to bless or not to bless

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

if only peace were so contagious

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

Chill.

Out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sincerely,
Your slightly irritated pastor.

just a Friday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

still alive

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

Yeah. That's my week.

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully back to regular blogging in a few more days.

things I love friday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the bread of life in a low-carb world

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, I suppose not.

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

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

Maybe that's enough for today.

summer school

Summer does teach you stuff, mostly outside the classroom.

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

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

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

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

identity and decisions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this week brought to you by the letters...

...VBS.*

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

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

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

what's on my desk: second edition

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

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

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

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

time to clean.

thanks, karl malden

Dear Karl Malden,

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

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



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



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

Sincerely,

Pastor Shalom

ick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday Five: Talkin' 'Bout Pop Music

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

4) Who is your favorite performer of all time?

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

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

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

pastoral care, IRS-style

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

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

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

(Parishoner presses 1.)

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

(Parishioner chooses 3.)

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

(Parishioner chooses 3.)

Thank you. Please hold.

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

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

(More saccharine hymnody.)

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

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

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

(Parishioner starts swearing. Damn saccharine hymnody continues.)

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

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

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

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

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

(Phone rings. Operator answers.)

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

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

Operator: Did you fill out Form 1375 Part B?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parishioner: I KNOW.

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

Parishoner: Clearly not.

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

Parishioner: (hits head on desk)

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

the facts of my life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a prayer for the day

Dear God,

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

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

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

Thank you.

Amen.

ah. THAT's the problem with Facebook.

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

That's all I'm saying.

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

valuable life lesson.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

dipping the toes back in the water

So.

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

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

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