It's Almost Christmas, Friday Five!

After RevHRod's internal debate about this week's Friday Five (Serious! Playful! Theological! Fun!), we land on the playful side. Which is great, in my opinion, largely because I have very little time to play from now until the big Advent-Christmas Triduum coming our way. So, here goes...


1. What was one of your favorite childhood gifts that you gave?

When I was a kid, our elementary school offered "Kris Kringle," which was a gift fair for kids to purchase parents' gifts. Everything was probably $5.00 or under. At one of those, I bought my mom a recipe card holder: a dowel, about 7 inches tall, stuck in a plaster-of-paris cup, with a clothespin (the kind with a metal hinge) stuck on the top. It was painted like a giraffe. My mom still has it and uses it all the time.

2. What is one of your favorite Christmas recipes? Bonus points if you share the recipe with us.

Oh, I have many. Many, many, many. Mostly cookies. Two favorites are peparkakor (a Swedish ginger cookie) and Parisian wafers (nicknamed "Bastard Cookies" because they're so much damn work). Plus the traditional family recipe for Swedish meatballs. I'll post those separately above.

3. What is a tradition that your family can't do without? (And by family, I mean family of origin, family of adulthood, or that bunch of cool people that just feel like family.)

Okay, this is strange. But true. My mom's family is Swedish, so most of our traditions are Swedish. Growing up, we always had a Yule Tomten in the house: a Swedish elf who watches over you during Advent and keeps track of your good/bad behavior. (As an aside, we never really discussed the details of how this related to Santa. Perhaps the Yule Tomten reported directly to him. Not sure.)

If you were good, the Yule Tomten brought you gifts. And for years, that's all we knew of the story. When we were teenagers, my mom confessed the darker side: the Swedish tradition is, if you are NOT good, the Tomten will BURN DOWN YOUR BARN. Yikes. I mean, we didn't have a barn, but still. So my brothers and I nicknamed him Pyro Tomten, and we cannot have Christmas without him. Each of us, grown up now, has our own Pyro Tomten in our homes. So far the barns are safe.

4. Pastors and other church folk often have very strange traditions dictated by the "work" of the holidays. What happens at your place?

The main dilemma is how to eat dinner: not enough time between the 4pm and 7pm services; pretty late if you eat between the 7pm and 11pm services (Christmas Eve). When I was single, my colleague's wife would go to Wendy's and bring us fast food and we would eat that as our Christmas feast at about 8:30pm in the church fellowship hall. It's a fond memory. Now, my husband and I try to go out for dinner at about that time, though it's hard to find open restaurants. It makes for a fun adventure, though.

5. If you could just ditch all the traditions and do something unexpected... what would it be?

For one, I would totally ditch the Christmas Day service. By that time - especially this year, with the three days in a row - I'm exhausted. Other than that, there aren't many traditions I would ditch. Most of them are very dear to me.

Okay, the lutefisk. I would ditch the lutefisk. And never look back.

Swadding Cloths: A Sermon for Christmas Eve

I'm not big on posting sermons before I give them. But, this one sort of wrote itself yesterday, which means I have time for some feedback before it gets preached next week. I'm not entirely happy with the ending, so there's very good chance it will get reworked. If you have ideas, please let me know!

As an introduction, I often think of Christmas-Easter-other-popular-text sermons more like midrash: a chance to illuminate some small part of the story or let the imagination flow. I'm not always concerned about strict textual adherence or historical accuracy. Yesterday, for example, I read a long article about how it's improbable that Mary and Joseph would have been required to travel the 90 miles to Bethlehem for the census: women wouldn't have gone for that, there's no way the Roman government would have wanted that much travel on the roads, they probably went to a more obscure Bethlehem only 12 miles away, etc. I didn't put that in the story. Sometimes a biblical imagination can overlook those things. I hope.


But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.

Mary had brought with her very few things to Bethlehem. They had left Nazareth, their hometown, in a hurry, trying their best to get to Bethlehem before Mary was too pregnant to travel. They brought only what they could carry with them: some food, a lamp, and warm blankets to sleep on. There was neither time nor space to bring any more.

They started from Nazareth with a group of families traveling for the census, but by the time they reached Bethlehem they were at the tail end of the crowd. Two other pregnant women and a group of elderly couples were the only ones left with them. They bid each other farewell at the gate of the city, each one hoping desperately that they would find safe lodging for the night.

After it was over, after Mary had groaned and cried and muttered a few things about the angel Gabriel showing up to announce the baby but not being anywhere around when the hard part came, after Joseph had washed the child in the animals’ water trough, Mary wrapped her son in one of the blankets they had brought along. Her mother had taught her how to do this: to wrap the child tightly, so that it would feel safe in the open, wide world. “Take it,” said her mother as they left for Bethlehem, pressing the blanket into her hands. “For the child.” Mary watched her son sleeping, swaddled in the cloth. He stirred and fussed as if he hated being cooped up in the manger she had placed him in, so she picked him up and held him until he slept. And she pondered this night in her heart.

In his childhood years, the blanket in which he was wrapped at his birth became the one he slept on and carried with him, the one Mary wrapped him in when he cried. Nothing else would stop his sobbing at times but that old, worn linen blanket, with a hold in the side from being dragged on the ground as he followed his carpenter father into the shop. He held it in his hands when some men from an eastern kingdom showed up at their door with strange and forboding gifts: gold, valuable and precious but of no use to a two-year old; frankincense, used in worship; and myrrh, the gift which made Mary’s heart stop for a moment. Myrrh was used only in burials. She thought a tear came to the eye of the eastern king as he handed it to her boy. Jesus let go of the blanket for just a moment to take the myrrh, but at one whiff of its smell he put it down immediately, grabbed the blanket again, and wandered off to find his father. Mary picked up the myrrh and placed it high on a shelf, hoping it was some sort of mistake. She put her son to bed that night with the smell of it still lingering on the air. And she pondered that night in her heart.

He never did give up the cloth, though it took on different tasks as he grew older. He wrapped it around his waist and, if people thought it was strange, it was often the least strange thing about him.

The cloth had gotten even more worn and dirty by the time he used it to wrap two loaves which fed five thousand people. A young man used it to wipe the mud off his eyes before he washed them in the pool of Siloam as Jesus had instructed him, and wept into it when he realized that he could see after a lifetime of blindness. People tugged on it when Jesus walked through crowds, hoping that a miracle would somehow rub off onto them, and sometimes it did. When he got to the city of Bethany two days after hearing his friend Lazarus was dying, Jesus wept into the cloth himself at the grief of Lazarus’ friends, before he called Lazarus out of the tomb. Mary was there that day. She watched as his two sisters unwrapped the burial cloths off their brother and clapped their hands and cried with joy. She watched her son, his own cloth wrapped around his waist, and she remembered the jar of myrrh, gathering dust on a high shelf in their home. It had been there for thirty years. She watched her son join in the celebration for Lazarus’ rebirth, but something in his face told of more than joy. He looked at Lazarus as if he knew that this resurrection would not last forever. She thought again of the myrrh, and the look in the eyes of the eastern king as he handed it to her. And she pondered that day in her heart.

The night before he died, Jesus took the cloth off his waist a last time. He filled a bowl with water and placed it on the dirt floor in front of his friends. One by one, he removed their shoes and washed them in the water, then dried them with the cloth. Only one objected, though that may have been because the other eleven were too surprised to say anything: “No, Lord,” said Peter, “this is the work of a servant; I should be washing your feet.” “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to do the same for one another,” he replied, “for you should do as I have done for you.” When he had finished, he wrapped the cloth around himself again and began to speak. He spoke for a long time, but Peter was not listening very carefully. You also should do as I have done for you: Peter heard the words over and over again in his mind. And Peter pondered that night in his heart.

The next day, when it was all over, Mary watched as the soldiers removed her son’s body from the cross. She watched as they wrapped him crudely in rough linen. She pushed her way through the crowd, so that she could slip something into the shroud. He had dropped the cloth the day before, as he carried the cross bar through the streets of Jerusalem. She remembered the day he used the cloth to carry loaves of bread to feed the hungry. She remembered the man born blind who wept into it and cleaned his face of mud with it. She remembered the day Lazarus unwrapped his own burial cloths and the way her son watched him, as if hoped the same for himself one day. She remembered him holding the cloth when the kings from the east brought their gifts. She had rubbed the myrrh in it that night while she waited for his trial to finish. She remembered how she tucked him tightly into the cloth on the day he was born, the first night he puzzled and bewildered and overjoyed her – the first night, but not the last. She remembered that he could never sleep without it when he was a child. As the soldiers passed by, she tucked the cloth into her son’s shroud. She could still smell the myrrh in the air.

The next morning, she and the other women found the cloth lying in an empty tomb. For the first time, the cloth was there but Jesus was nowhere to be found. Angels like the ones who announced his birth told them not to weep, that he was now the firstborn of the dead, and that he was already ahead of them, waiting. They ran. They ran so fast Mary forgot the cloth entirely, the swaddling cloth, the one that had held her son’s childhood tears and loaves of bread, had comforted the ill and washed feet and gone with him into death. It did not smell like myrrh anymore. The whole tomb smelled like something else, like joy and life and the cleanest air they had ever known, and as they breathed it in they ran to tell anyone they could find that the baby who refused to stay in the manger refused to stay in the tomb as well.

Christmas is not just the baby, but the man who died. Not just the virgin holding her son, but the mother who ran from the empty tomb. Not just the angels who sang to shepherds, but the ones who announced his resurrection. For the child whose birth we sing tonight gave birth himself to an entirely new way of life, a way where the last are first and the hungry are fed and the blind are given sight and the dead are raised. The child born for us, wrapped in swaddling cloths, left the cloth behind in the grave and he has gone ahead of us, and he is waiting. One of these days he will come back, and there will be no stopping the joy that bursts out of every corner of creation. For now, we treasure these things and ponder them in our hearts. Amen.

Exquisite Torture

Congress is having a great deal of difficulty defining the term, "torture." Is, for example, the practice of waterboarding - a simulation of drowning which, while not fatal (as far as I know), is highly terrifying - is that torture? Government lawyers are having a lot of trouble answering this question. Personally, I think that if it's something so many people are concerned about and suspect is exactly what torture is, then it's close enough for me. If it smells like a rat and runs like a rat and IS A RAT - oops. You get the point.

I have some assistance for them, however. If Congress is having trouble coming up with a salient definition for what, exactly, constitutes torture, then they have only to ask me: torture is a woman with infertility who agrees to babysit in the infant room for two hours so that the daycare staff can have their Christmas lunch. Torture is the child who smells like baby powder and insists on being held and immediately snuggles up right underneath your neck, that part where a baby's head fits perfectly, and sighs with satisfaction and clutches said woman's hand. Admittedly, said (foolish) woman agreed to this scenario, so this is partly self-inflicted torture, but still. If you want to feel like you're going to drown, this is the scenario for you. Even if the stuff of your drowning is self-pity.

Okay, I know that this is right on the verge of making light of a very serious and horrific situation. I am trying very hard not to fall off the perch on which I have placed myself in the last paragraph: I don't intend to equate my two hours of babysitting with the actual practice of waterboarding, or suggest that my afternoon actually was torture in some sort of Geneva convention way. Hopefully any readers of this blog will realize that.

You know, I think we might need some sort of Geneva Convention about infertility. The whole idea of the Geneva Convention is that painful, humiliating, and secretive practices are brought out into the open so that we can all agree on what is, and what is not, acceptable to do to our fellow human beings. You can argue for days about whether it's complete enough, or whether nations actually follow it, but that's not the point for now: the point is that we think, when we are at our human best, that it is better to lay down the ground rules so that everyone knows what not to do.

The most torturous thing about infertility, for me, is how secretive I am expected to be about it. Maybe you think that secrecy is an expectation I place on myself. That's partly true. But imagine this scenario: a woman with at least one child runs into another woman, about the same age, whom she knows in a passing way, at the supermarket. Mother Woman says, eventually, "Do you have kids?" or something along those lines: "Are you going to have kids?" "Don't you want kids?" "You'd be such a great mother!"

Non-Mother Woman replies, "Actually, no, or at least we're not sure. My husband's sperm are the wrong shape and we'll probably have to do in-vitro fertilization, but you know, that's like $15,000 so we're debating what to do about it."

I suppose that could happen. And if it did, Mother Woman would probably flee. If she didn't, because maybe she was part of the Secret Infertility Society herself for awhile, then any other conversation partner would.

Clean up on aisle five.

I babysat with two moms, each of whom asked me at some point, "Do you have kids?" And I wish, or part of me wishes, there were a way to be completely blunt about why my answer is, "no." That's the acceptable response, the secretive one. No reason. Just, "No," or maybe, "Not yet," or "We'd like them, but we'll see." Anything other than that is more information than people actually want to know.

And if you actually let go of that information, if you say something about being infertile, you have NO idea what the response will be. It might be very comforting and thoughtful. It might be a story of someone else's struggle (this happened to me just the other day, and it was very powerful).

It might also be one of the dreaded comments which only perpetuate the torture. This is where the Geneva Convention of Infertility would come in. I did a little research, and there are four conventions in this thing, along with two protocols. Being the week before Christmas and all, I didn't really have time to parse the difference between a convention and a protocol. But this topic is important enough to me that I think we ought to consider it a convention. The fifth one. Here are some of my suggestions for inclusion in this:

Part One: General Provisions
Art. I. "Infertility" is not a bad word. It is also not a lifestyle choice. The Powers who are parties to this Convention agree that infertility is a medical condition, with various medical treatments.

Art II. At no time, when informed of someone's struggle with infertility, shall the Parties to this Convention utter the phrase, "just relax."

Art III. In the case of infertility for one of the Powers bound by this Convention, the Parties agree not to bombard the said Power with stories about their best friend's sister's cousin's neighbor, who got pregnant while on vacation to the Bahamas.

Art IV. The Parties who are fortunate enough to be parents shall not burst forth with case after case of how difficult children are in a vain attempt to console the said Power, saying that children are a lot of work. This is also not helpful.

Art V. The Parties agree that Mother's Day is a pain in the ass.

Art VI. If a particular Power takes a pastoral call which happens to be an associate position, none of the Parties to this Convention shall say things like, "Oh, now you'll have time to have a family." (This one is pretty specific. But I feel the need to include it anyway.)

See, if we could all agree on these sorts of things, it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe Part Two of the Convention could lay down the rules about why infertility treatments need to be covered by all health insurance plans (don't even get me started on the sheer idiocy of covering prescriptions for Viagra but nothing for infertility).

I really do need to write some sermons, but this Convention idea is growing on me. Let me know if you have other articles to include. Enough with the secrecy. Enough with the torture.

Friday Five: Rejoice!

From RevGals...

Can you believe that in two days we'll be halfway through Advent? Gaudete Sunday: pink candle on the advent wreath, rose vestments for those who have them, concerts and pageants in many congregations. Time to rejoice!

Rejoice in the nearness of Christ's coming, yes, but also in the many gifts of the pregnant waiting time when the world (in the northern hemisphere, at least) spins ever deeper into sweet, fertile darkness.

What makes you rejoice about:

1. Waiting?

I love anticipation, sometimes even more than the event itself. The standing-on-the-tips-of-your-toes feeling is so much fun, and you have the luxury of dreaming about what the fulfillment of your waiting will look like.

2. Darkness?

This is how you know I have Scandinavian blood coursing through my veins (and I mean north of the Arctic circle blood, which is where my grandfather came from) - I love winter. I love dark days, short days. I love snuggling up in bed with flannel sheets and a down comforter and a good book and a hot toddy. I love the richness of lights inside when it's dark outside.

3. Winter?

I guess the "darkness" answer covers it, except to add that I also love wearing sweaters, so winter is the season for me.

4. Advent?

Preparation, anticipation, winter, light...all good. I also appreciate the chance to work with a distinct theme during such a short season. Advent worship always feels 'tighter' to me - in a good way - where music, scripture, and prayer work together in a more intimate way.

I dislike the over-emphasis on John the Baptist, though (I'm fine with one Sunday, but I don't know if the guy needs two - in a row) so this year we've bailed on the lectionary. Normally I am quite faithful to it, but during Advent and Lent I feel more free to choose other options. Another reason I like Advent.

5. Jesus' coming?

It's hard to know exactly what that phrase means. I know I should look forward to Jesus' coming more than I do, and the truth is that I don't spend much time thinking about it. Perhaps this is something I shouldn't admit, but hey - this blog is pretty anonymous.

A few weeks ago I was at a continuing education class and the professor said he has a reputation among his colleagues for a certain behavior when presiding at communion: "When we pray, 'Come, Lord Jesus'," he said, "I look up for a minute to see if he's here. Because that's not just an empty phrase, right? I mean it; I'm in love with Jesus and I miss him and I want him to come back. And I don't want to be bowing my head and miss it."

I realized as he said this that I don't have that same sense of longing, most of the time. I say, "Come, Lord Jesus," when I preside, and then I keep going without even taking a breath. He gave me something to think about.

The Value of Cute Shoes

If you've visited my blog before (please, millions of adoring fans! No autographs!), you might notice the change in template. I often find that big changes in my life (ending my first call and taking another, in this case) prompt changes in my appearance, even in the blogosphere. You can analyze away. I have some reflections on it myself. In the last few weeks, I have:

1. Colored my hair a dark brown (which is its natural state, but in the summer it gets many strawberry blonde highlights and when you mix that with the grey, and the dark winter roots, it's just too much).
2. Returned to wearing wicked high heels, having been sidelined from such after the fall off our deck. Especially I have reclaimed my very favorite black-patent-leather knee high boots, which I fondly call the Batgirl Boots. Yes, I can run in them. Not that I do, very often.
3. Painted my fingernails a deep navy blue (very Advent, but with a weird vampire-y twist).
4. Painted my toenails a crimson red.
5. Worn, to the deep grief of one of my preaching professors, sparkly, dangly earrings on a regular basis (though not in the pulpit, because I agree with said professor that the pulpit is not the place for sparkly, dangly things).
6. And today, I pinned all my hair up in a twist/bun thing, including my bangs, which I have been growing out for almost two years. This is a big deal - today is the first day since I got my hair dramatically cut in the fourth grade (to look more like Nancy Drew, but that's a separate post) that I have wandered around in public without bangs. NO BANGS. Big change.

And, in that line, I decided to change the blog template too. Sometimes you just need a little change: new scenery, new haircut. Cute shoes.

The brilliance which is PeaceBang expresses this a million times better than I could. But because PeaceBang is on an Advent blog-sabbatical, I will try my best to write a little below as I imagine she might (with disclaimer that I can only be the moon, reflected the light of another, as I do so).

Darlings, when stress is high and demands upon you are being made with alarming regularity - and when you have perhaps added to this yourself with dramatic plans to change your life - then there is nothing like a pair of cute shoes to help you walk with confidence into the next phase. Seriously. Cute shoes cannot be overrated (though they can be overpriced) when it comes to striding briskly over, around, and through the stress of the clergy life. Too many of our dear colleagues have allowed themselves to slouch Hush-Puppy-like through the valleys of the dark shadows, and while cute shoes cannot actually save you from anything, they can take a little edge off a difficult path.

The secret of cute shoes, my dears, is not that you spent too much money on them, or that they make you better than people with not-cute shoes, but that they remind you that you are worth walking confidently, joyfully, even with a bit of a skip in your step. You may be able to achieve similar results with a haircut, or manicure, or flattering pants, or a new lipstick. It's not about the money; it's about a bit of a change, just enough to give you a sparkle and a lift. Walk confidently, dear ones! Your shoes, your lipstick, and your blog expect no less!

(Shalom must interrupt her pale imitation of PeaceBang here to admit that she has complimented her cute shoes today with very flattering pants, which you think would be a good thing, except that said pants - while being exactly the right size and fitting just fine - have a zipper which is completely incapable of staying zipped no matter what she does. So she would like to point out that you must weigh the value of flattering pants with the practicality of not wanting your underthings on display while you wear them. She is very sad because these pants were a super great deal at TJ Maxx, Shalom's very favorite store, and they look great. But the zipper thing is probably going to be a dealbreaker. You can't walk confidently through life when you're trying to steal discreet looks at your crotch every fifteen minutes. Take her word for this.)

Wasting Time

You Are Likely an Only Child

At your darkest moments, you feel frustrated. At work and school, you do best when you're organizing. When you love someone, you tend to worry about them. In friendship, you are emotional and sympathetic. Your ideal careers are: radio announcer, finance, teaching, ministry, and management. You will leave your mark on the world with organizational leadership, maybe as the author of self-help books.

The Birth Order Predictor

Huh. Well, I am the first of three, and I am the only girl, but I'm definitely not an "only" child. But good to know that my career in ministry is okay with the internet gods.

I'm pretty sure the self-help books career is a no-go, though. Lutherans don't believe in self-help. Now if there were a career in writing self-flagellation books, THAT would be full of Lutherans.

So, I totally broke up with my boyfriend this weekend.

Not really. I mean, not in the actual romantic relationship sense: Beloved and I are doing fine. (Small update on him: we got a new TV on Saturday, so he's happy. It's the small things in life.)

What I did do this weekend was break up with my congregation. And, continuing in the vein of marriage/significant-other-relationship language I've been using about the interviewing, discerning, and leaving process, that's pretty much what it felt like: I dumped my boyfriend this weekend. (I realize the church is more often referred to in female language, but for one thing, that sort of irritates me, and it also throws in a bit of sexual confusion that probably isn't needed at this point.)

It went about as well as it could. The other night, I was watching one of my favorite episodes of Sex and the City, the one where Jack Berger has broken up with Carrie on a post-it note, and then she runs into his friends at a bar, and she unloads on them, shouting all the things she should have said directly to Berger. I can't remember it exactly, but the conversation goes something like this:

Berger's unsuspecting friend: Well, there really is no good way to break up with someone.

Carrie: You know, that's the thing, because there is. Not all women go psycho. All we want is an ending that...honors what we had together and tells the truth about it. And you could try, instead of getting all scared and running away, you could try to talk about that because that's all that women really want. An ending that honors the relationship. So it turns out that actually, BILLY, there is a good way to break up with someone, and IT DOESN'T INVOLVE A POST-IT.

Carrie sits down next to Samantha and Charlotte.

Samantha: That was...interesting.

Carrie (downing a glass of champagne): You think so? We have to get out of here. Immediately.

There are a lot of ways to tell your congregation that you're leaving. (See how this post could have gone all "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover," but I took a different turn.) Some people tell the congregation that they've interviewed someplace. Some people wait until after they've received a call and then tell the congregation that they have an offer. Me, I just wanted to rip off the bandaid in one quick, painful motion. I waited until I had made a decision and then dropped the bomb. Like a post-it, only longer.

It was a whole letter, not just a post-it. And it was, cliches aside, the hardest letter I've ever written. It took me about two weeks to compose it. I wanted to make it the best break-up possible: one that honored what we had together but also let them know it was time to move on.

The thing is, I'm not getting out of here immediately. My last Sunday at Current Congregation will be February 3; my first day at New Congregation will be February 20. (I need some down time inbetween.) So I needed to break up with them BUT still live in the same house for another six weeks. Tricky.

Most of the comments I got were along the lines of, "We're really happy for you but sad for us." And truthfully, I feel both things too: happy and sad, excited and grieving. The best word for Sunday I could find is, "bittersweet." They are my first congregation: my first serious clergy relationship. And don't you always have a place in your heart for your first love? (I mean, unless he/she was a total jerk, but that's not the case here.)

I am relieved that it's out in the open. No more closed-door phone calls; no more furtive trips out of town; no more cheating. The relationship isn't exactly over, but it's coming to a close. I'm glad that Christmas is coming - it gives us all something else (a million things else) to do and think about.

After Carrie unloads on Berger's poor friend in the bar, she decides this day has to be something instead of "the day I got broken up with on a post-it." So she and Samantha smoke a joint on a street corner and Carrie gets sort-of arrested for it. I just want to point out that I decided against distracting myself in this way. Just for the record. Sometimes you have to let things be exactly what they are. This is the weekend that I broke up with my congregation. And it was hard. But we are all okay. And, one of these days, my heart will stop hurting and all that will remain will be the friendships and the great memories of my first love. Not such a bad weekend, all things considered.

Friday Five: Preparation, preparation...

Sally at RevGals writes,

This has been a difficult week for me, the death of a little six year old has overshadowed our advent preparations, and made many of us here in Downham Market look differently at Christmas. With that in mind I ask whether you are the kind of person that likes everything prepared well in advance, are you a last minute crammer, or a bit of a mixture.....

Here then is this week's Friday 5:

1. You have a busy week, pushing out all time for preparing worship/ Sunday School lessons/ being ready for an important meeting ( or whatever equivalent your profession demands)- how do you cope?

I make a list. And I start the list with one or two things I've already done, so I have the visual of something crossed off right off the bat. This is trick of my mother's, and it works like a charm. Lists make me feel like things are not so overwhelming.

2. You have unexpected visitors, and need to provide them with a meal- what do you do?

We usually have the stuff to make Thai Chicken Pasta, our 'emergency back-up meal.' I could probably make that in a pinch. That, or convince them to go with us to the best Szechuan restaurant EVER, just down the street from our house.

Three discussion topics:

3. Thinking along the lines of this weeks advent theme; repentance is an important but often neglected aspect of advent preparations.....

True. But this year I am (insert horrified gasp here) departing from the lectionary, so I admit that repentance is getting neglected for us. However, I think the sense that something is not well with the world, or with our lives, which goes along with repentance, is a feeling common to most people at this time of year. The Norman Rockwell facade can only last so long. Even without John eating locusts and screaming about being a brood of vipers, we are still talking about lament - and that, to me, is part of getting to repentance.

4. Some of the best experiences in life occur when you simply go with the flow.....

Probably true. But as a fairly unrepentant control freak, I have rarely experienced this for myself.

5. Details are everything, attention to the small things enables a plan to roll forward smoothly...

Now that's a sentence which warms a control freak's heart. It is true that the small things make a huge difference. But it is also true that you have to learn to let them go. There will be typos in the worship bulletin; there will be pronunciation errors by the readers; the pastor will collapse in a coughing fit during the sermon (true story, last Sunday); it happens. If God is in the details, I hope God is also one who sees beyond the details to the intent of the whole picture. And forgives the errors along the way.

Bonus if you dare- how well prepared are you for Christmas this year?

Not very. Last night I met with my church council to tell them that I am resigning and taking another call. Once I get through this weekend, when the congregation will find out (the letter went out yesterday), I think I can move on to Christmas. It's an odd Advent this year. Good, but odd.

Get You Going

Now the Lord said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you." - Genesis 12:1

I learned recently (or maybe I re-learned, since I'm sure I must have heard this in Hebrew class during seminary) that the Hebrew of God's "Go" to Abram is a bit more complicated than the one word suggests. Lech-lecha, the Hebrew phrase, is a bit more like "get you going." It is the name of the Torah portion - Parshah Lech-Lecha - read at an assigned time during the Jewish year. The name of Abram's story is this: "get you going." "Go."

And so going, getting us going, is now the name of our story too. This portion of our lives, perhaps assigned, perhaps chosen, or somewhere in-between. Get up, go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. Get you going, children. Go.

I imagine Abram and Sarai were considerably more surprised than Beloved and I when our own lech-lecha came upon us: we, after all, signed up for a life of some possible transitory-ness, while Abram and Sarai had not yet made that commitment. Rabbi Sholom DovBer of Lubavitch writes this about the Torah portion:

From the time that G-d said to our father Abraham "Go from your land..." and "Abraham went on, journeying southward", began the process of birurim -- of extracting the sparks of holiness that are scattered throughout creation, buried within the material existence.

By the decree of Divine providence, a person wanders about in his travels, as the Cause of All Causes brings about the many circumstances and pretexts that bring a person to those places where the sparks that belong to his or her soul await their redemption.

I have always thought of Sarai and Abram's going, lech-lecha-ing, as the leaving of their home. And certainly it was. They left their land; the land they knew like the backs of their hands. The shortcuts from one place to another. The colors of the sunsets and the dawns. The times of year it was likely to rain, or blow a bitter cold wind, or beat onto them a parching heat. The horizons they watched and the smells of food they knew how to cook and chatter from mother tongues. They left all this, I thought, and certainly they did. They left their home because God told them to get going.

I cannot be so sure that it is God telling us to get going, though I have no reason to think otherwise. Part of me suspects that the rather inconsiderate timing of it all - new staff member, Christmas coming, fairly new house, baby quest in limbo - is, actually, proof of God's peculiar and marvelous providence. God, after all, seems profoundly disinterested in my schedule (or, if not disinterested, at least fonder of another option). The fact that we would not have chosen this time, this place, from which to get going is not sheer coincidence to me. I doubt Abram and Sarai had raised their hands and volunteered for lech-lecha-ing about anything when God cleared the divine throat and made the command.

I do believe we could have chosen either place - here or there, familiar or new, known or unknown - and God would have remained faithful. ("After all," said a pastor friend of mine when we were talking about whether she should leave her congregation some years ago, "who do I think I am that I'm never going to make the wrong choice? God didn't say to Moses, 'okay, you said no the first time, never mind then,' or to Jonah, 'well, your idiocy is just pissing me off so forget you.' Of course I will make the wrong choice at some point. The real hope is not my abilities to choose but God's choice to be faithful.")

But we have decided to go. And suddenly the story of Abram and Sarai has taken on new meaning for me. I never wondered, before, who was hurt by their decision to go. Their friends and neighbors, their - did they have colleagues? - family. Their servants, perhaps. Everyone who said, "But why? Why are you going?"

Did Abram and Sarai ever argue with each other about it? Did Sarai wonder why on earth God would make such a suggestion when their current home was perfectly good? Did Abram ever accuse her of being unfaithful when, in fact, his real fear was whether his faith was strong enough to take the change?

And how hard was it that last day, when they turned around for the last time and knew they might never return? We, at least, live in the days of easy travel, when the only impediment to returning is the price of gas or the condition of the roads in winter. There is no permanent leaving anymore, at least not that you can know in advance. I think of my grandmother who, leaving Sweden at age nine, remembered until she died the image of her own grandmother, waving from the front porch of the farm, crying and wiping her eyes with her apron. She would not see her children again.

Get you going. So much easier said than done, no? And yet the rabbinical comment above has real truth to it, I think: that you do not just leave your home, you leave in order to find your home. We leave in search of those sparks belonging to us, which await redemption. Because as much as Abram and Sarai had to go from one place, they also had to go to another.

For some time to come, I suspect our focus will be on the place and people we are leaving. There is no way around this; or, at least not one very compelling.

The trick, I suppose, is to balance the "from" and the "to." Lech-lecha-ing for both, away from one and toward another. Don't think that I've forgotten one of the things that finally does happen for Abram and Sarai when they go: their son finally arrives, so much later than anticipated. And no, not as a reward, for that part is clear. But somehow their going made way for him in a manner that staying would perhaps not.

So we enter Portion Lech-Lecha of our lives, Beloved's and mine. And not simply as a description, but as a prayer. Get us going, O Lord. Get us going safely, and with compassion for one another. Get us going, and may we be a blessing along the way.

The Voice-less Preacher

For only the second time in my eight years of pastoring, I have no voice. Well, today I have a little tiny bit of a voice. Yesterday I had none. Sunday I got through about two-thirds of the sermon at the 11:00am worship service and fell into such a fit of coughing that I had to leave the pulpit and hack away for about ten minutes in the sacristy. (By the way, the only thing that stopped it was two full drinking glasses of communion wine. Mogen David. Good stuff. But - whatever works.)

Being voice-less is a problem for a preacher. Especially at Advent. It's not all bad, of course; it does teach one a good lesson in listening, even if forcibly. It cuts down on the number of phone calls I can make in a day (down to none, for about the last five days, since the coughing started). You would think my writing time would have improved, since the speaking time is down - and if this were not Advent, that might have been true.

I am working on a post about our decision to leave Current Congregation and take a new call. Exciting, terrifying, and everything inbetween. Hopefully the voice will be back for Sunday.

About that gorgeous nativity in the post below...

A HUGE thanks to MaryBeth for sending a fabulous link with her comment, which led me to the even-worse-than-authentic-Precious-Moments nativity scene you see, in all its glory.

Head over to The Cavalcade of Bad Nativities for some enjoyment of your own.

Friday Five: Don't Call It a Comeback Edition

Note from this blogger: between Advent preparations, Thanksgiving travels, and the complicated, emotional process of accepting a new call, blogging has taken a back seat lately. I will do my best to be more regular about writing in a few weeks. Maybe post-Christmas. But for now, at least a little fun with the Friday five is a nice break in the day.

Please tell us your least favorite/most annoying seasonal....
1) dessert/cookie/family food
Lutefisk. No question. Gelatinous fish dried in lye and then re-enervated in soggy white sauce: even real Norwegians don't eat this crap anymore.

2) beverage (seasonal beer, eggnog w/ way too much egg and not enough nog, etc...)
Hate eggnog. Hate it. Makes me gag.

3) tradition (church, family, other)
You know, I'm coming up blank on this one. No annoying traditions here, I guess.

4) decoration
I hate those blow-up oversized snowglobes people put in their front yards. (Or anything in the blow-up family: big snowmen, Winnie the Pooh and his friends decorating the tree, Rudolph, etc.) I just don't get it. They're ugly. And they make your house look like the residence of a creepy Disney-phile who's gone on the It's A Small World ride one too many times.

5) gift (received or given)
I collect nativity scenes. I have many lovely and beautiful ones. But I also have a few humdingers people have given me over the years, including a plasticine Alaskan Eskimo nativity. It's not kitchsy enough to be fun and not hideous enough to throw out. Just strange.

BONUS: SONG/CD that makes you want to tell the elves where to stick it.
Anything by an artist dressed in a too-tight red elf costume with fur around the cleavage. Mariah Carey, maybe. I don't enjoy looking at the cover and wondering how many hookers actually do work at the North Pole. One too many ho ho ho's, if you know what I mean. There is also some sort of pole-related joke here, but I'll let that one go.

You know, this was kind of cathartic. All my holiday annoyances out in print. I feel much better.

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.