Stay of Execution

So yesterday was the big day: I (finally) had to tell my staff and council that I have been offered another call. I have been dreading this for weeks. Make no mistake: it was a hard and exhausting day. But, all things considered, it went very well.

I started with our newest staff member, the Director of Music. Because he had been hired only four months ago, and came to this congregation under the assumption he would be working with me for - well, longer than this - I thought he deserved to know first. One of the things that consistently amazes and delights me about this guy is his maturity level; he's 22 years old, but you'd think he's at least 30. His first response? "Wow; congratulations!"

(As an aside, I have been so focused on how hard this is that I forgot it is exciting too. My husband has said "congratulations" to me, and so have many family members, but somehow, coming from a colleague, it was different. I think that small moment changed the whole day.)

Next, to tell the rest of the staff. The secretary, the youth & family director, and one of our two visitation pastors. (Another aside: this particular visitation pastor used to be my full-time colleague. Five years ago, at age 45, he was diagnosed with a terminal brain cancer. He had a biopsy and numerous, serious complications as a result. He has great trouble communicating but now works very part-time as a visitation pastor. I could write a whole book about this experience, not to mention many blog entries, but suffice it to say that our relationship is complicated.)

That, too, went fairly well. Everyone was surprised and, while certainly no one was happy - though, again, very gracious to me - they took it well. We talked for about 45 minutes.

Then I waited for six hours to tell the executive board. Let me tell you this: I accomplished absolutely nothing yesterday during that time. Nada. And I had plenty to do. Oh well.

I had called this exec meeting; we don't meet every month unless specifically requested or we feel there is a particular reason for doing so. I had one minor issue to discuss and then I dropped the bomb. It went something like this:

"I need to tell you that I have received a call to another congregation."

Long pause.

Treasurer (a dear man who can be blunt as a rock but who has gone to the wall for me numerous times): "Can we talk you out of it?"

Which broke the ice, and we had a good conversation. They wanted a little more from me than I can really give - names of other pastors I would suggest, whether they can choose their own interim - but it was good.

And the best part, which resulted in the title of this post, is that they decided we ought not to tell the whole council until I have made a decision. In all honesty, that was the part I was dreading the most: first, telling the council; and second, the extremely high likelihood that the news would then find its way into the congregation, no matter how much they promised to keep it quiet. (12 council members, 12 spouses...you do the math.)

I did feel like it was a stay of execution. The ELCA way of doing this is that you are obligated to inform your council when you receive another call, whether or not you intend to accept it (or have decided yet). You only inform the whole congregation when you have made a decision.

What I really worried about was rumor getting out of hand, during an already emotionally charged time of the year. By not telling the council - or, by fulfilling that requirement via the executive board - I think we've minimized the chances of that as much as possible.

I feel good. I admitted to the staff that, as hard as it was to tell them this, it was also something of a relief to tell them the truth. In a post from awhile ago, I used the image of Hester Prynne to describe how I was feeling during the interview stage; I've heard numerous pastors describe the whole thing as the ecclesiastical equivalent of an affair. (We assume these pastors are speaking metaphorically only and with no personal experience, but it's striking to me how often that image comes up. Certainly says something about the depth of attachment we develop to our congregations.)

To tell the whole council was, as I discussed with a blogging friend the other night, like saying to your spouse, "Well, I've been cheating on you for several months but I haven't technically decided if I'm going to leave you. I'll let you know in thirty days."

This is not a good feeling. (And I have no doubt that actually telling your spouse about an affair would be thousands upon thousands of times more difficult than the conversation I had with the board. But there's still truth in how this image conveys betrayal.)

So I can head into Thanksgiving with a reasonably light heart. Now we just need to make a decision. It's almost a foregone conclusion at this point; I have suspicions that both Beloved and I are dancing around the common assumption that we're going, but no one wants to be the first to say it.

I knew that five very specific people were praying for me as I headed into that exec meeting, and I can't tell you how meaningful that was. To the five, my gratitude.

Also, I got my hair cut and colored today. Now I feel sassy. Sadly, no camera to prove the sassiness. But it's real: trust me.

Smartening Up

I'm at Luther Seminary this week, my alma mater, taking a class for continuing education. The class, called Preaching Difficult Texts, has definitely been worthwhile and I know I'll have more individual posts on various consciousness-streams-thereby-produced later, but for now, just a few observations about returning to the home turf:

1. I am obviously getting old because the student who served bread at chapel communion today looked about twelve years old.

2. It is both enormously wonderful to see old professors and hear them again; it is simultaneously wistful to see them aging more quickly than I would like.

3. Although I have long been someone who scoffs heartily at those who disdain seminary professors, saying they are out of touch because they are not in the parish - and I still find that a largely unconvincing argument - there have been a few moments during this class when I have thought to myself, "well, you might be able to get away with that here, but obviously you haven't been in the parish for thirty years." This is much like my swearing up-and-down, in my teenage years, that I would NEVER EVER EVER turn into my mother. Enough said.

4. Seminary friends are still, nearly eight years after graduation and despite being scattered around the country, the very best friends of my whole life.

5. I would really like to be a professor but the truth is, I just don't want to do the work of getting a PhD. Maybe this will change someday.

6. It does the ego a bit of good to be remembered by profs. I am not above this.

7. The seminary bookstore makes me sad that all I have within striking distance of my home is Christian Supply.

8. I am really glad not to live in Minneapolis anymore. Damn, it's cold.

9. A great many pastors, when raising their hand in class, are only doing this in order to hear themselves talk. They do not have an actual question. This was true in seminary and it doesn't change. I am just going to have to find a way to stop being inordinately annoyed by this.

10. Last, but not least, my alcohol tolerance level has obviously gone way down in the parish. So have my pool-playing skills. These, too, are reasons for doing continuing ed with eight of your very best seminary friends.

For the Record

I just want to point out that tonight on Grey's Anatomy, a woman came into the ER because she had fallen down the stairs. She was worried about her infant daughter but insisted that she, herself, was fine. Just fine.

And what happened to that woman tonight on Grey's Anatomy?

SHE DIED.

I'm just saying.

In case there was any doubt about the post below. Which was written hours before the show aired, for the record.

(I'm pretty fine. The bruise on my left shin is epic, but the ankle is doing surprisingly well.)

Things I Learned from Television

We have had an existential crisis in our house this week: the television died.

Not just any television. This is Beloved's bachelor pride-and-joy, a 57-inch big screen. I hated it when we started dating and was very unsure that I could actually be with a guy who would have a big-screen, until we watched a few movies on it and then - ah, the shame - I became a convert. Smaller would still be okay with me, but this one is already paid for. So we'll stick with it.

Naturally, the repairman is going to come any day now, which is what he's been saying for the last week. On the positive side, we've been getting a lot of reading done.

Yesterday morning, I fell down the stairs leaving the house. It had rained a little, just enough to make the wood deck slippery, and somehow I took a header down the back deck, hitting my legs on the way down and landing face-down (though thankfully not on my face) on the ground. Ouch. I sprained my right ankle and gave myself a huge goose-egg on my left shin. Ouch ouch. I was on my way to meet a friend for coffee, so after I picked myself up and sat for a minute, I decided I was well enough to go. This was very likely my need for caffeine speaking more loudly than the pain.

By the end of our coffee hour, my ankle hurt so badly that I started to worry something might be really wrong. I ended up at the urgent care clinic ("urgent" being a relative term, seeing as how it took them nearly 90 minutes to see me). Mainly, I was worried that I might have a hairline fracture and since I'm flying to Minneapolis on Sunday for a week, I really didn't want to end up 1500 miles away with a broken foot.

But the real reason behind my clinic visit, the image running through my head, was this: you know the person who comes into the ER on Grey's Anatomy and refuses to get checked out, insists he or she is just fine, and then walks away without ever having a doctor investigate their pain? You know that person? You know what always happens to that person on Grey's Anatomy? THEY DIE. Every time.

It turns out my foot is badly sprained but not broken. I will survive. Also, the doctor who saw me was no McDreamy (though he was very kind). So life goes on. But we better get the TV fixed because, you know, TV can save your life.

Or it can cost you an inordinate amount in copays because you are paranoid. Hmmm. Maybe we should leave it broken.

Friday Five: Interviews

Mother Laura at RevGals is asking about interviews...and yes, I have some thoughts on that! Here goes...

1. What was the most memorable interview you ever had?
I'll choose a portion of the interview I had for the church I serve right now. It was an all-weekend affair. On Sunday morning, I met with whoever wanted to show up at an adult forum and answered whatever they wanted to ask. The first question, right off the bat, was this: "Do you have a man in your life?" (I was single at the time.) I was a bit too stunned to answer immediately, but before I could, someone else in the room told the questioner, "You can't ask that!" We all laughed it off and there was a pause and then, BAM! the same guy asked it again: "No, seriously. Is there?" Before I could stop myself, I said, "Let's just say Jesus and leave it at that." I don't think they saw that one coming. Either that got me the call or I'm lucky I got it in spite of myself.

2. Have you ever been the interviewer rather than the interviewee? If so, are you a tiger, a creampuff, or somewhere in between?
I've been an interviewer for some staff positions. I try to make people feel comfortable. Not exactly a creampuff, but not a tiger either.

3. Do phone interviews make you more or less nervous than in-person ones?
I've done more phone interviews as the interviewer. So I've never been particularly nervous: I just really miss the in-person interaction and the chance to read body language. It's just not satisfying.

That said, it does help you narrow down the candidates.

4. What was the best advice you ever got to prepare for an interview? How about the worst?
I'm sure my dad told me this at my very first job interview ever, in high school: "Be yourself." This is his standard advice (he just gave it again a few weeks ago when I interviewed for Potential Future Congregation).

I can't think of any truly bad advice I've ever gotten about interviews.

5. Do you have any pre-interview rituals that give you confidence?
I like to dress well. Not too formal, but not sloppy. It definitely improves my confidence. Especially really, really good shoes. Materialism aside, good shoes seriously do change the way I walk.

Best wishes to any and all RevGals who are interviewing soon, or who have. Being mid-interview process myself, I know how it feels...fun, scary, exciting, overwhelming, and then some. Peace to you all.

I'm not gloating, but...

I was delighted to read this news. Delighted.

Yes, this church is an easy target. It's easy to feel self-righteous when you hear about their protests, simply because 99% of us can truly say, "I would never do that."

But it's still crucial to say no to such heinous behavior. Such a verdict convinces me that Luther was right when he reminded us that God also works outside the church. Sometimes through the court system.

Take THIS Literally

Based on the excerpt I read in the last Christian Century, I ordered The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs and started reading it last week. If you're not familiar, the premise is this: Jacobs, an agnostic who grew up culturally Jewish ("I am officially Jewish," he writes, "but I'm Jewish in the same way the Olive Garden is an Italian restaurant") decides that he will spend a whole year trying to follow every single law given in the bible. Every single one. Which is a lot, by the way.

He wants to explore the power of the bible; what makes it such a driving force for so many people. He wants to try and learn something about the God behind these laws, though he's not sure a real conversion is on the books for him. And he wants to get deeply into the idea of literalism when it comes to scriptural interpretation. That last bit is why I bought this book.

First off, this guy is funny. ("How can these ethically advanced rules and these bizarre decrees be found in the same book? And not just the same book. Sometimes the same page. The prohibition against mixing wool and linen comes right after the command to love your neighbor. It's not like the Bible has a section called, 'And Now for Some Crazy Laws.'") "Funny" is not a word which comes up too often in a sentence also involving "book about reading the bible." For a girl who enjoys both Walter Brueggemann and Bridget Jones, this is a nice change of pace.

But he's on to something. At one point, during his concern about the whole mixed-fiber thing, he confesses, "I'm worried I could spend the whole year on the strange parts of the bible and neglect the parts about goodness and justice." Preach it.

The bible is a bizarre and lovely book. Powerful and incomprehensible and glorious and, occasionally, just plain outdated or silly. Silly to us, anyway. We live in a time when you are generally presented with two options for reading this thing: either a.) You must claim to take the whole book literally; or b.) You think of it as an antiquated book with some good ideas about justice, but basically slightly more than one of Grimm's Fairy Tales.

I have more thoughts on this than I'm going to write at the moment, partly because I want to see where Jacobs goes with this experiment. If anyone else has read this book and has reactions, post a comment.

I DID IT, I DID IT, I DID IT!

With hopefully more panache than a used-car salesman, I successfully negotiated a good package with Potential Future Congregation this afternoon. I cannot accurately describe how relieved I am that this phase is over (it's not the last phase, by any means, but it sure has been the hardest yet). Beloved is happy with the results. I am delighted. I sat at my computer with my blog open to the comments made on my post about how hard this is, and I looked at all those encouragements while I talked to the committee chair, and I DID IT!

Thanks to everyone for your good words. It made all the difference.

As Promised: The Recipe

Norwegian Apple Pie (as stolen from a cookbook belonging to my mom)

1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup flour
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
2 eggs
1 tbl vanilla (yes, you read that right: I know a whole tablespoon is a lot)
2 to 3 cups apples, peeled and diced
1/2 cup walnuts, chopped

Preheat oven to 350. Sift all dry ingredients together in mixing bowl. Add eggs, vanilla, diced apples, and walnuts. Grease 2 8-inch pie pans and divide mixture between them. (NOTE: you can make this in one larger and deeper pie pan; in that case, bake for at least one hour.) Bake for 35-40 minutes. Pie makes its own crust.

Serve warm with vanilla ice cream, or whipping cream, or caramel topping. Or any combination thereof.

Enjoy! (It's more like a really good coffee cake than a pie, but we'll assume that's what the Norwegians like. I myself am Swedish so I have no idea.)

Friday Five: Pumpkins, Apples, and Halloween (Oh My!)

Singing Owl has Halloween on the brain...

All Hallows Eve (Halloween) is near. As a child, Halloween was one of my favorite holidays. We didn’t yet worry about razor blades in apples or popcorn balls or some of the other concerns people have with Halloween these days. Halloween was a chance to be mildly scared, and better yet, to dress up and pretend to be something we really weren’t. Let’s talk about that a bit, but then let’s add in some food ideas for this year. Where I live the leaves are falling, the temperature is chilly and pumpkins are for sale everywhere, along with many kids of apples. What's more, the "Holiday Season" will soon be upon us. ACK! I could use a new idea for dessert. So, here we go…

1. How did you celebrate this time of year when you were a child?
For Halloween, we did the standard trick-or-treat thing (though we never performed any actual tricks). This involved two main traditions: one, the arguing with mom over wearing your winter coat under your costume; and two, the pouring out of all the candy on the coffee table afterward to trade with siblings. That and the dumping of all black licorice-related items in dad's bag.

2. Do you and/or your family “celebrate” Halloween? Why or why not? And if you do, has it changed from what you used to do?
Not really. But now that some of our close friends have kids, we love to have them over and see their costumes. I'm not much into adults dressing up. (I was a pregnant nun once, in seminary, but that's a long story.)

2. Candy apples: Do you prefer red cinnamon or caramel covered? Or something else?
Caramel, I guess. Plain apples are my first choice.

3. Pumpkins: Do you make Jack O’ Lanterns? Any ideas of what else to do with them?
If I have time, yes; mostly, I just put them on the front porch in a "harvesty" kind of way.

4. Do you decorate your home for fall or Halloween? If so, what do you do? Bonus points for pictures.
I decorate for fall. This year I have chinese lanterns and fall leaves in an urn on the mantel. But, a few years ago, I did buy some super-cute-but-totally-unnecessary spider votive holders from Pottery Barn (75% off in November) and so we have those too. Sorry, no pictures!

5. Do you like pretending to be something different? Does a costume bring our an alternate personality?
Eh...it's not a big attraction for me. When I was a kid, I loved it. I am now either a.) totally unimaginative or b.) more comfortable in my skin.

Bonus: Share your favorite recipe for an autumn food, particularly apple or pumpkin ones.
I just found a GREAT recipe called "Norwegian Apple Pie," but it's at home. I double-pinky swear to post it later this afternoon. Extra easy and very, very tasty.

Is that so wrong?

If I remember correctly, Jon Lovitz used to do a regular skit on Saturday Night Live featuring a very whiny guy who, upon proposing some horrible idea, would follow it with, "is that so wrong?" (I tried googling this but the SNL archives online are pretty limited.) At any rate, there's a reason I feel a bit like said character today.

In the Lutheran system, here's how the call process works: the pastor goes through an interview; if the call committee chooses that person then they propose that name at a congregational meeting; the congregation votes to extend the call; then the pastor has 30 days to consider his/her response. So far, so good. We're currently in the purgatory between call committee recommendation and congregational vote.

And in this purgatory is the special hell of package negotiations. When I accepted my first call, here's how that process went for me:
1. I receive official letter of call from Current Congregation.
2. I notice that Current Congregation is planning to pay me, you know, ANYTHING.
3. I think about student loans starting repayment in six months.
4. I pray for, oh, thirty seconds.
5. I sign on dotted line and say yes. I am genuinely excited about doing ministry with Current Congregation. I am also delighted by the prospect of any salary at all. And benefits, too! I'm rich.

Now I'm married. And we have a house. And Beloved has a job. And those two latter things, plus all our friendships and family in this place, will be pulled up by the roots if we move. And we will move into a much higher-cost housing market. All of which means I need to be a little more savvy when it comes to negotiating a salary for this potential new call.

Is that so wrong? Because half of me thinks it is, and the other half thinks that's how a lot of pastors let themselves get in a financial hole.

This is something they don't teach you in seminary. And I hate that phrase, generally, because a lot of people blame all their shortcomings on the seminary, as if any educational institution could ever teach you absolutely everything you need to know. Ask any business person with an MBA or even doctor with an MD: you won't learn everything in school. Get over it.

Nevertheless...how do you balance responsible finances with Jesus' call to give up everything and take up the cross and follow? My brain tells me that asking for a salary appropriate to my experience and education is not a bad thing. My heart worries about being too demanding and self-centered.

Yet another wrinkle in an increasingly complicated pattern. Yet more on which I can fixate my anxiety - and not in a good way. Meanwhile, the six confirmands are preparing their statements of faith for Sunday and, you know what? They're really good. Those kids were six years old when I came to this congregation. I can't believe they're in high school.

I always thought that taking a new call would be a clearer process. That I would just know what to do in every situation. Life isn't like that. Is that so wrong?

Now what?

I got the phone call yesterday. The chairman of the call committee, saying, "We want you." Which was simultaneously exciting and surreal.

I've been completely unfocused for the past week waiting for that call, waiting to get rid of the tension and the wondering about whether I had read the situation accurately, whether my instincts about this were on target or totally wrong. So, on the one hand, I was relieved to hear that yes, I did have a decent sense of the interview weekend. I thought it went well, and it did, and that was good to know.

But immediately after relief I felt a not-small amount of fear. Because now the ball is in our court, and we have to make a decision. This involves things like negotiating a salary package and finding Beloved a new job and selling our house and holy freaking cow, this is going to be a lot of work.

I'm vacillating between real excitement and pure terror. Boy, this is harder than I thought.

Good to Know.

You Are a Little Scary

You've got a nice edge to you. Use it.

How Scary Are You?

Now back to sermon writing. I still think I am a little less scary than this parable.

Friday Five: Homage to the Top Chef

(I'm cheating by doing this Friday Five on Thursday, but tomorrow is going to be crammed full o' stuff and I think this is my only chance.)

RevHRod writes, This Fall my family has been energetically watching Top Chef on the Bravo channel. My teenage daughter watches with the dream of some day being a chef. My husband watches because he loves reality shows and I mean, really loves them. Plus the whole competition thing really works for him. Me, I love cooking and good food. Every so often I get an idea from this group of talented young chefs who are competing for big money and honors galore.

The winner for this season was Hung. Not the fan favorite, but he won fair and square. In his bio, he says if he were a food "I would be spicy chili - it takes a while to get used to, but once you eat it you always come back for more!" With that in mind, here is this week’s Friday Five.

1. If you were a food, what would you be?

French Onion Soup. Substantial, a little spicy, occasionally cheesy, and hot.

2. What is one of the most memorable meals you ever had? And where?

That's a hard one. Grilled flank steak and spinach salad at the lake cabin - after which my husband proposed. An amazing little French restaurant in Montreal with a friend years ago; best mushroom pasta ever. A bottle of wine, perfect bread, brie, and international friends sitting on the lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower for hours, ten years ago. My grandmother's Swedish meatballs on Christmas Eve. And the dessert buffet (complete with chocolate fountain!) at our wedding.

I realize this is more than one. Oh well.

3. What is your favorite comfort food from childhood?

My mom used to make this dish called "Saucy Chicken" when they had adult dinner parties. I remember lying in bed, listening to the adults laugh, feeling so safe and loved, and smelling that dish. Even though it involves cream of celery soup - not exactly gourmet - I still love that meal.

4. When going to a church potluck, what one recipe from your kitchen is sure to be a hit?

I make a mean potato salad.

5. What’s the strangest thing you ever willingly ate?

Cooked sea cucumber. It does not taste like chicken.

Bonus question: What’s your favorite drink to order when looking forward to a great meal?

I'm not a pre-dinner drinker, but I do love a good red wine. Pinot Noir or Merlot usually, with occasional forays into Cabernet. Unless it's winter; then I'm all about the hot buttered rum.

Today's Random Observation

I just finished a first pre-marital counseling session with a very sweet couple. As always, I had them take the Prepare/Enrich inventory.

I usually scan through a few areas to make sure there aren't any glaring issues. As I did so, I noticed something which I have seen many times before.

Under "religious affiliation," there are four choices.
a.) Catholic
b.) Jewish
c.) Protestant
d.) Other

This couple chose "other." This couple is Protestant. This happens all the time. I assume they notice the absence of the word "Lutheran" and figure that "other" is their best choice.

Meanwhile, the people who score these things probably think I'm running a Wiccan retreat center out here.

I never realized so many people didn't comprehend "protestant." No judgment on my part. Just a random observation.

Small Reasons for Gratitude

I'm so happy that our local NPR station's pledge drive is over today.

That's all. You have to take happiness where you can find it.

Change, Thou Art Difficult

I wrote awhile ago about a particularly neurotic experience in worship. (If you missed it, look here.) It had to do with my congregation's reluctance to change the Lord's Prayer, moving out of "thy and thine" to "you and yours." (The sort of language change that generally happened, you know, hundreds of years ago, but that's okay.)

I decided to write a newsletter article about this, because a.) I needed something to write about for November and frankly, the annual "be thankful!" theme is getting old and b.) I like newsletter articles to give food for thought. Plus I'm not entirely sure where else to address this, given that I don't really want to spend a whole sermon on it and there aren't too many other options. (The music director and I have decided, however, that we'll likely use the Lord's Prayer as our theme for Lenten midweek services, and "prayer" as a general Lenten theme. That should be fun.)

At any rate, the article is below. (Wherever you see "This Congregation," the actual name of my church appears, but it's been altered to protect the stubborn.) If you have any thoughts, please comment. It can't get much longer than this - I'm pushing the boundaries already - but I'd love to hear other opinions. I wilt be forever grateful for thine gracious words.



There’s an old joke: “How many Lutherans does it take to change a light bulb?” Answer: “Change?” (I said it was an old joke, not necessarily a great one.) The implication, of course, is that Lutherans aren’t big on change. That’s partly true, though I think it’s more of a general human tendency than just a Lutheran one. Change is hard. Especially when we weren’t looking for it.

Our biggest changes in the last few months at This Congregation have largely revolved around the new hymnal. New songs, new liturgy pieces, new book (small print, I know – the large print edition is coming in 2009), new version of the Apostles’ Creed. These adjustments we have handled with considerable grace and good humor, all things considered. For all that we claim not to like change very much, This Congregation has long been a congregation at ease with many changes, able to bend without breaking and learn to try new things.

But oh, it has been hard to change the Lord’s Prayer, hasn’t it? For some of us more than others, but on the whole, that’s the one piece which has certainly caused the most consternation, and about which I’ve been asked the most questions. “Why did we change the prayer? What was wrong with the old one? What if I don’t want to pray the new one? Why fix something if it isn’t broken?”

I’m not sure I can address all those questions here, but it seemed like one place to try. At the very least, I’d like to encourage you to think hard about why change is sometimes a good idea, even when it makes you uncomfortable for awhile, or when it’s a change you don’t really want. Changes in worship are always a challenge. But they do give us opportunity to think about why we worship, how we worship, and what we’re really doing when we gather on a Sunday morning.

The Lord’s Prayer appears in both Matthew and Luke’s gospels (Matthew 6:9-13; Luke 11:2-4). In Matthew, Jesus instructs the disciples to pray “in this way,” perhaps meaning that the prayer itself is a pattern to be followed for all our prayers, not simply something to be recited. It comes in the midst of Jesus’ reminder that his followers should not pray for show, nor should they worry about using big, fancy, religious words. Instead, he encourages them to pray simply, for, as he says, “your Father knows what you need before you ask him” (Matt. 6:8).

In Luke, the setting is a bit different. In Matthew, Jesus’ instruction on prayer comes during the Sermon on the Mount; in Luke, it occurs later in Jesus’ ministry, right after he has reminded Mary and Martha not to keep themselves so busy that they lose track of what really matters. Luke’s version of the prayer is also quite a bit shorter, mentioning nothing about God’s will being done or delivering us from evil. Neither gospel contains the words which traditionally close the prayer: “for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever.” I encourage you to read both versions and note some of the differences between the two.

The traditional version – the one with “thy” and “thine” and “art” – originated in 1662 and was slightly altered in 1928. It came from the Church of England Prayer Book. Both those versions, as well as the newer ones, are based on Matthew’s version of the prayer, instead of Luke’s. Since Jesus would have prayed in Aramaic, an ancient language related to Hebrew, any English version is a translation of the original.

The version we now pray on Sundays comes from the English Language Liturgical Consultation, an ecumenical body. It was formed in 1969 by many mainline churches to help develop not only prayers, but also the lectionary (the series of biblical readings we hear on Sunday mornings). The hope was that all churches, regardless of denomination, would be able to share some key things in common: the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, and a lectionary. The “new” version of the Lord’s Prayer is not that new, since it was released in 1975. In fact, it was actually in the green hymnal!

History aside, the real struggle is about something else. Why should we change a prayer to which we have become so attached? The world already changes so fast, so often – why can’t some things stay the same? Is change for its own sake really a good thing?

These are important questions. And yet, there are also some others. Why do we have such a hard time changing our words for this prayer? Is our reluctance to change a real, theological, spiritual issue – or are we just stubborn? (That Norwegian blood runs deep, doesn’t it?) It’s uncomfortable to feel that you don’t know this prayer anymore. But then again, a little discomfort in our faith lives causes us to think. It causes us to ask pay close attention to what we are praying instead of simply reciting words from memory. That’s worth doing every once in awhile, even though it is hard.

I know that on my deathbed, I will very likely pray, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” That version of the prayer is simply imprinted in my brain, and it will always be so. And no one will ever force you to pray the new version if you truly can’t do it. But if you are struggling, ask yourself why. Wrestle a bit with change. Try on a little discomfort.

When Jesus originally taught the disciples how to pray, they were probably uncomfortable too. After all, they had grown up with traditional Hebrew prayers; they had memorized those since childhood, and here Jesus was giving them something quite different. Many Jewish prayers begin with the phrase, “Blessed are you, O God, King of the universe,” and Jesus’ prayer doesn’t begin with those words at all. It was probably a hard change for them.

A little change now and then can help keep our prayer lives vibrant, alive, and growing. Growing pains are inevitable. But we can pray about that too. No matter what words we use.

Theological Word of the Day: Dizzy.

Beloved and I spent this past weekend with Possible Congregation (see posts below for more details on this). Possible Congregation is now looking more and more like Really Exciting Hope They Call Me Congregation, and, like everything else in this particular process, I didn't see that coming.

Insofar as I can tell, this place would be a great fit for me. They describe themselves as 'theologically progressive,' and their mission statement has words like 'inclusive, compassionate, and challenging.' I love all these words. (It also has 'Jesus,' which is good.) It would be a big change, since I'd be going from Head Honcho to Second Banana (not exactly the technical terms used, but you get the idea). Honestly, I'd be quite fine most days if the buck stopped on someone else's desk. I also know that there would certainly be some moments where not being the one in charge would be a difficult adjustment.

It's a big, definitely programmatic, congregation. Current Congregation is a medium-sized, verging-on-programmatic-but-still-wrestling-with-pastoral-expectations congregation. It would mean more time managing staff and a bit less time doing all the pastoral things I do now. Again: I would enjoy working with a large staff. I'm good at that. I would also miss some things about having just 10 kids in confirmation and teaching it myself (as opposed to 80 kids in their program, with mentors and staff doing much of the teaching).

No place is perfect, and I am not foolish enough to think this one is. But I can definitely feel the pull toward a new beginning. I think that is something to pay attention to.

"What about Beloved?" you ask. Wasn't he dragging his feet on this? Wasn't he the one asking all the practical questions about the expensive housing market and where he could get a job and all the traffic and his expectation that we would live in our current city until he retired?

Here's where it must be the hand of God because, I tell you what, it's sure not me. Beloved is excited. I know for sure that he will also have a hard time leaving and he does have legitimate reasons for that. I also know that he goes up and down about this, as do I, and that I can't guarantee that he will not pull back from time to time.

Nor can I guarantee that Possible Congregation will actually extend the call to me, which is the first question. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, I realize. But I do want to be as prepared as possible, since we will only have 30 days to decide should they indeed do as we hope.

Which brings us to the word of the day: Dizzy. I've tried to think of something more theologically sophisticated, but that's about all I can find. Dizzy with joy and confusion and grief over the real idea of leaving, dizzy with possibilities and real estate listings and jobs for Beloved, dizzy in a real, physical way (my stomach is jumping even now). Dizzy that Sunday's texts are about wrestling with God. No kidding.

Also seriously unfocused. That was today's runner-up word.

Yikes. Keep praying for us, would you? (And thanks for doing that already.) Good stuff is happening.

Your Cheatin' Heart

That's the song running through my head this morning: "Your cheatin' heart, will tell on you..."

And no, it's not because of any marital indiscretions on my part (or on Beloved's). It's because I am heading out this weekend to interview in another congregation and I feel as if I am walking around the church office today with a big scarlet letter on my chest. What would it be? "I" for interviewing? "D" for discerning? "F" for fleeing? "C" for confused? Maybe all of the above.

I have interviewed at one other congregation in the eight years I've been here, and turned down a few other opportunities. But at none of those moments did I feel the sort of pull I do about this particular possibility. Ten minutes into that other interview I knew it wasn't the right place for me nor I for them, and I sailed through the rest of it without even considering whether our conversation would go any further.

This time is different. Partly because Possible Congregation is, on paper, exactly the sort of place I have been hoping to land in for a long time. Partly because Current Congregation is in a good place but really needs someone to kick them in the proverbial (and communal, a hard image to conjure up) butt, and I'm not sure I'm the person to do that. I've had doubts about that for a long time. Partly because Beloved is not overly happy with his own career situation at the moment and thus has been much, much more open to this possibility than I had ever imagined. Partly because the timing - in spite of all the things I just mentioned - is not all that great, and one of the few things I know for sure about the mysterious workings of the Lord our God is that my individual calendar is not the trump card I prefer to think it is.

From talking to trusted colleagues, I have the sense that my image of infidelity is a common one. And yet, in the Lutheran system anyway, this is how it works. Part of the reason my sense of it is so much stronger this time is that I have to leave town for this interview, and therefore must be away on a Sunday.

It is not helping that last night I started reading a book called Loving Frank for my book club, which is a fictionalized account of the true affair between Frank Lloyd Wright and his mistress. More furtive love and secret assignations are not images I need at the moment. I might put it aside for awhile.

I have absolutely no idea what will happen. Absolutely none. That is both terrifying and thrilling. I ask for your prayers for all of us, as you have them to spare: for Beloved and for me, for Current Congregation, for Possible Congregation, and for our families (as we would move away from one and to the other - yet another wrinkle in a complicated pattern).

Breathe in. Breathe out. One more step. Time to jump into the deep end.

Gotta Love Luther

For this quote alone I am Lutheran (though yes, there are plenty of other reasons too).

If you are a preacher of grace, then preach a true not a fictitious grace; if grace is true, you must bear a true and not a fictitious sin. God does not save people who are only fictitous sinners. Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly, for he is victorious over sin, death, and the world.

Martin Luther, Luther's Works, Volume 48, pgs 281-282.

Friday Five: Thankfulness List

The RevGals are keeping it simple this week and asking for list of five things for which we are thankful. Maybe because at text study this week we looked ahead at next Sunday's grateful-leper text; maybe because I've started to see ads on television inviting Canadians to come and shop for Canadian thanksgiving (a real switch in the dollar value, there); or maybe because one way I deal with personal adversity is focusing on the many reasons I have to be grateful; whatever way you slice it, I've been thinking a fair amount about thankfulness lately. So: well done, RevGals. Here goes.

1. My husband.
I make no apologies for the cheesiness of this one. We've been thrown into the deep end lately, with the surprising prospect of an interview and perhaps a move, and with the news that our Baby Quest is likely to be medically invasive, complicated, and expensive. And through it all, through even some very hard conversations and a great many tears, this man has been more patient and calm and thoughtful and hopeful than I could ever have expected. It took us a long time to find each other; when we married, I was 31 and he was 42. It was worth the wait.

2. Autumn.
From the sublime to the...well, not ridiculous, but perhaps at least less emotional. I love autumn. I love that the leaves are turning colors and it is crisply cold in the morning, that you can see your breath when you step out to get the newspaper and that we can now make things like meatballs and soup and breads and stews. I am grateful even for the descent into winter darkness (this is probably the Scandinavian in me). I think it all satisfies my nesting instincts.

3. Really, really, really good music.
This July, we welcomed a new member to our church staff: our long-awaited Director of Music Ministries. Suffice it to say that this guy ROCKS the pipe organ and the piano, already has three youth music groups well established, and can play any hymn I request. I was gearing myself up to ask him if he would be willing to learn Widor's Toccata for Easter, and found out he was planning to use it for this Sunday's postlude (we ended up changing the last hymn to a spiritual, though, so he made an adjustment on that). What a joy to hear music well done after all these years. Alleluia!

4. My parents.
The looming prospect of parenthood (and the fear of never having it) have made me so deeply appreciate my own parents. After my horrible appointment in which the doctor told me our chances of natural conception were "in the single digits," I called my mother (only because my husband was teaching and this didn't seem like the kind of thing you tell your spouse over the phone anyway). I cried and cried and so did she and, when I hung up, I thought simultaneously of how tremendously thankful I am for my parents and of how very hard it will be when they are no longer here. All our parents are in their mid-60's to early 70's and all four are exceptionally healthy, so we have no reason to panic about this. But someday, someday, they won't be here. And I am starting to understand now how they grieved when my grandparents died.

5. Hope.
There are a lot of things I could list for this last one: friends, this blogging community of clergy women, my congregation. But what all of those - and many more - have in common is the hope they inspire in me. Hope that the darkest valley is not the end. Hope that a life interrupted is not reason for despair. Hope that God who has been faithful for so long will always be so, even if that faithfulness takes a different shape than originally anticipated. It must be the Holy Spirit who gives this hope, because it sure isn't something I can generate within myself. And I certainly don't know what I would do without it.

Stupid Human Trick #286

We are proceeding through the maze of bloodwork in fertility testing (I say "we," in the royal sense, because I'm the only one getting the needle for now. This is a bit like saying that "we" had to give a sample for the semen analysis). Step one was the FSH test on cycle day 4. Good results. Step 2 is the progesterone test which needs to be done between days 20-24. I went last week and got the results back on Friday: low levels. The nurse explained that this means I do ovulate, but in some sort of weak fashion. Great, I thought. Of course we're among the - what is it? - 10% or less of couples whose infertility problem is due to both partners. Shit.

And then, last Sunday morning in the shower (sidebar: why do ideas always come to me in the shower? And so often on Sundays when frankly, I am practically in a coma anyway? Odd) I remembered something. I remembered that my period had started on September 9, not September 2. I realized this meant I had gotten ahead of myself somehow and had, therefore, done the progesterone test on the wrong day. Which meant that the poor results were very likely my own stupid fault and perhaps not accurate.

Explaining this to the nurse over the phone on Monday morning was embarrassing ("Hello, I need a new test order because I can't count to 28 correctly") but hopefully, my reprieve. Test results should come tomorrow.

Infertility is such a weird journey. Who knew I would be so glad to realize my own stupidity?

Here If You Need Me

The title of this post is also the title of a book I just finished for book club. The author, Kate Braestrup, tells the story of her work as a chaplain with the Maine Game Warden service (which, as she notes, raises a lot of questions like, "What do you do? Bless the moose?" when, in fact, she works with their search-and-rescue division).

This is a very good book. I wish I could sit and have coffee with her, since I have a lot of questions both about her work and her journey to seminary. The latter is a choice she makes after her husband, whose dream it was to go to seminary when he retired as a state trooper, dies in a car accident. Normally, this would throw up all kinds of red flags for me about transference and grief-avoidance but frankly, this woman comes off as extraordinarily healthy. And you should really read the bits about her refusal to have the funeral home care for her husband's body.

At any rate, the passage which stuck with me most was from her chapter on heaven. She's Unitarian. And she doesn't believe in heaven or any sort of afterlife, which she discusses freely. She talks a bit about this. And then she shares the following conversation with her son (who is about 12 at the time, I think):

My son Zach is the child of Unitarian Universalists, so naturally he didn't know a lot about Jesus. But I heard a lot about Jesus at my Christian seminary, and a lot of it was pretty cool. So one day, I found myself telling Zach about Jesus' life and death, the stories they told about him, what he said to his disciples.

"When Jesus talked about loving," I said, "I think he meant something really radical. I think he was talking about loving as God loves; loving completely, loving with a whole self. He told his disciples to give everything they had, everything they were, to hold nothing back, not money, not time, not even life itself. Everything was to be given over in the service of love."

I went on about this for awhile, sermonizing in a motherly sort of way, and Zach listened carefully, because even as a young boy he was always a careful listener.

"So, Mom," he said at last. "Let's say I decide to become a devoted follower of Jesus Christ."

"What?" I said, startled and alarmed.

"No, but let's say I do."

"Okay," I said cautiously.

"And I die, and because I'm a Christian, I get to go to heaven instead of going to hell."

"Yeah..."

"If I really take Jesus seriously, if I really am willing to give up everything I am and everything I have in the service of love, if I am really a Christian...it seems to me I would have to give my place in heaven to someone else, someone who otherwise wouldn't get to go."

I stared at him.

"I'd have to go to hell, so this other person could be in heaven. Right, Mom?"

That right there. That is why you need to read this book.

Friday Five: Reverendmother's Swan Song

Reverendmother over at RevGals says her (maybe? certainly baby) goodbye to hosting the Friday Five with these questions:

On Endings and Goodbyes:

1. Best ending of a movie/book/TV show

Newhart, hands down. I never watched this show much, but the whole "waking up in bed with the wife from my previous sitcom" was brilliant. Brilliant.

Movie-wise, I still love the ending of Gone With the Wind. I love that we never know what happens to Rhett and Scarlett and so you have to imagine it for yourself. Sequels be damned.

2. Worst ending of a movie/book/TV show

Hmmm. I hated the end of The Piano. As someone who loves to play the piano herself, the idea of losing a finger and the ability to play - and all the emotional release which comes with it - was traumatic to me.

3. Tell about a memorable goodbye you've experienced.

Saying goodbye to my bestest seminary friends was very, very hard. But it reminded me of how hard it was to say goodbye to my college friends - after which I managed to convince myself that, although nothing could ever possibly be as good as college, seminary would be okay. And seminary was even better. So although saying goodbye to seminary friends was hard, I had a better hope that the best was still to come.

4. Is it true that "all good things must come to an end"?

Eventually, yes. That's why I love anticipation even more than the actual event. Eventually, everything ends. (However, see comment on "the best is still coming" above.)

**I am editing this quickly to explain a bit more: as Robert Capon would put it, the only thing you need to be in order for God to resurrect you is dead. Only after things end can they be raised to new life which, after all, is our greatest hope - so I find it a good thing that everything ends. God does love to raise the dead, after all...

5. "Everything I ever let go of has claw marks on it." --Anne Lamott
Discuss.

This is one among the thousands of reasons I love Anne Lamott. Personally, I can hardly let go in the first place.

Bonus: "It isn't over until the fat lady sings." I've never loved this expression. So propose an alternative: "It isn't over until the coffee pot is empty." How very Lutheran of me.

And, by the way - thanks, Reverendmother, for so many great Friday Fives. Blessings on your way!

Something Else the Lectionary People Don't Think About

About 90% of the time, I really like and appreciate the lectionary. I like the fact that it prevents me from choosing my favorites. I like that we are reading together with many congregations, in a tiny glimpse of the unity of the church. I like the pattern of seasons.

And then there's this month in Year C. Which is the homiletical equivalent of driving along down the freeway and suddenly hitting a dirt road filled with potholes.

But the challenge today has not been the trajectory of the sermon (it's only Tuesday, for heaven's sake) - it's been trying to find a hymn to go with this rich-man-stuck-in-the-flames-of-hell thing. Not to mention last week's frantic attempt to find something to sing after preaching on the dishonest-manager-whom-Jesus-praises extravaganza.

It reminds me of a worship committee meeting a few years ago when, in a search for a hymn to go after the sermon on 'John the Baptist Gets Beheaded Sunday,' one of the committee members suggested O Sacred Head Now Wounded.

Where art thou, O Lectionary People, when it comes time to choose the hymn of the day? Huh?

Sunday's Sermon: A Study in Irony

Below is the sermon for Sunday. Here's the irony (which I also mentioned in a footnote at the end, a practice which helps me remember to whom I am indebted for various thoughts and quotes) - I owe the entire second half of a sermon on forgiveness to someone else (Sarah Dylan Breuer is my hero today), and hopefully she will forgive my use of her brilliant analysis.

The confession of ignorance in part one, however, is entirely my own.

Peace to all for Sunday.

Dear friends in Christ, grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

If you’re anything like me, your first reaction to today’s parable can be summed up in one word: What? It sounds like Jesus is praising a guy who lied about his master’s income and went behind his back to try and save his own skin, and then you get to the part where Jesus says, “I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth,” which really doesn’t sound like much of a Jesus thing to say, and frankly, this is about the strangest parable we’ve ever heard. Which it is. It’s such an odd story that I think we ought to hear it again, but in a slightly different version. This is how the parable appears in The Message, a modern paraphrase of the bible:

Jesus said to his disciples, “There was once a rich man who had a manager. He got reports that the manager had been taking advantage of his position by running up huge personal expenses on his business account. So he called him into his office and said, “What’s this I hear about you? I want a complete audit of your books. And, by the way – you’re fired.”

The manager said to himself, “now what will I do? I’ve lost my job. I’m not strong enough to work in manual labor, and I’m too proud to beg. Wait: I’ve got a plan. Here’s what I’ll do…I’ll make sure that the people who owe money to my boss owe me a favor instead. I’ll become their best friend. Then, when I’m finally discovered and turned out into the streets, those people will welcome me into their homes.”

So he went at it. One by one, he called in the people who were in debt to his master. He said to the first, “how much do you owe him?” And the man replied, “a hundred jugs of olive oil.” The manager said, “Here; take your bill, quickly now, and cross out 100 and write 50.”

When the next debtor came in, the manager asked the same thing: “What do you owe?” And the man answered, “A hundred sacks of wheat.” “Okay,” said the manager, “take your bill, cross out 100, and write 80.”

Now here’s the surprise: when the master heard about this, he praised the manager! Why? Because he knew how to look after himself. Streetwise people are smarter in this regard than law-abiding citizens, because they’re on constant alert, looking for a new angle, surviving by their wits. I want you to be smart in the same way, but for what is right – by using every adversity to stimulate you to creative survival, to concentrate your attention on the bare essentials, so that you’ll really live, and not just get by on your good behavior. (1)

That version is a little more straightforward, but frankly, it still doesn’t take the edge off the story. No matter how you translate the words or mix them around, what you get in the end is still Jesus praising a dishonest person who saved his own skin by lying and survived it only because the master took the shocking action of not throwing him into jail. There’s no getting around it: this is a weird parable.

Most of the time we would all consider it my job to get up here and explain to you what this means. This is, after all, at least part of what you pay me to do: to read and research and think and research again, and finally to come to you on Sunday with some sort of meaningful, sensible explanation.

But we all run into parts of scripture which baffle us utterly, and I confess freely to you that this passage stumps me. I did find one particular writer whose take on this parable opened it up for me in a new way, and I am going to share that with you in a moment, but there is still something very important about the fact that scripture can sometimes puzzle us beyond belief. You can go along verse after verse, chapter after chapter, doing just fine – you read hard things from Jesus, certainly, but the hard part of them is often doing as he says, not understanding what it means. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is not hard to grasp. It’s just hard to put into action.

Perhaps Jesus tells a few of these particularly troubling parables just to remind us that we can never really get our hands or our minds around the whole complexity of God. Just when you think you’ve got it figured out, whatever “it” is – life, marriage, faith, politics, even a parable – it can slip out of your hands like sand, and suddenly you have to start over again. Catherine LaCugna, a theologian, once wrote, “We find God because we have been found by God. Anything we could find on our own would not be God.” A difficult parable like this one reminds us that we cannot find God on our own: sometimes we cannot even figure out a parable on our own. We cannot hold onto God for long, and too often we end up worshipping our ideas about God instead of the living, complex, mighty, vulnerable, merciful and extraordinary God about whom the scriptures can only begin to teach us.

But somehow, ending a sermon with the phrase, “I have no idea what this means,” didn’t seem all that satisfactory to me. So I share with you a very insightful word from Sarah Dylan Breuer, who writes a regular commentary on the lectionary passages. (2)

Here’s the problem that all readers of this parable must face: what the manager does is clearly dishonest. From a basic capitalist perspective, he’s guilty of embezzlement: he takes the landlord’s property as if it were his own and forgives debts that aren’t his to forgive. Even after he is fired, he keeps doing this even though it is, in no way, his job any longer.

"Think about that for a moment. What, exactly, is it that the manager does, even without authorization and with a great deal of deception?

He forgives. He forgives debts."

Let’s go back to the word originally used in the gospel for this man: the steward. He is the steward, the caretaker, of another person’s property. And he takes care of it by forgiving debts that do not belong to him. “He forgives things that he had no right to forgive. He forgives for all the wrong reasons: for personal gain, to compensate for past misconduct, to get ahead, to save his own skin. His motivations are poor, to say the least.” But in spite of that, in spite of the fact that he forgives for all the wrong reasons, in spite of the fact that he should rightfully have been thrown into jail for losing money that wasn’t his in the first place, the landlord forgives him. There it is again: totally inappropriate, wildly bizarre, and utterly unexpected…forgiveness.

This story appears only in the gospel of Luke. And it may be no accident that, when Luke tells the story of Jesus teaching us how to pray, he uses a very specific word in that prayer: “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive those in debt to us.” The Greek word Luke uses for “debt” is a word only used in monetary circles, a word that accountants would write down in column A: so Luke isn’t just talking about forgiving sins, or forgiving general wrongs done to us, but very specifically about forgiving financial debts. What that forgiveness might look like is the very subject of this parable, the moral of which seems to be: “Forgive. Forgive it all. Forgive it now. Forgive it for any reason you want, or for no reason at all.”

“Why forgive someone who’s sinned against us, or against our sense of what is right? You don’t have to do it out of love for the other person, if you don’t have that love quite yet. You could forgive them because you pray to do that every Sunday, and because you’d like to be forgiven yourself when the time comes. Or you could forgive because it’s really no fun to hang onto a grudge anyway, and you’ve learned that refusing to forgive because you don’t want the other person to benefit is like eating rat poison hoping that it will hurt the rat. You could forgive because you want to be in touch with Jesus’ power to forgive sinners and we want to be more like him. Or you could forgive because you think it will improve your chances of winning the lottery.

It boils down to the same thing: deluded or sane, ridiculous or wise, selfish or unselfish, there is no bad reason to forgive.” Forgiving debts of every kind – sins and wrongs and money and grudges and even ourselves – only puts us more in touch with God’s grace, and over time, that forgiveness itself will change you, no matter why you started doing it in the first place. There is no bad reason to forgive. In this case, your motivation doesn’t matter: you could even be a dishonest steward trying desperately to hang onto a job you’ve already lost and escaping jail by the skin of your teeth. You could be a man hanging on a cross, dying slowly and painfully, forgiving your executors with your last breath. You could be a mighty nation who decides to free the poorest of the poor by letting go of all your IOU’s and throwing them into the ocean.

Or you could be us, with all our mixed motivations, in all our confusion, knowing barely anything except this: that God has found us, and forgiven us, so that we can laugh all way to the kingdom, forgiving like it’s going out of style. It’s the first step in a life of stewardship, of moving our whole selves and everything we have into God’s way of life. When you forgive, you do not change the past. But you absolutely, no question about it, change the future. (3)

Amen.

Notes:
(1) I'm paraphrasing The Message. Paraphrasing a paraphrase. I'm paraparaphrasing. And also inventing my own words, apparently.
(2) All quotes that follow, unless otherwise noted, and the general gist of this interpretation are entirely thanks to Sarah Dylan Breuer at this post. To whom, ironically, I am deeply indebted.
(3) The last two sentences are a quote on forgiveness from Quotes for the Journey, Wisdom for the Way, by Gordon Jackson. NAV Press, 2000.

Friday Five: De-cluttering edition

Sally is asking about our stuff. Short answer: we have too much.

With Jo, Jon and Chris all moving to college and University accommodation there has been a big clear up going on in the Coleman household. We have been sorting and trying hard not just to junk stuff, but actually to get it to where it can be useful. On a brighter note we have used Freecycle ( check it out) to provide the twins with pots and pans etc that other folk were clearing out.

Making the most of our resources is important, I have been challenged this week by the amount of stuff we accumulate, I'd love to live a simpler lifestyle, it would be good for me, and for the environment I think...

With that in mind I bring you this Friday 5;

1. Are you a hoarder or a minimalist?

Somwhere in-between. I keep important things, but I have semi-yearly fits of organization and throw out/recycle/give away stuff regularly. I tend more toward the mimimalist. Some famous British person wrote, "never own anything you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." Or something like that. I agree.

2. Name one important object ( could be an heirloom) that you will never part with.

I have two pieces by a Jewish artist that I love more than you should love a material thing. Those two and a small painting of Banff we bought on our honeymoon. So I'm cheating: three things (but in one category).
Though in a fire, the first thing I would probably grab would be photos.

3. What is the oldest item in your closet? Does it still fit???
I have a sweater fetish, and one of them in my closet is from high school. Yes, it fits.

4.Yard sales- love 'em or hate 'em ?
Eh...I can do without them. My father-in-law loves them and gets good deals. The ones I go to always seem to have about 95% crap.

5. Name a recycling habit you really want to get into.
I just bought re-usable grocery bags at Safeway the other day. I really want to use those instead of plastic bags (though I do recycle the plastic bags, in case Al Gore happens to read my blog).

Bonus point...
We are not environmentally perfect by any stretch (I commute 70 miles round trip every day...) but we do compost. And love it. Try it! It's super easy, and you will have the best. garden. dirt. ever.

Viva La Revolucion

A few months ago, our congregation switched to the new hymnal. For Lutherans, this is a very big deal. Very big. With the exception of a few supplemental books here and there, we haven't switched for 30 years (meaning that, the last time a new hymnal was introduced, I was in the cherub choir). So it was time.

For the most part, we've done very well. The fact that this switch brought us from two hymnals to one made a lot of people happy; fewer things to juggle during worship on Sundays. We like the red cover. It has neat art. The print is a little small, but we put so much of it in the bulletin that this hardly matters anyway. There are lots of great hymns (about 900 in all). We even managed to slide into using the "new" version of the Apostles' Creed without much fuss.

But then there's the Lord's Prayer. And lo, there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

You would think I had actually demanded that they gouge out their eyes or chop off their hands, given the fervor with which some people approach this change. I overstate a little; in fact, most people have been fine with it. Or, at least, they've kept their not-fineness to themselves, and sighed about how things change, and moved on. I really expected it to be a bigger deal than it was. But a few people seem to think that the version we've been praying was the actual original, the one Jesus prayed his very own self, and my pointing out that it's actually quite different in the gospels (not to mention that Jesus himself was more of an Aramaic speaker than we tend to be) has not taken the edge off it.

(My mother-in-law particularly detests this new version. I love my mother-in-law. And she is not a member of my congregation. so it doesn't particularly bother me that she mumbles the old version to herself during worship on Sundays. I did finally tell her, only half-jokingly, that she needed to complain to her own pastor about it because I had enough grumblings to deal with on my own. She hasn't mentioned it since.)

But I digress. A few months ago, I wrote about a staff situation which was creating some conflict in our congregation. Short version: we changed from multiple part-time music positions to one full-time position, and two of the part-time people took this personally. Their leaving was quite ugly, mostly by their own actions. The choir director and her parents, in particular, left in a huff. Interestingly, the choir director's younger sister and her family remain. Let's call her husband Rick.

During one of the "All About Worship" classes I taught last spring in preparation for the new hymnal, we discussed some of the changes we would be making when it arrived. New liturgies: fine. New version of creed: okay. New hymns: great. New Lord's Prayer: thou art kidding, no? Rick, in particular, was unhappy about this change. Not in a mean way, and not truly angry, but simply wistful - wishing that we wouldn't change just that one thing. Certainly he wasn't the only one; his wife felt the same way, but many others did too. They understood intellectually all the good reasons I gave, but emotionally, it's a different thing. And, believe it or not, I understand that too. I know that "Our Father who art in heaven" will always be my default version. On my deathbed, that's probably how I'll pray it.

Rick and his wife were in church on Sunday after some weeks of absence, during which I had begun to wonder if they had joined the rest of their family in another congregation. But it was great to see them, and we chatted for awhile, and they talked about how much they liked our new music director, and all seemed well. Worship that day went without a hitch: confession and forgiveness, music, prayer, scripture, sermon, creed, prayers, peace...time for communion.

I always bring my bulletin with me to the altar when I preside, because a number of the prayers change seasonally. But when it comes time for the actual communion bit, I use the altar book. The print is big, for one. But mostly, I prefer the heft and weight and significance of a book. Bulletins feel a little flimsy for the moment, for what we are really doing at that point. Everything was going fine. Then I invited the congregation, as I always do: "gathered into one by the Holy Spirit, let us pray as Jesus taught."

I began: "Our Father in heaven..."

And the congregation began, "Our Father, who art in heaven..."

You have never heard a congregation pray anything with as much verve and power and determination as they prayed the old version of the Lord's Prayer. It took me about 2 seconds to realize this was happening. Here is an approximation of the monologue in my head which followed:

"Is that the old version? Are they actually doing this? What happened? Why are they so loud? [Editorial note: seriously. They were almost shouting it.] Do they really hate the old version so much? And why can I hear Rick so well? Is is possible...did he and his wife...did they actually convince people to pray the old version? Is this some sort of bloodless coup? Oh, God. Oh, it is. Oh, they hate this prayer and they hate me and during coffee hour they totally decided, 'SCREW THE PASTOR, we hate this prayer, let's just do it the old way.' I cannot believe this is happening. How could they do this to me? What am I going to do? I can't force them to pray a certain way if they don't want to, right? Oh, God. What am I going to do? HOW COULD THEY DO THIS? I'm going to have to leave. That's it. I'll have to take another call. Oh, God. Oh, no."

I kid you not. In the, oh, forty seconds it takes to pray this prayer (not that I was actually praying, obviously), I concocted an entire revolution in which the whole congregation had conspired to overthrow my liturgical changes and reinstate the traditional version of the Lord's Prayer, all potentially led by a couple who had remained in the congregation not - as I thought - because they disagreed with their family's departure but as covert spies just waiting for their moment to strike. Liturgical Shock and Awe.

And then I looked at the bulletin to check and see which version of "Lamb of God" we would be singing during distribution.

And I noticed, for the first time, that the secretary had accidentally printed the old version of the Lord's Prayer.

They were just reading it.

Somebody find Woody Allen. It's time for a feature film on the world's most neurotic pastor, and I've got his star right here.

Viva la revolucion. Let them eat wafers.

I'll Take It

Good news from the doctor today: my first set of bloodwork came back with good results. They want to see an FSH level below 14, and I'm at 9; which, long story short, means that my egg quality is good and IVF is still an option for us. (So is donor sperm, but Beloved is not quite sure about that, and I don't blame him.)

Take the good news when you can get it. I'll take this.

Friday Five: Meetings, Meetings...

This is my first Friday Five in quite awhile. I've been stuck in meetings! (Okay, not really. But that would have been a very timely excuse, no?)

ReverendMother writes, In honor of a couple of marathon meetings I attended this week:

1. What's your view of meetings? Choose one or more, or make up your own:
a) When they're good, they're good. I love the feeling of people working well together on a common goal.
b) I don't seek them out, but I recognize them as a necessary part of life.
c) The only good meeting is a canceled meeting.
I'm going to chicken out and say that I really could say any of the three, depending on the meeting. I like to get things done, so the meetings that irritate me are the ones where we spend most of the time socializing or discussing way-off-topic stuff. Or where one person (unless it's me, of course, in all my brilliance) dominates the whole thing. If I had to choose one of the above, I'm probably consistently a 'b'.

2. Do you like some amount of community building or conversation, or are you all business?
Sort of answered this one above. I like to socialize, but my preference is to get the work done first and then have the option of hanging around. Some of us want to go home. On the other hand, especially in a new group, you need a certain amount of community building included in order for people to trust one another. So, I guess I like purposeful socializing. I dislike a lot of distract-y gossiping.

3. How do you feel about leading meetings? Share any particular strengths or weaknesses you have in this area.
I like leading meetings because I can get things done. (Can you sense a theme here?) I suppose that my business-like demeanor could be a weakness as well. Maybe. I'm not convinced of this. I think the church generally needs a kick in the butt more than it needs another easy-going committee member. Or my church does, anyway.

4. Have you ever participated in a virtual meeting? (conference call, IM, chat, etc.) What do you think of this format? Conference call. Not a fan. I know it's a necessary evil, but I really miss the body-language bit. I'd rather do email or IM than a conference call, but I'm no giant fan of those either. Nothing replaces the in-person experience.

5. Share a story of a memorable meeting you attended.
Okay, none of my answers above were all that interesting; in fact, I stayed in this particular Friday Five just to be able to answer this one. This is in my top-five favorite moments of ministry, this meeting. And it has everything to do with the lovely image below. Thanks, despair.com.

So we were starting our capital campaign to retire the mortgage. We needed to raise about $320,000 (we can have a separate discussion about why retiring your mortgage is or is not a good idea, but suffice it to say that it wasn't really my choice to make at the time). One of the early steps in the process is to establish an "Advance Gifts" committee, which solicits large or significant gifts before the official kick-off of the campaign, basically so you can announce all this success on the very first day. Sort of like making a list of all the things you have to do this weekend and starting with two or three things you've already done, so you can cross them off and feel good about yourself before you begin (this is a hint from my mother, and it really works).

On this committee were a bunch of guys in the congregation I hardly knew. I knew many of their wives better, and some of their kids. Several were professionals (doctors, lawyers, architects) and several were retired. About a dozen in all. And we had our first meeting with - as he shall be called - Consultant Guy, on a Monday evening. Consultant Guy was one of those particularly smug, slick money-raisers who's probably pretty successful at it, but who makes you want to take a quick shower after spending any amount of time with him. (Fortunately he was only our auxiliary guy and we only had this one meeting with him.)

There's a much longer story behind my previous interactions with Consultant Guy, but that's really for another time. Nothing terrible or inappropriate, just...you know. Icky. So imagine the slickest guy you know and - bing! That's this guy. Consultant Guy wanted to break the ice by having everyone introduce themselves and then tell us what we were doing at 10:00 this morning. "Won't this be fun," he suggests in his peculiarly slimy/jolly manner.

Everyone obliges and we go around the room: someone was mowing the lawn, someone was working, someone was in traffic, someone was on the phone. Etc. Until we get to a man whose family I knew quite well, but who, as an individual, I had spend virtually no time with. This man is a doctor. And he is also the kind of person (as I discovered) who has a very astute slick-detector. He could see right through Consultant Guy. Here is what followed.

Doctor: So you want to know what we were doing at 10:00 this morning?
CG: Yes, that would be great (insert slick chuckle here).
Doctor: Are you sure about that?
CG: (with increased chuckle) Why, yes! Certainly. Of course.
Doctor: Well, I had my head up some guy's ass.

LONG PAUSE.

Then, RAUCOUS LAUGHTER. I thought I was going to bust an internal organ. Doctor continued, "Because I was doing a colonoscopy." More laughter. "So," he continues, "seriously. Up his ass."

Consultant Guy was summarily deflated. And this is still my favorite meeting of all time.

This Side of Heartbreak

A woman came into my office today to think out loud about the direction she ought to take in life. This is fine. This is the sort of thing I ought to be doing, and generally enjoy doing, and feel okay at, and think is helpful and meaningful for people. I can listen pretty well (I don't always, of course, but I can if I try).

Either ministry is strengthened by one's own weaknesses and heartbreak, or it is compromised. Maybe even extinguished. Though I haven't read it, I suspect this is something of what Henri Nouwen suggests in The Wounded Healer - which is, after all, the only sort of healer any of us can ever be. We are all wounded in one way or another, or many, and either we will become strong at the broken places, or we will break altogether and perhaps shatter others along the way.

It's like listening to someone from underwater. As if you are holding your breath, deep down in the pool, watching the blurry forms of people on the surface and hearing the echoes of their voices, but only in the most imprecise way, only in fits and starts of sound.

Boy, I really wanted to tell her to shut up a few times. MY LORD, lady, SUCK IT UP and MAKE A DECISION and MOVE ON because I CANNOT LISTEN to YOU talk about how life is UNFAIR and not tell you RIGHT NOW HOW VERY, VERY, VERY UNFAIR IT IS but I have to sit here and LISTEN and if ONE MORE PERSON tells me that they are trying to follow God's will for their life I will start SCREAMING about how I'm TOTALLY UNCONVINCED at the moment that a lot of things have anything at all to do with GOD'S SUPPOSED WILL and if you say that one more time I will LOSE IT right here in my office.

My goodness. That was a lot of rage, right there.

Yesterday I was in a great deal of despair. Last night I discovered, again, the extraordinary man I married and his grace and love and patience under pressure. So today, on the other side of heartbreak, it is time to start moving on. For some of the day, I have been just fine. For some of the day, I am relieved to know the truth and begin to figure out exactly what we will do from here.

But for some more of the day, I am stuck at the bottom of that pool, holding my breath, hearing only murmurs and echoes and frankly, I am not paying that much attention. The thing about real heartbreak is that you never really get to the other side. It becomes a part of who you are from then on. Either it poisons you or something saves you, redeems you.

I went back to a book my dear blogging friend recommended: Free of Charge, by Miroslav Volf. I went back to find this bit of his own story. Because he knows what yesterday was like, and what it's like to live with that yesterday forever.

Then it dawned on me: Fertility would have robbed me of my boys. From my present vantage point, that would have been a disaster - the disaster of not having what I so passionately love. Infertility was the condition for the possibility of these two indescribable gifts. And understanding that changed my attitude about infertility. Since it gave me what I now can't imagine living without, poison was transmuted into a gift, God's strange gift. The pain of it remains, of course. But the poison is gone. Nine years of desperate trying was like one long painful childbirth, the purpose of which was to give us Nathanael and Aaron. True, had we had biological children of our own, I would have loved and wanted them, and I would have been spared the pain. But that's what would have happened. It didn't. I have Nathanael and Aaron. It's them that I love. It's them that I want. And it's they who redeem the arduous path that led to having them.

Perhaps we will name our first child Nathanael. Or Aaron. Or Miroslav. Someday.

(Okay, okay. Not Miroslav.)

Best. Distraction. Ever.

I have no shame in saying this: I am a huge Simpsons' fan. Huge. As in, can quote hundreds of lines from tons of episodes and love doing so (especially during confirmation).

So, I was very excited to find 'Simpsonize Me,' through the good graces of Real Live Preacher (thanks, Gordon). And thus I proudly present myself, Simpsonized (sadly, clergy gear was not an option).

Please note that in real life I wear cuter shoes. Thank you for your attention. Carry on.

Two Prayers for Today

One I read yesterday afternoon - familiar, but just what I needed:

All shall be well,
and all shall be well,
and all manner of thing shall be well. - Julian of Norwich

And one which came from my parents today:
Everything will be okay in the end.
If it's not okay, that's because it's not the end.

Amen to both.

Punched in the Gut

I put off this doctor's appointment for a long time. I told myself that abnormal sperm analysis results were not the end of the world, that people still have children, that miracles happen. I told myself that we would be fine.

Until the doctor told me today that we would not.

We have a 2-3% chance of ever conceiving a child on our own. And no, that's not nothing - but if someone told you that you had a 2-3% chance of surviving a disease or a surgery, you'd feel like you were punched in the gut. Like you could scream to the skies about how unfair this is, how wrong, how very very very very stupid this all is, how unreal, and none of it would make a difference. None of it would change the numbers. Numbers don't lie.

He wasn't mean, the doctor. But he was realistic. I didn't cry in his office, though I know he could tell my eyes were brighter than they should be. I kept it together until I was in the elevator, and then I lost it. Because I walked in there thinking I could still be a mother just like other people, in the same way other people can, like a normal person, and I walked out knowing that I can't. I won't. I can still be a mother, but it won't be normal. It won't be a surprise. It won't be cheap. It won't be easy.

I've been using movie or television allusions a lot in this blog lately, which could mean a lot of things. But today I have had a scene from Four Weddings and a Funeral in my head. You know, after the guy dies at the wedding, and Hugh Grant and the girl who secretly loves him and their friends have to drag him into a side room while he's having his heart attack, and across the room his lover is completely unaware of the whole thing, totally, blissfully ignorant that his life, as he knows it, is slowly ending on the other side of the party. And then afterward, how Hugh Grant has to walk across that long, long room to tell him, and you see him, the widower, laughing gently at a joke being told, and you know - the way you know what is going to happen to Jackie Kennedy's pink suit in Dallas, the way you know that plane really is going to hit that building six years ago yesterday - you know what is coming. You know, but he doesn't. And you can see in his face that he doesn't, and that it's not real, it hasn't happened for him, until Hugh Grant has to tell him.

And then he does.

Beloved does not know what the doctor told me, because he was teaching all day and this is not the kind of thing you share over the phone. So all day, I am walking across that Scottish wedding reception, looking at his face - his blissfully ignorant face - and knowing that I have to tell him this, I have to tell him that we can't have a child the way most people do, and that the reason for this is because of him. I don't blame him. None of this is his fault. What happens to one of us happens to both of us, and I love him and I wouldn't trade him for a guy who could get me pregnant every nine months for ten years. (Good God, what a nightmare that would be.)

But this is hell to tell someone, and hell to hear, and I can hardly bear the fact that pretty soon I will have to leave work and drive home and all the way I will be walking across that room. And tomorrow we will have had this conversation, this horrible conversation, and we will not be the same as we are, as we were when I was waiting in that doctor's office this morning. And nothing I can say will solve it or take away from the fact that he is not fine. He is not okay. I am. He is not. I just don't want that to be the only thing he hears.

Surely this is a nightmare and I will wake up. All babies are miracles. I just never thought that ours would have to be a medical one.

Now it's getting interesting.

One of my favorite television shows of all time is Mad About You. I think Paul Reiser is hilarious, and I always loved the relationship he and Helen Hunt had on the show. Their marriage was the one I wanted, especially on those long days of singledom when it seemed like everyone was paired up and just Bridget Jones and I were on our own.

I loved the show so much that I even bought the soundtrack which, to my delight, was filled not only with really great songs (including one that never fails to make me cry - The Things We've Handed Down, by Marc Cohn) but also with clips of dialogue from the show. When Beloved and I were putting together the bulletin for our marriage service, I dreamt of including little words of wisdom about marriage here and there, like clip art, and if I had been able to pull that off and if the word "crap" was not - well, a little inappropriate for worship - then I would have included this gem from the show:

Jamie: I just don't know why this is always so hard!
Paul: What?
Jamie: This...everything! Marriage...it's supposed to be different than this.
Paul: Says who?
Jamie: Everyone!
Paul: Well, they're wrong. It's just like this. It's exactly like this.
Jamie: According to WHO?
Paul: Everybody. I asked around.
Look, there's always going to be...stuff, you know? But I put up with your crap, and you put up with my crap.
Jamie: That's marriage?
Paul: This is what I'm thinking.

It's been a little Mad About You (which is different than Mad At You) in our house this week. I put up with your crap and you put up with mine - and some days, that's marriage. But most of all, it's been a week of "I thought it was supposed to different than this - easier than this." And it's not.

Don't get me wrong: it's been a good marriage week in our house, but a hard one. The idea of moving has usurped almost all other discussion topics. And we have had some hard, emotional, complicated, teary conversations about it. At the end of the day, we both had to make some confessions to each other: primarily, that this is a lot harder than you think going in. It's one thing to imagine that you might have this conversation one day; it's a whole other thing actually to have it, and to face the hard facts of I-want-one-thing and I-want-another, and figure out how to land somewhere inbetween. When there really is no inbetween: there's one thing or the other, and you can't have them both.

I don't know what will happen. I know that for the first time ever in the relatively short life of our marriage (not quite three years), I actually thought to myself in the darkest moment, "maybe this isn't going to work out. Maybe we won't make it." And that scared the shit out of me. We got through that place and to a much better one, and for that I am tremendously thankful - to the good Lord for watching over us, and to my astonishingly patient husband who can remain calm when I am, well, not.

I do know we are facing this together. I do know that there are a lot more hard conversations to come. I do know that I am still really, really loving my yoga class and that its emphasis on calm, peace, and breathing is exactly what I need right now.

I do know that my very favorite prayer is the one that I will hang onto:

Lord God, you have called us, your servants, to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Amen, maranatha, Amen.

Of Changes and Yoga.

Beloved and I had another conversation last night about this new call possibility. I think he is coming more around to the idea in general - even if this particular situation doesn't work out - of moving someplace else for awhile. Which I could tell by the fact that his sentences changed from solely, "but what about this...what if we couldn't afford that..." to "if we moved..." That was a big step for him. We had had a long discussion about some of the details he had asked me to research, and then there was a long pause, and then we started cooking dinner, and right in the middle of slicing the tomatoes he said, "If we moved over there, I would have a greenhouse." (He loves gardening.)

I have never, ever heard him say the phrase, "If we moved over there." So that was huge.

Then I left him with the dishes because last night I went to my very first yoga class. A friend and I had walked past this little yoga studio just a block from my house a few months ago, but I had summarily forgotten its existence until a few weeks ago when someone else was talking about how much they enjoy yoga, and I thought, "Hey! Yoga! That studio!"

To make a long story short, I used to do Pilates before we were married, with a teacher I really liked at a gym near my house. When I moved into Beloved's house 30 miles away, that gym was no longer a reasonable option, and I never did find another Pilates class. But I missed it a lot (which is saying something because frankly, I really hate exercising).

But last night was really great, and very hard. It's about 85 degrees in there, and yoga is just as hard as it looks. Harder, actually. It's an introductory class, so there were a lot of us with puzzled looks on our faces trying to make our bodies do things they haven't done since we were in diapers.

Early on, the teacher talked about the importance of breathing well. I can't remember her words exactly, but a paraphrase would go something like this: "your body will be doing all kinds of difficult and strenuous things. You need to learn how to breathe calmly so that you can keep your focus and not be overwhelmed by the physical demands you will put on yourself. Breathing deeply will help you do this."

Now there's a good lesson for this particular week in my life. Breathe. Breathe deeply. Do not become overwhelmed by your circumstances. Breathe. Breathe again.

I am sore today in places I didn't even think had muscles of their own. But I am breathing. And will try to continue.