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.