this problem before, and I'm sure I'll have it again: it falls into the "how public is the nature of my call, really?" category, with a generous helping of the always-interesting side dish, "how prophetic can one be without getting in serious trouble?"

I live in a state which is inordinately fond of referendums and initiatives and all manner of political machinations which can either be understood as, "Cool! Power to the people! Everybody participates in the process!" or, "If we're all going to vote on every bloody issue anyway, why did we even bother to elect a legislature?" (Can you guess which side I'm on?) At the moment, we have a few of these things in front of us. One in particular is causing me some problems today.

The referendum in question has to do with the state's so-called 'Everything But Marriage' law, which gives the rights of a married couple to same-sex couples (and to older couples living together who can't afford to get married because of various changes that would cause in their benefit status,but naturally, the same-sex-couple part is getting all the attention). The legislature put this law into action awhile ago, but some people who oppose it have managed to scrape together enough signatures to force the issue onto a general ballot.

I know how I feel, personally, on this issue, which is that I support it almost wholeheartedly (my only reservation being that I wish we would just open a marriage option for same-sex couples instead of playing all these other games, but I guess that's a bit farther down the road). This will probably come as no surprise to anyone who knows me.

Because my congregation is openly welcoming to gay and lesbian men and women, I doubt that any of my parishioners would be surprised by my opinion either. But, naturally, there are some folks here who would not support the law - or me. A few who are especially passionate about this issue, however, have asked if the congregation would publicly support this referendum.

My gut instinct was quick: "we can't do that." There aren't a lot of hard and fast rules in parish ministry, but one of the few I know is that the congregation can't get involved in telling people how to vote. We can encourage them to vote, and we can give them information on issues, but we have to represent both sides. If you don't do this, the IRS comes in the middle of the night and takes away all your hymnals and also revokes your tax-free status. (Or, just that second part. I think.)

But then I went onto the website supporting this referendum, which has a very handy section for faith groups, and discovered that - lo and behold - there are congregations and synagogues and other faith groups which have signed their community names publicly offering support for this issue.

Which leaves me with two questions, one of which probably matters more than the other: 1.) can we publicly support this? and 2.) even if we can, should we?

We talk a lot about inclusivity in this congregation, and a big part of my concern here is that we tend to forget that we need to be inclusive of those who disagree with us. One of the things I am most proud of in the ELCA's decisions regarding sexuality this summer is the quality of the concern for the deeply-held convictions of all people. I may be horrified by the convictions of some people, but unless I believe those very people are my brothers and sisters in Christ, and act accordingly, then we are not really being the church.

And yet...it comes in pretty handy that my desire to be a welcoming church even to the more conservative among us just happens to align with my natural tendency to be, in short, chickenshit. Am I really concerned about the viewpoints of all people? Or am I just too wimpy to take a stand? At what point does "concern for the viewpoints of all" morph into "never having the guts to be prophetic"?

I've made a call to some people who can help me answer the "can we do this?" question. (I know we can't advocate for candidates or parties, but apparently the whole referendum thing is kind of a grey area.) The "should we?" is a whole other question. I've put in a prayer about that, but nothing so far. Except this post.

Jump in with whatever you've got. We'll see where it goes.

still alive

You know how you go on vacation for, let's say, three weeks - and you have a great time, a wonderful time of resting and relaxing and hanging out with friends and family, and you feel totally and completely great, and then you come back to work all smiley and happy and you get HIT OVER THE HEAD WITH 257 EMAILS and last-minute preparations for Rally Day and Sunday School and HOW ON EARTH are there that many confirmation kids?

Yeah. That's my week.

I had a great vacation. And now I'm barely keeping my head above water, though I have to admit that it's fun to be back at work.

Aside from the update, here's my blogworthy moment for the day:

Listening to NPR on the way home, I heard the end of a story about some woven flax dyed string found in a cave (I think) and dating to about 30,000 years ago. The expert being interviewed talked about how string would have been a huge technological achievement for the time, enabling people to carry larger burdens or tie things together. Flax, of course, is what you can weave to make linen - but clothes weren't worn in those days, she said. "If you were cold, you would wrap yourself in the pelt of whatever you ate for dinner," she continued. "Clothes came into being more for fashion - and they weren't a big deal until we developed have's and have-not's, so that clothing became about what you were wearing as opposed to what other people had or didn't have."

Which made me think about Adam and Eve, frantically fashioning bits of loincloths for themselves in the garden. Was it just about covering nakedness? Or is that story the very beginning of the have's and the have-not's - and all the chaos that follows?

Maybe it will show up in a sermon one day. I'll call it "string theory."

Hopefully back to regular blogging in a few more days.

things I love friday

Inspired by my friend at Seeking to Build a Bridge, I'm listing some things I particularly love at the moment. For two reasons: 1.) sermon procrastination; and 2.) more importantly, practicing gratitude. After inner-and-outer complaining about the heat all week, it's time to knock off the whining.

1. Cooler temperatures (and air conditioning) - okay, well, I'll start with something related to the heat. After several days above 100 degrees, we're at a nice mid-80's today. There was a cool breeze this morning. And we have air conditioning at home, so we could at least sleep alright. All good things.

2. The tomatoes - at least they loved the heat, and they're chock full o' green globes. Just about to turn red. We planted them a bit late, but oh, the anticipation of a home-grown tomato...can't beat it.

3. Hanging clothes out to dry - I work off some of my guilt about running the air conditioner by trying not to use the dryer all summer. Plus, you get that amazing fresh-off-the-line smell. LOVE.

4. Books, books, books - after a childhood of Summer Reading Programs, I find myself inexorably pulled toward a marathon of book-reading every summer. No one gives me cool stickers for it anymore, but that's okay. Right now I'm (finally) reading Sophie's Choice, interspersed with a few mysteries and that book about the Potato Pie and Literary Club, or whatever. All good.

5. Manna - I love the manna story. I love that manna means, "what IS it?" I love having fun writing the sermon.

6. Breyers' Fruit Bars - they are cold. They are fruity. AND THEY ARE ONLY FORTY CALORIES. Enough said.

7. This review of The Shack by PeaceBang - I was going to get around to writing a review myself, but this one said it all.

8. Reconciliation - so the other day, I got an email from a woman who used to be a member of Wholly Busy Congregation. "Used to," as in, "in 1968." She explained in the email that she had left as an angry parishioner in the midst of a painful divorce. And that she was now joining a nearby congregation but wanted to reconcile with her old one before starting over again. So she came in today, and we had the most amazing and lovely conversation, about her grief and how much she regretted her actions, and her time away from church, and her sadness that her two sons had not had a church home. And how her daughter - over whom she had truly left church - had somehow, over the years, found her way into a congregation and became the door through which her mother could enter again. It was amazing. And such an honor. And if I do nothing else productive this summer, being part of that conversation was enough. Sometimes I forget the myriad of ways that God can resurrect the dead.

the bread of life in a low-carb world

Oh, the bread of life. You arrive again for six long weeks in the middle of a god-awful hot summer (a term I do not use lightly; it was 106 on my deck, in the shade, yesterday; and this in a place where we usually think 85 is SUPER hot).

I went to text study today and we talked about the lectionary readings for next Sunday, which is particularly confusing in the midst of this series since I can hardly tell one week from another after all these weeks of the bread of life. Years ago, I was - well, complaining - to a colleague, a woman I have known for a long time who is, hands down, the best preacher I know in real life. I said something about how I 'just couldn't take one more week on the bread of life,' and she smiled sadly and said gently, "I always loved those weeks; it was like holding a gem in the light and seeing all its facets." I felt like crap. (I do think a bit of her romanticism was due to no longer serving in a parish, but only a bit - she really meant it.)

I try to remember this gem image now, but all I can really think of is how my feet are practically swelling right out of my sandals and I'm starting to wonder if we should begin a special capital campaign to get airconditioning in the whole building. The whining seems entirely appropriate to this week's first reading. (One of the profs on Working Preacher said, "I envision this whole scene taking place in a minivan.") How much longer is this going to last? Where are we going? When are we going to get there? What is this stupid flaky bread, anyway? Where's the protein? What's for dessert?

We got into a big discussion at text study about what people expect from church. One colleague had dealt with a parishioner - the kind that never come to worship but consider themselves connected to the congregation - who had been heard complaining at a local event that she no longer attended worship because, "I come to church to be inspired, not to be made to feel guilty." What do people expect from the bread of life, or from the community which claims to be fed by it? It seems like a lot of people want to be part of the church without any conversion experience. What we preachers hear as good news - your stuff doesn't matter, your life is more than your work, you are loved beyond what you accomplish - isn't good news if you can't separate your identity from those things. Then you just feel naked and exposed, which even in the worst heat, isn't a great feeling.

I'm thinking about the blueberry muffins I made last week, when it was warm but not HOT. I kept them in a nice glass container with a lid on the counter. Every morning I took one out for breakfast, until the fourth day, when I opened the container and all those lovely muffins had molded. Give us this day our daily bread. Such a deep, beautiful, and yet insignificant image. Bread is just bread. A dime a slice (well, not anymore, but you get the point) - disposable, to us. One loaf molds; you pick up another at the grocery store. So ordinary.

So we fill ourselves with much fancier things because, after all, just bread couldn't be enough, right? There must be more than that. How...bourgeouis.

I think the "daily" bit is the hardest part. It doesn't seem very secure. How about weekly bread? Or bi-monthly? I like gettting my bread on the 15th and the 30th of each month, personally. Makes it easier to plan ahead.

No, I suppose not.

I started re-reading Take This Bread by Sara Miles, looking for some preaching help. I ran across this prayer:

God of abundance, you feed us every day.
Rise in us now, make us into your bread,
that we may share your gifts with a hungry world,
and join in love with all people, through
Jesus Christ our Lord.

Maybe that's enough for today.

summer school

Summer does teach you stuff, mostly outside the classroom.

For instance, today I learned that, although I have a four-year Master's degree followed by quite a bit of continuing education and, although I can write fairly well, and although I can gather a lot of information about church history for a future teaching opportunity (by the way, here's what I learned from my dive into church history today: Christians are SERIOUSLY messed up) -

in spite of all this, I cannot, for the life of me, correctly operate the sprinkler in our front yard. After 20 minutes, I have managed to water a.) much of the sidewalk; b.) my shorts; c.) my shoes; and d.) about 10 percent of the lawn.

There's a reason I'm not the primary yard-worker in this house, that's all I'm saying.

Laugh it up, stupid sprinkler. I will not accept defeat so easily. I will return and FIGURE YOU OUT, or, more accurately, I will SEND MY HUSBAND OUT THERE because he actually knows what he's doing. And then I will read a book. AND LAUGH AT YOU, STUPID SPRINKLER. Now, please excuse me while I go change into dry pants. HA HA HA HA HA.

identity and decisions

I'm not normally a big news-junkie, but I'm fascinated lately with the whole Supreme Court confirmation process. Partly, yes, because the nominee is a woman. Partly because I am tremendously relieved that the previous President didn't get to nominate additional candidates, given that he and I agreed politically on, you know, NOTHING.

But mostly because of this whole debate about identity and decision-making. Apparently, Justice Roberts claimed during his confirmation hearings that a justice ought to be like an umpire, simply calling balls and strikes without any personal subjectivity whatsoever. At which point, someone on the liberal side of the aisle claimed that such an image left no room for the humanity of a judge, so that we might as well have a computer making the decisions for us. And then this whole concept collided with Sotomayor's compelling personal story and her (I believe) off-handed remark, once upon a time, that a 'wise Latina' might make better decisions as a judge.

First off, I have no doubt that not a single one of us - congresspersons included - would make it through a process this invasive without running into some dumb, thoughtless, or otherwise ripped-out-of-context remark thrown in our faces. It's a wonder to me that anyone survives to make it into a government position at all.

And yes, I understand that a judge's personal story, biases, and experiences should not be the primary factor in making decisions from the bench. That has obvious problems.

But the insistence coming from legislators that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should your personal history have ANYTHING TO DO WITH ANY DECISION - this is ridiculous. And, to my mind, utterly naive.

Hey, congress; let me tell you what any reasonable adult ought to know: there is no such thing as objectivity. We are all captive to our own stories, at one point or another. Every single one of us is subjective all day long, and if you ever think you are being otherwise, then all you have done is to find yourself in a situation which aligns itself with your own biases. The only way to deal with this is to admit it, and do the best you can to hear all the stories involved - yours included. Any judicial candidate who claims that he or she can, in fact, act without any subjectivity is a candidate you should run from. Fast. And far. Because that's either a lie, or a huge, huge blind spot.

I know that the Justice Statue Lady has a blindfold and everything, but that's a lie too. Justice is not blind. Justice is not about being, or trying to be, blind to all the biases claiming space in front of you. Justice is about seeing all of them and trying to hold them in balance.

And yes, I think this has something to do with God. There is an image out there of an Umpire God, a completely impassive force who decides for you or against you based on evidence alone, who acts without passion, whose job it is to try and make life as 'fair' as possible.

That's an image of God out there, but for my money, it sure isn't a Christian one. The Christian image of God is Jesus, incarnate in all his biased, subjective flesh, who took that enfleshed experience into God's very heart. God is not objective. God is very, very, unapologetically biased in favor of all creation.

And, hey - if God can't even pull off objectivity, I don't know how Sotomayor is supposed to do it. Or any other justice. Or me. Or you, for that matter. And I don't think we are even supposed to try.

(On the very off-chance that I am ever nominated for a government position, this blog post is totally coming back to haunt me.)

this week brought to you by the letters...

...VBS.*

Which means that this Friday afternoon will be brought to you by the word, "Margarita."

Chances of blogging this week: slim to none. See you next week.

*VBS = "Vacation Bible School," in case the letters are unfamiliar to you. 163 kids, 85 volunteers. I need a nap.

what's on my desk: second edition

I did this awhile ago, and it serves two purposes: one, to make the readers of this blog feel better about the potentially messy state of their own desks (not you, naturally); and two, to prompt me to CLEAN UP MY DESK.

So. Here goes. Currently on my (admittedly, rather large) desk:

• 1 pile of books-to-be-read (7)
• 1 pile of books-I-am-sort-of-reading (8)
• I pile of books-I-am-totally-going-to-put-away-any-minute-now (4, plus 1 DVD)
• beggars bowl (still empty!)
• 4 back issues of Christian Century
• Notes from a meeting two weeks ago
• Next year's confirmation teaching schedule
• Feasting on the Word, open to this Sunday's gospel lesson
• yellow note pad with notes for this week's sermon (which, yes, I should be working on)
• 2 coffee mugs, including my "does this pulpit make my butt look big" mug from RevGals
• sunglasses
• a hymnal open to this Sunday's hymn of the day (Lord, Speak to Us that We May Speak)
• two candles
• bible, open to this Sunday's gospel lesson
• book I am currently reading (The Pastor as Minor Poet, which ROCKS)
• an old Sunday School craft project
• My Big Fat Greek Wedding (just the case, as I can't find the actual DVD...which I used during confirmation for teaching on baptism - "I'm Greek now.")
  
• Lutheran World relief commuter coffee mug
• letter from a local rabbi offering to speak at our church (which we scheduled already)
• last year's annual report (don't ask)
• worship bulletin from Good Friday (good Lord, it's JULY)
• wedding photo
• sugared walnuts, a Christmas gift from parishioner
• water jug
• jar of chocolates
• kleenex box
• flyer for Wo.men of Faith conference (buried on purpose)
• two pens
• post-it note pad from alum seminary
• business card with Millennium Development Goals
• small wooden carving of Mary, from Israel trip 12 years ago

And this doesn't even count the countertop across my office...

time to clean.

thanks, karl malden

Dear Karl Malden,

I'm fairly sure you won't see this post, given that I just read that you died today at age 97. You had some great roles, and you deserve our thanks for that.

But mostly, I want to thank you for this episode of The West Wing, which got me completely addicted to the show.



Because if I hadn't seen your scene, I would have missed (among other great moments), this one:



And seriously: no one should miss that. So, Mr. Malden, thank you. Job well done.

Sincerely,

Pastor Shalom

ick

Some pastoral conversations verge well into the 'ick factor,' if you know what I mean. There can be a lot of reasons for that - some of them are downright humorous - but the ones which really get to me are the conversations you find yourself in when, halfway through, you realize that you are probably being used, and it's too late to cut things off easily.

"Hmmm," you are saying to yourself. "This does not sound like a hypothetical situation." Which is correct. Let me explain.

I got a phone call this morning from a woman who has been attending Wholly Busy Congregation for awhile. [Side note: I've been looking for an anonymous internet name for my current congregation and have settled on Wholly Busy, I think. I do love this place. But the schedule verges on the insane.] She is a refugee from Neighboring Congregation, which fell apart in spectacular fashion about a year ago, culminating in the firing and subsequent divorce of their clergy couple pastors. I've largely stayed away from the stories about this event, because a.) I don't really want to know; and b.) I'm never getting a full picture of this thing anyway, because the people who came over to Wholly Busy are from one particular side of the debate.

For the past year, Senior Pastor and I have been working to connect these folks to Wholly Busy as appropriate, primarily to keep them from forming a support group with one another and thus perpetuating their hurt, frustration, and occasionally WAY inappropriate behavior here. Frankly, we weren't terribly excited about welcoming a bloc of pissed-off parishioners who can't find anyplace to vent their anger. (I wonder why.) But kicking them out didn't seem right either.

So, this morning I got a call from one of the ringleaders of said bloc, who started with an Innocent but Slightly Weird Question (RED FLAG WARNING: most 'ick' conversations start out this way). Which then, as you can guess, quickly devolved into a long list of her complaints about the way the situation was handled at Neighboring Congregation, and how the Powers That Be screwed it up, and how it is an EVIL place (trust me, the capital letters came through in her voice).

Sometimes, I find that pastoral conversations leave me without words. When someone confesses a deep secret or hurt; when someone wonders about the presence of God in their suffering; when someone is struggling deeply with faith - in those times, it can be hard to find the right words. Yes, sometimes silence is best anyway. But articulating anything meaningful can be very difficult.

But then, there are times when I know exactly what I ought to say. Either God is whispering in my ear directly, or my own agenda is enormously clear in the moment (tricky to discern, some days), and the words are there. Like magic. But they can't be said. That's icky.

What I wanted to say was something like this: "Okay. You insist that you have moved on and that you no longer want to attend Neighboring Congregation. You have not been there for a year. And yet you are still insisting on meeting with the Powers That Be because you claim that you are just trying to use your energy in positive ways and make sure that this NEVER, EVER happens to another TOTALLY WONDERFUL PASTOR again - a perspective you insist is utterly rational and objective.

Lady: you, and your friends, are fucked up. Let it go. It's not your congregation anymore. Move on. Get a life. You left: now finish leaving, and knock it off. Okay? Thanks for calling."

No, I did not say this. I did say something more gentle about letting go of the past and moving forward, about letting that congregation do its work on its own, all of which appeared to fall on deaf ears.

And then I put down the phone and shuddered a bit, and started studying again for Sunday's sermon, at which point I re-read the Ezekiel lesson: "A voice said to me, O mortal, stand up on your feet and I will speak with you...I am sending you to them, and you shall say to them, "Thus says the Lord God." Whether they hear or refuse to hear (for they are a rebellious house), they shall know that there has been a prophet among them."

I guess that's what the 'ick factor' comes down to: that being a prophet is much easier said than done. And when I know that I could have done it and didn't, or did it halfway, then it's...icky.

There's no solution to this one, I know. Just putting it out there.

Friday Five: Talkin' 'Bout Pop Music

I'm in the office freakishly early today, having met a parishioner for coffee. It's just too early for sermon-writing quite yet. So, it seems like a good time for a Friday Five...

The sad news of Michael Jackson's untimely death has me thinking about music and its effects on us - individually, as cultures, as generations. Let's think about the soundtracks of our lives...

1) What sort of music did you listen to as a child - this would likely have been determined or influenced by your parents? Or perhaps your family wasn't musical...was the news the background? the radio? Singing around the piano?

Lots of piano, but not much singing - my mom is a music teacher, so there was always a lot of instrumentation in our house. My mom loves classical music and my dad loves jazz, so between that and the AM station my mom listened to in the car (think mid-70's, early '80's AM radio), we had some good variety. I remember the jazz records my dad had, including the Herb Alpert one with that girl on the cover.

We only had three cassette tapes for car trips: John Denver's Greatest Hits Volume 2; the Harry Belafonte tape that had "Day-o" on it; and the Neil Diamond record featuring his duet with Barbra Streisand on "You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore." Seriously, people; I loved that song. It was so...dramatic. Watch. And CHECK OUT THE HAIR. You can't beat that.



2) Going ahead to teenage years, is there a song that says "high school" (or whatever it might've been called where you lived") to you?

I was a shy, quiet, nerdy girl in high school. With a weird and mostly secret love for '80's Hair Band music: Bon Jovi, Whitesnake, Poison...you know, high quality stuff. And I had an equally weird love (especially considering the combination) for 1940's Big Band music. Which means my personal high school soundtrack was a hybrid of "Pour Some Sugar On Me" and "Moonlight Serenade."

3) What is your favorite music for a lift on a down day?

Generally, Broadway musicals. Sound of Music, Avenue Q, Chicago, Les Miserables - Maria Von Trapp is right; sing a few of your favorite things and the day improves considerably.

On a truly horrible day, though, I prefer Bach.

4) Who is your favorite performer of all time?

I really couldn't pick one. I might have to choose Neil Diamond, based on the video above - but, given my personal CD collection, I'm guessing I have the most representation from the Indigo Girls, Sting, the Dave Matthews Band, and Itzhak Perlman. Today's theme: I am all about the weird combinations.

5) What is your favorite style of music for worship?

At heart, I'm a traditionalist. Give me a giant, well-played pipe organ and Bach's repertoire any day, and I'm happy.

pastoral care, IRS-style

The following is based on a "conversation" I just had with the IRS regarding a notice they sent me last month. While on hold for - well, quite some time - I started thinking, "what if the IRS did pastoral care?" (God forbid.) I imagine it might look something like this:

A parishioner calls his or her pastor, needing some care in a time of difficulty. Said pastor is not in the office that day, and has decided to try a free 30-day trial of Automated Pastoral Care Response.

Good morning. Thank you for calling Automated Pastoral Care Response. To continue in English, press 1. Espanol, marque dos.

(Parishoner presses 1.)

Thank you. We are sorry that you are experiencing a time of difficulty. To help us assist you, please choose from the following responses. Please listen carefully, as our menu has recently changed. For pet loss, press 1. For relationship trouble, press 2. For hospitalization, press 3. For theological dilemma, press 4. For identity crisis, press 5. For all other crises, press 8.

(Parishioner chooses 3.)

Thank you. Please note that if you are not the hospitalized individual, we cannot process your request due to HIPPA privacy laws. To report the hospitalization of another individual, please press 3 and an operator will be with you shortly.

(Parishioner chooses 3.)

Thank you. Please hold.

(Parishioner endures long wait accompanied by saccharine hymnody on phone.)

Thank you for holding. Your call is very important to us. Please do not hang up. If you hang up and call back, your hold time will be increased. Calls are answered in the order in which they are received. An operator will be with you shortly.

(More saccharine hymnody.)

Thank you for holding. If you are calling to report the hospitalization of another person, you need to call our Automated Pastoral Call Reporting System at 1-800-PCREPORT. This department cannot handle your request because of HIPPA privacy laws.

(Parishioner is now confused, as pleasant-voiced lady had just said this phone number could handle said request. Decides to stay on hold. Saccharine hymnody continues.)

Thank you for holding. Your call is very important to us. Please note that if you have heard of another person's hospitalization through rumor or grapevine phonecall, we cannot respond to your request. You must report a hospitalization by filling out Form 1375 part B and submitting it in writing within 30 days. All requests filed after 30 days will not be honored.

(Parishioner starts swearing. Damn saccharine hymnody continues.)

Thank you for holding. Your call is very important to us. All calls are answered in the order in which they are received. Please continue to hold. If you would like to make a donation to your congregation using your credit card, please call 1-800-GIVEMORE. This department cannot handle your request. Please note that all pastoral care requests must be made within 60 days.

(Wait: 30 days or 60 days? Parishioner now has conflicting information but is determined to beat Stupid Automatic Phone System and stays on hold, accompanied by infinite versions of Great is Thy Faithfulness on synthesizer.)

Thank you for holding. If you would like to request last rites for a dying individual, please call our Near Death Pastoral Care Response System at 1-800-KICKBUCKET. All requests for last rites must be submitted using Form 666 part C. Please continue to hold.

(I HATE YOU, YOU STUPID SYSTEM, BUT I REFUSE TO HANG UP, DAMN IT.)

Thank you for holding. Your call is very important to us. Your call....

(Phone rings. Operator answers.)

(In I-really-could-not-care-less tone) Thank you for calling the Automated Pastoral Care Response System. This is employee 153869209586749348395. How can I help you?

Parishioner: Yes, I would like to report that my friend is in the hospital.

Operator: Did you fill out Form 1375 Part B?

Parishioner: Yes, but I just found out about this and I'm not sure you will get my form within thirty days. So I was just calling to see if I need to file an extension. But then the phone system said I had sixty days, and now I'm not sure which one is correct.

Operator: Well, you have thirty days from the original notice.

Parishioner: But what happens if my form doesn't get to you within 30 days, even if I sent it?

Operator: Well, even if I go into your account and file an extension, it won't change the amount of interest you will need to pay on your request, so there's not really any point.

Parishioner: Interest? On a small request? How do I find out how much interest?

Operator: That request is handled by another department so I can't help you with that. But if you sent in your form then I would consider it a done deal. Just go onto your Pastoral Care Account online, and once you see that your request has been received, it should be fine.

Parishioner: But what if my friend is out of the hospital by then? Or dead?

Operator: That request is handled by another department. You should call 1-800-KICK...

Parishioner: I KNOW.

Operator: Is there anything else I can help you with today?

Parishoner: Clearly not.

Operator: Thank you for calling the Automated Pastoral Care Response System. Have a nice day.

Parishioner: (hits head on desk)

If you work for the IRS and find this post offensive, please call the Automated Pastoral Care Response System and press "7." And good luck with that.

the facts of my life

I just finished a conversation with a representative from the "Wo.men of Faith" conference coming to our area in the next few weeks. (Yes, that weird punctuation was on purpose; keeps this post from popping up in searches for the name.) She had called to make an appointment and, while this is normally the sort of thing I avoid like the plague, I had a feeling it would be easier to meet for fifteen minutes and get it over with rather than dodge her phone calls for the next six weeks.

I never know what to do about stuff like this. How do I say to Super Chipper Christian Lady (who is WAY too happy for this time of the morning, by the way), "Well, you have lovely brochures and I'm sure That Lady Who Used to Be On Facts of Life is very entertaining and all, but your organization is coming from a COMPLETELY different place theologically and I really don't have the energy to undo all the theological crap you're working on there, so no, I don't plan to send anyone"?

That would probably solve the whole Too Chipper thing, though.

Anyway. I did tell her, after she talked about how 1300 women "made a decision for Christ" at their Cleveland event, that our congregation represented quite a different theological perspective and so I wouldn't be comfortable sponsoring a group from the church. ("We don't really do the 'decision for Christ' thing," is what I said, and I have to admit that it was a bit entertaining to watch her head nearly spin right off.) She assured me that this is an inter-denominational organization and that they don't focus on the things that divide us, but what unites us - "so we talk a lot about Jesus," she said, which is great, except that I'm pretty sure the Jesus you're talking about is not exactly the same as the one I know, and that's where I hit the problem.

Because I don't want to be a theological snob, turning up my nose at all the hoi polloi who can't manage to think as deeply and with as much complexity as I so obviously can. It seems a little bit wrong to decry the intolerance of others while demonstrating total intolerance yourself.

But I don't think that she and I are talking about the same image of Jesus, and I do think that matters. There's no need to be mean about it, but I also don't need to smile and say nothing and leave her believing that I'll round up a whole crew of women and show up at the conference with bells on.

(On a side note: did you know that this organization was founded by a man who used to work with Prom.ise Kee.pers and thought there needed to be something like that for women? AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH.)

So. I thought this was going to be the most complicated theological moment of my morning, until I got a phone call from the daughter of a parishioner, explaining that her 81-year old mother's dog had just been 'put to sleep' by the 94-year old neighbor without permission: said neighbor felt the dog was suffering (and the dog did, in fact, have cancer) but said mother is upset because her dog is dead and her friend did it and so they are coming in to talk with me shortly.

What do you have to say on THAT one, Facts of Life Lady? Yeah. Me neither.

a prayer for the day

Dear God,

I know a big part of my job is to love your children. All of your children. Which sounds fine in theory and all, but (in case you haven't noticed) a few of your children are getting on my nerves.

So if you could help me remember that Chatty Old Lady Who Needs to Describe Her Various and Sundry, Some Imagined, Illnesses in Great and Repeated Detail and Woman Who Calls Needing Help with Her Bills but Then Has an Excuse for Why She Can't Get Here Today so Leaves ENORMOUSLY LONG Messages Every Single Day and Promises to Come Tomorrow - if you could help me remember that these two people are your beloved children, I could really use some help with that.

Also, if you have any sermon suggestions to send my way, that would be great.

Thank you.

Amen.

ah. THAT's the problem with Facebook.

It would be nice if parishioners had a face-to-face-conversation about a disagreement instead of posting a passive-aggressive 'status update' on Facebook.

That's all I'm saying.

If you'll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.

valuable life lesson.

I know, I know; you're probably expecting something more profound given my extended absence from The Blog. I mean, couldn't this woman have spent some time thinking about SERIOUS issues during said nearly-2-month blogcation?

Nevertheless, here is today's Very Valuable* and Important Life Lesson:

Very Large Amounts of Leftover Salmon from About A Week and A Half Ago DO NOT, In Fact, Fit Down the Garbage Disposal.

This valuable* advice is brought to you by my Beloved, instigator of said altercation with the disposal.

(*Actual value of this advice: $386.86, which is what the plumber charged. Note that we did choose to re-plumb the lines under the sink and replaced a leaky sprayer hose, but still...)

That's it for today. If you're really lucky, maybe someone in this house will try to cram an entire loin of pork down the toilet and then there will be some REAL fodder for Future Valuable Life Lessons editions on This Old Blog.


Also, apparently I have developed a Love of Capitalizing Things while I was gone. Not sure what's up with that.

dipping the toes back in the water

So.

Life goes on. This is a good thing, for the most part, and I am doing much better than two months ago, or a month ago, or even a week ago, for that matter. I have some bloggable moments running through my head, though nothing quite formed enough to put down into words quite yet. I'll keep working on it. (For one thing, I read The Shack, after putting it off for months, and I definitely have some thoughts on that one, but it's Friday and I just don't have the attention span for it at the moment.)

At any rate, I'm still alive and remarkably well, and hopefully will get back to this blog more regularly again.

If you're still out there, thanks for the prayers and support.

break

I've decided to take a break from this blog for awhile.

It's a long story, but here's the short version: after three and a half years of trying to get pregnant, I finally did, on our first try at in-vitro fertlization. We found out the good news on Good Friday.

Monday, I had a miscarriage.

If you know me in real life, please keep this news to yourself.

I simply don't have the energy or interest in reflecting on God and parish life at the moment. Maybe it will come back. I earnestly hope so. If you would like to pray for us, please do. I don't have much interest in doing that either.

Sorry to be so bleak. C'est la vie. Easter is true, but not especially real for us at the moment.

Peace.

Friday Five: Blogroll Spotlight

This week's Friday Five is all about sharing the love - and I think my only problem will be limiting myself to five other blogs I love to read.

So, here goes, in no particular order:

1.Go Fug Yourself - my very favorite distraction/procrastination/otherwise-wasting-time-in-a-hilarious-manner technique. The annual March Madness of Fug pits horribly-dressed celebrities against one another, and it's more fun than I can describe. Besides the great humor, this blog has what I need in any blog I read regularly: great writing.

Seriously. Click on Jennifer Lopez's link on the right side and read any of the dialogues which follow. Awesome.

2. Choral Reef: Music Under the Surface continues to be among my favorite RevGal blogs. Again, and always, great writing - and a ton of thoughtful, fascinating, and downright funny posts. If I ever get to work with a musician as thoughtful as this writer, I'll be the luckiest pastor on earth.

3. In addition to my regular visits to The Text This Week, my newest Happy Preacher Place is Working Preacher. I'm not sure if this counts as a 'blog,' technically, but it's become a great resource for preaching tidbits - especially the "Sermon Brainwave" podcast, which is fun and insightful. Without a weekly text study, I'm particularly thankful for the opportunity even to listen in on a conversation about the lectionary assignments for the week.

4. Winner for Best Name: Stirrup Queens and Sperm Palace Jesters. As RevGals provides me a great resource for support and encouragement of the female pastoral life, so Stirrup Queens is my resource for surviving infertility. Lots of great blogs here, and a daily update (I cannot imagine how much work this is for the blog writer!) on who especially needs a kind word. Illness of any kind can be tremendously isolating, and I'm thankful for a blogging community which helps me feel less so.

5. Desert Year, a fairly new blog with a heartbreaking reason for existence, from Gannet Girl, at Search the Sea. Those who read this will know how hard it is to describe. If you don't, I highly encourage you to start. Gannet Girl is writing about the death of her son last year. Sometimes I still feel as if I am eavesdropping on things which were never intended to be public - except that, obviously, that's not the case. My own knowledge of grief is quite limited. And so I am deeply thankful for someone who can so eloquently write of her own painful journey. I love this blog. And I wish every day that it did not need to exist.

Happy reading to all, and thanks to each of the authors (not to mention all those others I read regularly) whose words enrich my life.

Friday Five: Signs of Hope

After a Lent-induced break from the Friday Five for a few weeks, I'm jumping back in with this one...

Over at RevGals, Songbird writes:

My beloved speaks and says to me: “Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. Song of Solomon 2:10-13

In the late, late winter, as the snow begins to recede here in Maine, we begin to look almost desperately for signs of spring, signs of hope that the weather has turned and a new day is on the horizon. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, Easter and Spring twine inextricably, the crocuses and daffodils peeking through the Earth as we await the risen Christ.

Share with us five signs of hope that you can see today or have experienced in the past.

1. The Sanctuary Window Tree
In our fairly modern sanctuary, we have a very large skylight running down the entire length of the roof right over the altar and pulpit. Outside this skylight is a tree - deciduous of some kind, though I'm not sure exactly what it is. Part of what I love about this tree is the way it announces the seasons as you watch it week after week; it's lush green in the summer, yellow in the fall, bare in the winter, and now, in these days, it's beginning to show the first signs of leaf-growth again. Of course, all the trees are doing the same thing, but that one is a sort of mine-canary for me. In a good way.

2. Lenten midweek services
I almost always love midweek Lenten services, for a variety of reasons: there's opportunity for creativity in worship planning (there always is, of course, but somehow it's easier to pull off in a short series like these); I love evening worship in general; it's a more quiet, contemplative service; no lectionary constraints (although I like the lectionary as a general rule). This year, the Lenten midweek services were my first 'solo flight' in the new parish: the first time I've been completely in charge of a worship opportunity. We're doing a Taize-inspired service ("Taize with training wheels" is my theme), and it's been exceptionally well-received. And we get to end every service with one of my favorites - even though it's not technically Taize:

Take, o take me as I am;
summon out what I shall be.
Set your seal upon my heart

and live in me.

I could sing that all night.

3. This poem.

I blogged it once before, but it's been such a perfect piece for me this Lent that I'm going to do it again: Breakthrough, by J. Barrie Shepherd.

This lenting
is a longing, looking,
isolating and locating process,
a passing of the time between
what has to be, what may become,
a late, last, solitary lingering
among the soiled and crusted snowbanks
of deep-drifted hurt and disappointment
seeking out those tender-tough new shoots
that pierce the calloused surface
of all losing with the agony
of life becoming green again.

4. New steps on the baby quest.
I've kept mostly quiet on the baby-quest front for awhile on this blog, for several reasons. We're holding things closely right now. But there are many signs of hope, and have been, for the past several months. Although that's all I'd like to say (and, to be clear, no - I'm not pregnant), it's a more hopeful place than it's been for a long time. For which I am profoundly grateful.

5. Chocolate. EVERYWHERE.
Yes, I get that the Easter Bunny is some kind of pagan fertility symbol co-opted by a consumerist culture hell bent on unhealthy snacks, sugar obsessions, and a complete disregard for the true scandal of the gospel of resurrection.

And you know what? I don't really care. I love me some chocolate. And Easter is a tiny peek of heaven for all chocoholics. Bring on the pagans. I'm ready.

No, seriously! I'm working! I swear!

I have a love-hate relationship with Facebook.

Love: catching up with friends, reading fun status updates, seeing photos, joining random and entertaining groups, wasting a bit of time while still feeling semi-connected to real people.

Hate: feeling awkward about the whole 'should I or shouldn't I be friends with parishioners' question, the new layout (HATE), not having control of other people's posts which might include me, being asked to be friends with someone I don't really want to be friends with but then I feel bad about ignoring them, the new layout (did I mention that?).

I've decided that I can't be anonymous on Facebook, so I'll just accept friend invitations from parishioners (I do not, ever, request to be a friend to same), and keep my status updates church-appropriate. This is fine. I get most of my anonymity needs met on this blog. Someday that might have to change too, but for now, I think we're alright.

But here's a new, completely unforeseen, reason to be on Facebook: this weekend, I am doing a funeral for a young woman who died of cancer. Her friends have created a FB group, and they are posting all their memories and stories about her. I got an invitation to this group, and it is funeral-homily GOLD. What an amazing resource for a preacher! I never met this woman, and those funeral sermons are always the hardest: and now, from the most unexpected source, there's a ton of help.

I guess I'll stick with Facebook awhile longer. Even with the new format.

scene from a sunday morning

I am standing at the altar this past Sunday, preparing to offer the prayer of the day.

You know how pastors usually (we hope) look like they are concentrating on the liturgy, in all sincerity, trying their best to offer hopeful and helpful words, to conduct themselves in keeping with the holy nature of the moment?

Yeah. Sometimes this is what actually happens:

“Holy God, [oh, crap. There’s a spider on the altar. Crawling toward the soon-to-be-location of the chalice. Can’t be good.] through your Son you have called us to live faithfully [I think I have a Kleenex in my pocket. Or did I just get rid of all of them when I took my alb home to wash it after the coffee-spillage incident a few weeks ago?] and act courageously. [Oops. That’s a cough drop.] Keep us steadfast in your covenant of grace [OH! There it is. Now I’ll just slip it out of my pocket…] and teach us the wisdom [and slide my hand carefully across the altar…] that comes only through Jesus Christ [SQUISH! Got him. Dead.], our Savior and Lord [now slide carcass carefully back toward me…] who lives and reigns with you [oops, left little spot on altar. Too bad. Better than dead spider.] and the Holy Spirit, one God [slide Kleenex back in pocket, and remind self NOT TO USE THIS KLEENEX FOR NOSE-BLOWING LATER], now and forever. Amen.”

Just so you know.

we now interrupt your regular Lent schedule to bring you a fun meme.

Chorus has nominated me for a Kreativ Blogger award - thanks! (Also, you should head over to her blog to check out her super cool bathroom renovation.) Here are the rules:

List 7 things that you love and then pass the award on to 7 people...tagging them and letting them know they won! You can copy the picture of the award and put it on your sideboard letting the whole wide world know you are KReATIV!

Seven Things I Love:

(Sidebar: I am taking the Sean-Penn-Oscar-Acceptance-Speech approach to this and not naming Beloved. Because he knows anyway.)

1. The sound of rain on the roof when I go to bed at night.

2. Tuna noodle casserole with peas.

3. My four-month old niece's smile.

4. Samoa Girl Scout Cookies. "Addicted" might be a more accurate term than "love."

5. "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on NPR.

6. The public library.

7. Laughing until you hiccup and then cry.

I am passing this on to:
Choralgirl (at Choral Reef)
i are a writer
Nachfolge
The Kitchen Door
The Swandive
Cheesehead in Paradise
Seeking to Build a Bridge

Have fun!

Friday Five: The Fork in the Road

Singing Owl writes,

I am at a life-changing juncture. I do not know which way I will go, but I have been thinking about the times, people and events that changed my life (for good or ill) in significant ways. For today's Friday Five, share with us five "fork-in-the-road" events, or persons, or choices. And how did life change after these forks in the road?

I thought about how to approach this question - on the one hand, it's hard to think of five specific things, but then again, it's hard to think of less than fifty - and I decided to go backward in time. So here's my list, starting with the most recent and working through to the one that probably started it all. And what I've found, thinking about each one, is that they began with a very mundane moment. That moment is what I think of as the 'fork.' The rest comes down the road.

1. A persistent radio commercial.
When Beloved and I were in the process of moving to New City - as in, when I was living here and he was living in Old City - I commuted to work about 30 minutes each way. Early on, I started hearing a radio commercial for a particular fertility clinic in the area. I had been meaning to get a second opinion, and that damn commercial just kept airing, so I finally called one day, made an appointment, and found my very wonderful doctor. Given how far we've come along the treatment process since then, I think of that ridiculously persistent commercial as a particularly providential fork.

2. A phone call in the downstairs church kitchen.
I was downstairs with the quilters when the phone rang during lunchtime. Since the secretary was out, I decided to answer it (frankly, I think I might have been fleeing a particularly chatty quilter at the time). It turned out to be my now-colleague, calling to see if I would be interested in a position in his congregation. Took me completely by surprise. Six weeks later, I had an interview. Three weeks after that, I had a call in hand. Two weeks after that, I told my congregation I was leaving. None of which were anywhere on my radar when I answered the phone in the downstairs kitchen.

3. Meeting for a coffee at Starbucks.
About six years ago, I met a colleague for coffee at Starbucks one day. For the life of me, I have no memory of why we were there, but what I do remember was his offhand question right before we were done: "hey, are you dating anyone?" And then he told me about this friend of his who knew this guy that I might like, and maybe we could all do a group-date-thing sometime, and I said "sure," because frankly, my love life was complete crap so why not try something different. It took nearly nine months to meet said "friend." To whom I became engaged seven months later, married five months after that, and here we are.

4. A conversation with mom in the car.
I don't have a particularly dramatic call story. The earliest part of it shows up in the final 'fork,' below. At this point in the story, I had made the decision to go to seminary - primarily through the persistent encouragement of others. It was the summer before my junior year in college, and I was home, working at the bakery as I had for a few summers before this. My mom and I had gone - somewhere, to the grocery store maybe? - and we were in the car on the way home. I remember with perfect clarity the hill we were on when I turned to her and said, "I think I'm going to go to seminary and be a pastor."

My parents were (and are) extremely active church people, so this wasn't an out-of-body experience for my mom (though she did tell me years later that she was quite surprised, but she tried to hide it so I wouldn't think she was unsupportive). For me, though, it felt like the first time my call was real. Saying it out loud, to my mom, was a whole new level. Of all the moments involved in my call story, that one feels like the biggest 'fork in the road' to me.

5. It all comes back to an offhand comment after Sunday School when I was 15.
Sunday morning youth group. I'm 15. I have a huge crush on our youth pastor, who was fresh out of seminary and looked like Tom Cruise (so I thought; Top Gun had come out two years before and I loved Tom Cruise). Harmless teenage stuff. One day, after bible study was over, I was walking across the fellowship hall and said pastor shouted after me, "Hey, Shalom! You should think about being a pastor."

I did not take this seriously. AT ALL. Mostly, I was flattered that he thought I could do what he did, but I had no interest in it. I really had no idea what pastors did, anyway. Didn't they just hang around the church all day? How interesting could that be?

It took five more years before that particular fork in the road became clear. Without it, there would be no conversation with my mom in the car; no Starbucks chat about 'the guy' I might like; no phone call in the downstairs kitchen; no move to the New City and consequent interest in the fertility clinic. There would be a different road, of course, and it might have been great too. But this one is pretty damn good. Fun to look back and see how we got here.

ashes, ashes

I found this poem someplace last year, and hurriedly copied it off and placed it in my "Lent" file. Now I can't tell where it came from, but it seems to be going in exactly the right direction.

Blessed Lent to all.

Breakthrough

This lenting
is a longing, looking,
isolating and locating process,
a passing of the time between
what has to be, what may become,
a late, last, solitary lingering
among the soiled and crusted snowbanks
of deep-drifted hurt and disappointment
seeking out those tender-tough new shoots
that pierce the calloused surface
of all losing with the agony
of life becoming green
again.

- J. Barrie Shepherd

cooperation makes it happen

Does anyone else remember this song from Sesame Street? "Cooperation makes it happen, cooperation, working together...dig it!" I am so a child of the '70's.

Anyway. Today I was meeting with a colleague to "plan" (quotes will become evidently clear in a moment) our "joint" Ash Wednesday service. This is not the person I work with, but another pastor from a church across town. We are doing a "joint" (again, using this term loosely) service between our two churches: his congregation, generally more elderly, is hosting the mid-afternoon worship, and we are hosting the evening one. Our idea was to share leadership in planning and facilitating the services.

[When this first came up, he said offhandedly, "Now, we've never done the imposition of ashes, so you'll need to help me with this part." Hold the phone, friend. This is a guy who's been a pastor since, I think, God was a boy (or, for about 30 years; God is younger than I thought), and I could hardly believe that he had never, in his whole ministry, done the imposition of ashes. I mean, what the hell else do you do on Ash Wednesday? It's the whole freaking name of the day! But then another colleague mentioned that many churches in her youth didn't "do ashes" because it was considered too Catholic, so maybe he comes from that piety. I'm trying not to judge here. So far, it's not going terribly well.]

I realize that many people might say, "goodness, Pastor Blogger. It's less than a week before Ash Wednesday! Shouldn't you have gotten around to the planning of this thing earlier?" To which I would say, "Yes. Probably. You bet. Not to disabuse you of your clearly high opinion of pastoral planning abilities, however, let me tell you: this is pretty generally how it goes in the church. Nothing will humble your image of yourself as a well-organized person as quickly as parish ministry. Seriously. It takes about a month."

So. Pastor Close to Retirement gets here to "plan" the service. He comes with a fully completed bulletin. My name is nowhere in it. He goes through the service piece by piece, saying after each one, "I'll do that," "I'll take that piece," "I'll do that part," and I keep thinking, "WHY AM I EVEN HERE?" and then finally, when we get to the Imposition of Ashes he turns and says, "will you do that?" To which I wanted to respond, "well, it sounds like it's the only thing I'll get to do, so, sure."

Also, I get to help distribute communion.

Sure glad I signed up to "help" "plan" and "lead" our "joint" Ash Wednesday service. There will, however, be actual ashes. So we will not need to call it "Ash" Wednesday worship, which is good.

Clearly, our pastor friend is not a fan of Sesame Street.

welcome home, friend.

You put us through quite a week.  But we'll forgive you.  Glad you're back.

a poem for the day

In Old City, the local NPR station ran The Writer's Almanac every day at 9:00am; a perfect time for me. Here in Still Relatively New City, it's on at some random time I can never remember, like 12:30pm or 2:15 in the afternoon, or something. So I've resorted to receiving TWA over email. It's not quite the same, but what I do like is the ability to savor a particularly good poem.

I don't know what the copyright rules are here. Maybe I'm not supposed to publish this. But I don't get any money for it, and in fact, I'm going out later today to buy whatever volume this poem is in - so hopefully it benefits the author.

Today's poem:

The Bat
by Jane Kenyon

I was reading about rationalism,
the kind of thing we do up north
in early winter, where the sun
leaves work for the day at 4:15

Maybe the world is intelligible
to the rational mind;
and maybe we light the lamps at dusk
for nothing...

Then I heard the wings overhead.

The cats and I chased the bat
in circles - living room, kitchen,
pantry, kitchen, living room...
At every turn it evaded us

like the identity of the third person
in the Trinity: the one
who spoke through the prophets,
the one who astounded Mary
by suddenly coming near.

from Otherwise, by Jane Kenyon. Published by Greywolf Press, 1996.

the hills are alive

This past week's Friday Five from Rev Gals was inspired by The Best Movie Ever, The Sound of Music. I didn't have time to write on Friday, but I do have a Sound of Music story of my own. It goes like this:

For years, The Sound of Music was on NBC (I think) every Easter. It might still be, for all I know; I'm usually in the official Pastor Coma o' Easter by the evening, so I no longer watch television that particular night. But when I was young, we watched it every year.

We didn't have a VCR, so all I knew of the movie was what I saw on television. Every year, Maria would climb to the top of the mountain and sing, and then she would descend and get kicked out of the cloister for being too spunky, and then she would transform the house of Von Trapp and the Evil Baroness would get her comeuppance (even though I secretly thought the Evil Baroness was also the most beautiful woman in the world in her dance dress), and then the Captain would fall in love with Maria, and then the nuns would sing her down the aisle.

And then, with the nuns' voices singing, "how do you solve a problem like Maria?" and the bells of Salzburg ringing in my ears, a commercial would come on, and my mom would turn off the television and say, "time for bed!" and I would happily trot off to bed and dream about long cathedral aisles and handsome, fertile, widowed captains. I guess. After all, we were only allowed to watch G-rated movies when I was a kid. Which meant we watched mostly Disney movies from the 1960's featuring computers that filled a whole room and a very young Kurt Russell, or cartoons. And in the cartoons, the movie ends when the couple gets together and there's a wedding. Or at least a big pretty dress and some kind of dance. Maybe with fairies. That's what I knew of movies: when people get married, then the movie's over.

Until one year, when I was probably 10 or so, and Maria had walked down the aisle in her wedding dress, and the commercial came on, and I stood up from the couch to go to bed, and my mom very unexpectedly said, "I guess you can stay up for the end of the movie this year."

I'm sorry, what? There's more? But she got married! Isn't that it? THE MOVIE DOESN'T END HERE? MY PARENTS LIED TO ME?

I think it's possible that The Sound of Music killed my childhood.

Anyway, I stayed up for the end: the whole crazy Nazi-chase, Rolf-betrayal, nuns-stealing-car-parts, mountain-climbing end, which I loved. My childhood actually rolled on, fairly uninterrupted. No permanent scars.

I used this story in a sermon once. Can't remember why.

Mostly, I just think it's funny.

paging the reverend emily dickinson

There are a lot of theories out there about the best way to understand, or frame, the work of a pastor. Pastor as CEO; shepherd; prophet; priest; (probably not king); counselor; preacher; teacher; presider; administrator. While in seminary, I read descriptions related to all of these - some very helpful, some not. Some very honest, some very idealistic. Some clearly written by people who had certain expectations of pastors; some written by pastors whose ideals had fallen short.

I have never really found an image for myself, which would help me frame and sift through my own work. I've gone with 'presider' most often: someone who provides gentle guidance, who serves the liturgy (the 'work of the people'), who helps things happen but is not the center or source of the activity. This image falls short pretty often, though.

Today I was in the midst of Pastor As Administrator (embodied in Pastor As Cleaning Off Her Desk) when I ran across the most current issue of Christian Century. (Side note: it's fairly impressive that I'm only one issue behind. I must have been doing Pastor As Reader and Study-er lately.) And in it, I found the first description of a pastor-image which really, thoroughly, and completely works for me: Pastor as Poet. Here's the paragraph that got me:

Pastors are not the only ones working on the kingdom of God. But they don't help by abandoning their specific call to be poets and taking on the work of the realists and the engineers. Someone has to teach people how to dream.

M. Craig Barnes, I salute you. This one, finally, works. (By the way, I don't think pastors have the corner market on being poets. If this image works for you, take it along.)

There are holes in it, like in any image. Pastor-Poets still have to clean off their desks, for example, and that's not particularly poetic. There are administrative tasks to be done, and personalities to be negotiated with, and budgets to be aware of. But behind even these tasks, behind all the tasks, is still the work of the poet. This is what makes the work so interesting to me, the idea that there is a reality behind it all, and my task is to help us all think beyond the obvious, beyond the familiar.

It's what, as Barnes points out, makes it necessary for pastors to recognize that someone who is really angry about the new choir director is actually masking their grief that the old one, a dear friend, left. It's what makes it possible to realize that the person who asks for prayer that they will find a new job is also asking for a new identity and hope. It's what makes it crucial to place the scripture into everyday life and wonder how they meet, where they rub one another raw, how each illuminates the other.

This is probably why I often think of sermons as midrash: a creative re-reading of the texts. Poetry does the same thing, calls for the same skills - and not even skills so much as passion, desire for coming at the old thing in a new way. Looking at it upside down, inside out. Seeing the texts and our lives as gems, held gently and examined in various lights, each facet slightly different than the others.

Read this article. It's great. "Poet in Residence," in the February 10 issue of Christian Century.

There are few things better than reading a description of what you do, and thinking, "Hey! That sounds like great work! I want to do that! How can I do that?" - and then realizing, "Hey! This is what I do!"

I'll take one of his last sentences with me for a long time:

What if, instead of working so hard at omnicompetence, pastors were free to work hard simply at being better poets?