Attention, sellers:
If you plan to leave the many, many elaborately staged photos of your family laying in a field of daisies in your home while you attempt to sell it, it would be better if you did not have possibly the most unattractive family on earth.
This also applies to the series of elaborately staged Christmas photos.
And the Thomas Kincaide collection should probably go too.
Thank you.
Potential Buyers
("I would buy you a green dress," "But not a real green dress, that's cruel...")
Ah, the Barenaked Ladies. Love them.
But I digress. Today's Friday Five is simple but will undoubtedly reveal the inherent self-centeredness of most of us, certainly including me: what would you do with a million dollars?
1. Buy a house in New City.
We are stuck selling Old House in Old City, in a reasonably okay housing market there, all things considered - but we are not in a position to buy a house in New City until the old one is sold. So I am living with my parents. Whom I love, but at age 35, it's not the best of situations. I'm looking forward to having our own home again.
2. Take Beloved on a Super Cool Vacation.
Beloved and I are also living apart right now, until he finishes the school year in Old City and can move here to be with me. We are only 300 miles apart, but that's long enough. So, I would take us both on a really cool vacation this week, since it's spring break for him. Someplace warm and tropical and secluded. With golf for him and a really good bookstore for me.
3. Do In-Vitro Fertilization.
No insurance coverage for this. Actually, what I would like to do is figure out a way to leverage the whole million bucks to create an endowment fund for infertility coverage for clergy women. Sadly, one million bucks might not be nearly enough for this. But you never know until you try.
4. Yes, I would give to the church.
Maybe not my actual congregation, but some church ministry: a scholarship fund for seminary students, or the social services organization which is part of my denomination. Whatever I give to, it would be anonymous.
5. Help brother and sister-in-law buy their first house.
My brother and his wife have been in New York City for two years while she completes a Masters degree program. When they come home this summer, they'll be looking for a home in one of the higher housing markets in the country (I feel their pain...). But Beloved and I had equity to bring here with us, and they don't have any yet. So I'd like to help them buy their first house.
1. On NPR this morning, I heard that today marks the 10th anniversary of Viagra. And that Pfizer made over $1 billion on Viagra last year alone. Most insurance companies cover Viagra. Meanwhile, almost no insurance plans cover infertility testing, drugs, or treatment of any kind. Boner or baby? I guess we know which the insurance industry values more.
2. It snowed here last night, which is completely bizarre for this time of year in New City. Spring, o spring, where art thou?
3. I am seriously considering giving last year's sermon this coming Sunday, mostly because I actually liked it and think it's worth giving again - which I can do, for the first time ever, because I am in a new congregation. Is that wrong? I have mixed feelings about it. I feel lazy.
4. I have several friends who are currently in the misdst of leaving their congregations. Things seem to come in bunches. I think about you (y'all, I might say, since 'you' is plural here) all the time. Peace to you.
5. I am unreasonably happy that today for lunch I get to eat the leftovers of yesterday's excellent pad thai.
6. However, I am unreasonably unhappy that no one in New Church makes coffee for the office staff. WHAT? Aren't you people Lutheran? I may need to get my own coffeepot.
7. Watched Dan in Real Life last night. Loved it. Waitress is up for tonight since the bastard Lost people are making us wait until April for a new episode. (Normally I am quite a union supporter and I think the writers were perfectly correct to strike, but this logic wilts completely in the face of my Lost addiction.)
I think that's it for now. Carry on.
(Actually, I will be an aunt.) At Easter dinner, my normally-reserved brother got up to make a toast (weird in itself, since he has done this, you know, never) and said, "We want to wish a happy Easter to Grandma and Grandpa and to Aunt Shalom and Uncle Beloved..." while looking at our parents and my spouse and me - which, in other words, means that I am going to be an aunt! Whoo hoo! Baby is coming in October.
I had none of the mixed feelings I've had about the rash of pregnancy announcements in my life lately - just joy. Later on, I did have to leave a conversation wherein my sister-in-law, whom I deeply love, was bemoaning her truly terrible morning sickness. I feel for her, and I don't blame her at all for complaining since her nausea is so bad she's on medication normally given to chemo patients - but still, I just can't listen to people complain about being pregnant. I'm not quite that mature.
But that was a tiny hard moment in the midst of a very, very wonderful day. I have three nieces and a nephew by marriage whom I adore, but they were teenagers when I met them, and this one I'll get to know from the beginning. We can't wait!
Got into the church office today for staff meeting, turned on the computer, sipped some coffee waiting for the email to load, thought dreamily about how well Easter had gone, opened email to find this from a parishioner I have never heard of:
"We wanted to let you know how disappointed we were this morning when we walked into the church and found it filled with Easter Lilies. We are highly allergic to lilies and we could not stay for the service."
I am speaking as one who is also allergic to lilies (and was there for all five services, you big whiners), so I have some sympathies.
But the sense of outrage just cracks me up. It's just a shock to come into a church on EASTER and find it filled with EASTER lilies! Who would have guessed?
I think Jesus should have put it differently. "The complainers you will always have with you, but you will not always have me."
I think I titled my holy week post the same way last year. Same crazy week, same crazy name. (Tune in next Lent to see whether Shalom will do any better! She doubts it!) Too much super-cheesy 1960's Batman episodes for me, apparently.
It's very odd not to be preparing an Easter sermon this year; six years in a row I've preached, and now it's someone else's turn. I am providing homilies for Thursday and Friday; Thursday's is done, and Friday's is - well, halfway. Maybe.
I am preaching at our special baptismal service on Easter (this will be the fifth of five services that morning - count 'em, FIVE) and I'm excited. I think we're up to sixteen baptisms at that service, from infants to a 77-year old woman. (We think she may have been baptized several times, actually, but this is a big pastoral care issue for her so we are overlooking the shoddy theology. My worship professor would be rolling in his grave, except that he's not dead, so I imagine that he just felt a sort of twinge in his shoulder as I typed the 'oh well' sentence about baptism and wondered if a storm was on the way.)
Who knows whether there will be time for posting between now and the conclusion of the great three days. If not - blessed Easter to you, and may God fill us up with new life until we shine like the sun.
This week's issue of Newsweek, page 18. "How to Make Sarah Laugh," says the headline. In the inset, in bold type: "Does being religious actually help you get pregnant? It's possible, says a fertility specialist."
Sigh.
The article started out pretty well. "One in eight couples has trouble conceiving," it says. "It stands to reason that, for some percentage of these couples, intense religious belief informs the way they approach the problem."
Well, yes. For me, intense religious belief informs the way I scream at God about the shape of my husband's sperm. (Didn't see that one coming, did you Newsweek?)
There follows a brief summation of how various religious traditions feel about in-vitro fertilization, donor sperm or egg, 'spilling seed,' and other fertility treatments. I appreciated the woman who did not want to pursue IVF because her Catholicism "gave her a sense of the sacredness of her marriage and of her own body." I would make a different decision, but I appreciate her thoughtfulness.
Until her last comment. This woman sought treatment at an alternative clinic (The Pope Paul VI Institute - can you then go around saying, "The Pope got me pregnant!") and had one child. She tried for a second, but was unsuccessful. Her last comment? "I feel a real sense of contentment. It's God's will if you have a baby."
My intense religious belief now informs the way I approach her comment in the following: AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH.
Oh, but it gets better. "Here, then, is the million-dollar question: does being religious actually help infertile women get pregnant? [Psychologist who did some study that pisses me off] Domar says it's possible. If religious women have less depression and anxiety, and lower rates of anxiety and depression correlate to higher pregnancy rates, 'it stands to reason that religious and spiritual women should have higher pregnancy rates.'"
There are a lot of things that stand to reason. That particular assumption is not one of them. In fact, it not only does not stand to Reason, it actually sits in the lap of Rush to Judgment and begs Reason's pardon for soiling Reason's good name with such an insult.
Dear Newsweek,
My intense religious belief informs my need to tell you to sod off.
Sincerely,
Infertile Pastor
I realize that pastors can be very influential in the lives of their parishioners. If I ever doubted that, the great sadness I experienced from people when I announced that I was leaving my first congregation proved me otherwise.
You know, there are a few things that Rev. Jeremiah Wright said that definitely horrify me, and there are a few that make me think, "that man has cojones," and there are probably more I haven't heard which would cause a whole other reaction.
But it makes me laugh that so much media coverage is being given to the issue of whether Wright has had undue influence on Barack Obama, almost as if Obama might have been brainwashed while listening to a sermon.
Because let's just say that the LAST thing most pastors worry about is their parishioners paying too much attention. Almost every pastor I know has spent at least a few minutes decrying how no one listens to them. But should any of your parishioners run for president - oh, no! They might actually have listened to you! And not known how to have minds of their own! And disagree! At least occasionally!
But that speech today, Mr. Obama - that was a work of art. Well done. I suspect that if you had been a preacher, you might have ruined some minds in your time.
It's been a long time since I felt unhappy when I heard about someone's pregnancy. This is one of the unpleasant side effects of infertility, because I really hate feeling jealous or sad when I hear about someone else's joy. In the 2 1/2 years that Beloved and I have been trying to have a baby, lots of our friends and some family have gotten pregnant and had kids - and 99% of the time, my excitement for them has been uncomplicated by any grief of my own.
So today, when I got an email from an old sort-of-boyfriend who lives near New Congregation, and it said, "hey, great news, I'm going to be a dad," I was not happy to be so...unhappy. Those old feelings came back in a rush: jealousy, bitterness, "why them and not us," "he was kind of a jackass to me in the end, so why does he get a kid first," that sort of thing. Very third grade, I know. But there they are, these feelings I am simultaneously ashamed of and resigned to.
I don't plan to respond to his email right away, because I really can't. Maybe by next week. Maybe not. We'll see.
I hate feeling this way. I need an emotional shower. On top of this, I am leading a baptism class tomorrow morning with a bunch of families and kids, and although this is liturgically and pastorally fantastic, it's now something I'm dreading on the personal level.
Ick. Just ick. Can I get a do-over on this day?
I thought I was doing pretty well at keeping up with the pace at New Congregation. But yesterday, Beloved mentioned that he left me a message on my voicemail, and I realized that hey - in three weeks, I've never gotten a message. Isn't that odd?
So it turns out that the little 'you have voicemail' cue never showed up on my phone, and when the parish adminstrator helped me find my way into the voicemail system this morning, I had THIRTEEN messages which I had completely ignored (because I didn't know about them, but still...).
This is not a good feeling. My profound apologies to anyone who might well assume I'm ignoring them. I'm not. I'm just too dumb to work the voicemail system which itself betrayed me anyway.
Damn.
There are days when I get in the car and put in a certain CD and turn up a certain song. The days I’m talking about are bad ones, days where you get frustrated at every turn, or irritated (reasonably or not) by other people’s behavior, or simply worn down by the evidence of human selfishness in yourself and everyone else. Although, on these particular days, it’s usually that evidence in other people which is the main problem.
At the end of those sorts of days, I often get in the car, breathe out deeply, and put in the only hit Meredith Brooks will ever need, in my opinion. And I sing out loud, as loud as I can, with absolutely no regard for what people might think of me during the evening commute. “I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother, I’m a sinner, I’m a saint…” That’s right, people. Simul clergy et bitch is the new Lutheran.
I voted for Barack Obama in the caucus. But I walked into that room undecided, and when I cast my vote, I still wasn’t entirely sure. I am an unashamed feminist, and I wanted to vote for Hillary for that reason alone. But even by our caucus date, it was clear that John McCain was the Republican nominee, and frankly, I want a Democrat in the White House so badly that my main concern is which of these two candidates stands a better chance against him. I believe that Hillary Clinton is exceptionally intelligent and qualified. I also believe that, through a few circumstances over which she had control and many more in which she didn’t, a lot of people hate her. I worry that a bunch of people stuck somewhere in the middle will vote for McCain because they just can’t bring themselves to vote for Hillary Clinton. This makes me sad, and angry, but also resigned to reality. I want everything related to George W. out of the White House. I will vote for Obama if he’s more likely to get that done.
My father-in-law, whom I love very much, is a prime example of the “she’s just a bitch” factor. He can’t stand her. And I believe, after several conversations with him about this, that he has no logical reason for his dislike other than the fact that he never liked her husband. As much as I’d like to shout, “Who the fuck cares?” when the conversation takes that drift, I don’t. (See how I say I’m okay with being a bitch, but even I don’t want to go that far.) He just hates Hillary. I just hate that he hates her for no reason. And by no means do I believe that he’s the only one.
Should John McCain have told the guy at his campaign rally that the question he asked, “How are we going to beat the bitch?” was inappropriate? Hell, yes. Can you imagine if the same man had asked, “How are we going to beat the nigger?” Such a question would rightfully make the front page as a prime example of both blatent and latent racism still present in the U.S. But throw “bitch” around like candy, and no one cares. I’m not about to equate sexism with racism completely. I know that as a white woman in this country, I have a lot of privileges that black men don’t have, and that black women especially don’t have. But that doesn’t mean that sexism isn’t still real, and I think we’re watching it in action when it comes to Clinton.
I remember in seminary how many students, male and female, were perfectly comfortable calling female professors by their first names, when they always referred to male professors as “Dr. So-and-so.” Everybody says that we call Hillary by her first name to distinguish her from her husband. But it sure fits nicely into that same tendency.
A friend of mine who grew up in Texas told me that one of her African-American friends who moved up north said once, “you know, there’s just as much racism up here, but it’s a lot harder to recognize because people act like it doesn’t exist. At least in the south, when you’re black, you know where you stand. Nobody bothers to hide racism there.” It’s that kind of sexism I see around Hillary (oops, I did it again) – the kind that self-righteously proclaims, “I’m not sexist! I’d vote for a woman! I just can’t vote for her.” Who would you vote for, then? Very few people can name another woman as qualified.
In this week’s Newsweek, there are a bunch of essays from women about why they will or won’t vote for Hillary Clinton. One of them relates this conversation between Tina Fey and Amy Poehler from a recent Saturday Night Live:
Fey: Maybe what bothers me the most is that people say that Hillary is a bitch. Let me say something about that: yeah, she is. So am I, and so is this one. (Points to Amy Poehler.)
Poehler: Yeah. Deal with it.
Fey: You know what? Bitches get stuff done. That’s why Catholic schools use nuns as teachers and not priests. Those nuns are mean old clams and they sleep on cots and they’re allowed to hit you. And at the end of the school year you hated those bitches but you knew the capital of Vermont. So, I’m saying it’s not too late, Texas and Ohio; bitch is the new black!
Bitches get stuff done. They’re opinionated, and forthright, and they tell you what they think. They can be smart, quick, funny, and edgy. They are imperfect, demanding, and yes – irritating at times. But they get stuff done. You’re going to learn the capital of Vermont, damn it, because that’s what you need to know.
Why is it that people call Senator Clinton a bitch? She’s not perfect. She can be irritating. But since when did campaigning for president become a personality contest? Why is it that Hillary’s tears (or lack thereof) make news? Why does she have to prove her femininity and then, when she does, get hit in the face with accusations that she’s not man enough for the job? Why is it that, all these years after Gloria Steinhem and burning bras, all the way back to suffragettes and voting rights – why are we still rehashing these old arguments about what makes a woman – and what makes a bitch?
In the end, I suppose it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll vote for the Democratic nominee, no matter who it is. I still think Obama stands a better chance of winning the ultimate prize, though I don’t doubt that Clinton is every bit as qualified. But as a woman in a mostly male-dominated profession, whether I vote for her or not, I feel a connection to Clinton. I know what it feels like – admittedly with less media coverage – to wonder whether your actions are going to be read as strong or bitchy; whether people will wonder if it’s just PMS; to watch your male colleague in action and know that, if you said those things, at least someone in the room would mutter the b-word under their breath as they left the room. It doesn't take too long to get there when nearly every adjective in front of your name is supposed to make you nice: woman, Christian, pastor.
I don’t know how to solve the problem, other than to keep demonstrating in small, daily ways that being a strong leader + woman does not = bitch. But I’ve been writing too long anyway. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go get stuff done.
...8:30am is really early for a staff meeting.
I don't care if they're an evil empire: thank heavens for Starbucks on Tuesday mornings.
I've been on a break from Friday Five for awhile, but this one seems like the perfect opportunity to jump back in. So, here goes...
What have you seen/ heard this week that was a:
1. Sign of hope?
This is a goofy one, but it worked for me. My best seminary friend, both a Texan and a dyed-in-the-wool Republican (though not a Bush fan any longer, a sign of hope in itself), voted for Hillary Clinton in this week's Texas primary. Seriously, people: this is almost a sign of the return of Jesus, not to mention a sign of hope. (She confided that her vote was mostly motivated by a desire to flip the bird at the Texas media who had virtually called the state for Obama before polls closed, but hey - the fact that she would even entertain the possibility of voting for a Clinton is a freaking miracle.)
2. An unexpected word of light in a dark place?
Last weekend I helped preside at my first funeral here at New Congregation, for a 26-year old man who died of a staph infection which settled in his heart. The service was very moving, as you would expect, but for me, the best word of light came during the eulogy given by this young man's cousin. Trying to write the eulogy, he had put his three-year old daughter in front of a children's program on television to keep her occupied long enough for him to think. What happened to come on was a barnyard cartoon wherein the cow's pet goldfish had died, and the cow was grieving. Being Irish barnyard animals (naturally), the whole farm got together for a wake during which the chicken asked the cow (in an Irish lilt, which the cousin imitated very well), "Are ye sad?" "Yes," said the cow, "but it's a good sad." The way he told it and his acknowledgment of both grief and hope - certainly a light.
3. A sign of spring?
Having recently moved from Winter Wonderland to New and Green City - hey, it all looks like spring to me. It's green! Things are growing! Grocery stores have primroses outside! And they're not frozen black! All good.
4. Challenging and/or surprising?
I got a whole day this week to sit at my desk and write long lists of all the dreams I have for our new worship service and for adult education opportunities. In my experience, both that kind of time AND the encouragement to do those things are rare. I loved it. Challenging in the best way.
5. Share a hope for the coming week/month/year....
Well, the crass one first: I really hope we sell our house in Former City by this time next month. I am not above praying for this at this point.
More important hope: I really hope that Beloved finds an amazing new job in New and Green City, because he's moving here for my sake and I want him to have an exciting opportunity of his own. I've been praying for that one for quite awhile.
Bonus play... a piece of music/ poem guaranteed to cheer you?
This list could be long, but I'll just highlight a few:
1. Song that will make me laugh: "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist" (Avenue Q soundtrack)
2. Song that lifts my spirits: "Ave Maria" (from my Alma Mater college choir's Christmas CD, and when I can find it I'll tell you the composer)
3. Song I love to sing with: "Galileo" and "Power of Two" (Indigo Girls)
4. Song that always makes me happy: "You Can Call Me Al" (Paul Simon)
5. Song that makes me so grateful that God created a world where there is music: "Make Our Garden Grow" (from Leonard Bernstein's Candide)
Enough for now. Hope, and my song list, springs eternal...
I found this fun meme on LutheranChik's "L" Word Diary and it made me laugh. Consider yourself tagged if you'd like to blow a few minutes today.
1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car): Tuffy Legacy
2. YOUR GANGSTA NAME (fave ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Chocolate Fudge Brownie Manolo (please note that I have no actual Manolo shoes).
3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal): Yellow Dog. (Or Yellow Chocolate Lab, to be more specific.)
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born): Diane Edmonds.
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name): Sac-Ka.
6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Red Latte. Possibly Red Red Wine, but that sounds very non-superhero-ish. Not that Red Latte sounds all that great either. ("Who's that - flying through the air jittery and over-caffeinated? Why, it's RED LATTE!")
7. NASCAR NAME (the first names of your grandfathers): Carl James. Boring.
8. STRIPPER NAME (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy): Lovely Twix.
9. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your fifth grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Kemp Kentucky. (I KNOW that Kentucky is not a city. But I liked it anyway.)
10. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, flower): Advent Sweet Pea. This might make a better hippie name, actually.
11. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now): Nectarine Jeans Jacket.
12. HIPPIE NAME (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Scone Birch.
One of the projects I'm charged with at New Congregation is the development of a fourth worship service on Sundays, in the evening. Right now we're doing this just once a month, but the hope and dream is to develop it into an alternative to Sunday morning on a weekly basis.
I freely admit that I am going to steal from the Emerging Church movement on this, because what we want is not to do Yet Another Generic Praise Band service, but a service grounded in liturgy, driven by our mission statement (which has words like embody, proclaim, compassion, and inclusive) - but not full of churchy 'code language.' I have been convinced for a long time that we can do this, we Lutherans: we can do liturgy in creative and new ways while still keeping the core of a tradition which has been life-giving for a great many years.
I realize the liturgy can also be boring and/or badly done. I get this. But it doesn't have to be.
So here's my question for you: if you were given the liturgical year but you wanted to put a twist on it, how would you reinterpret those themes without churchy language?
Here's an example: January is Epiphany. Epiphany is an outward-looking, joyful season which also features the Week of Christian Unity. So, we could have a worship service full of global music, and/or invite a preacher from a different Christian tradition. We could pair this with adult and kid classes about understanding other Christian traditions and/or other religions. Or we could do a worship service honoring Martin Luther King Jr. which might incorporate a confession centered on racism and our participation in that. And then we could encourage all the worshippers to be part of a local observation of MLK Jr. day.
This is the kind of thing I'm thinking about. Not horribly original, I realize, but it's a place to start. And I am having fun. But I can use more ideas! Include them in the comments if you've got a brainstorm to share.
One of the things I knew would be a challenge for me when I accepted a call as an Associate Pastor was the change in preaching frequency. As in, certainly not every week. Because of a few things, including the arrival of Easter only a month after I started here and the fact that Palm Sunday does not include a sermon in this congregation, I preached on February 24 and will not preach on a full Sunday again until March 30. I'm preaching a children's sermon on Palm Sunday, and a homily on Maundy Thursday, and at the special baptismal service on Easter Sunday, all of which are great and do require a certain amount of preparation, but none of which are 'normal' preaching moments. This is a very odd feeling.
It's one of the things I was looking forward to, of course, the sharing of preaching with a colleague. I remember my internship supervisor telling me about the first day he arrived in his new solo call and looked at the calendar, and realized that Sunday after Sunday after Sunday stretched out in front of him with no one to preach but him. I had a similar moment in my previous congregation when I knew I was truly on my own after my colleague's illness made it impossible for him to return. It was a strange feeling. And so is the fact that all those Sundays no longer belong to me.
It's not entirely a case of "be careful what you wish for - you might get it." My colleague here is a very good preacher, and I have already enjoyed the privilege of listening. For someone who is accustomed to climbing into the pulpit week after week, simply sitting in the pew and hearing the word preached is a huge gift. It's also a great opportunity to hear a different perspective and style than my own.
At my previous congregation, a retired pastor who became one of my closest friends and who was glad to preach any time I asked him, was often teased about how his sermons were always longer than mine. I teased him about that once myself, and he laughed and said, "well, I don't get to do this very often, so when I get up there, I have a lot of stuff saved up that I want to say!" I might have to watch out for that myself. Then again, I also have a chance now to do 'preaching' in different ways which do not include a pulpit. In classes, in meetings, with individuals, with groups, in ways I haven't even imagined yet. And I am prompted to realize that preaching is something I do love. This is easy to forget when it becomes such a part of the weekly routine that it can feel more like a burden than a gift, at least some of the time.
I went for a walk the other day for the first time in a long time. The lack of outdoor exercise has been partly due to horrible weather where we've been living, and also due to my particular brand of a combined laziness/busyness attitude. As in, "I'm too busy to exercise, so I am going to lay on the couch for three hours and watch reruns of Law & Order." Obviously that busy girl has no time to exercise.
Anyway. The point is, I woke up the next day with that good sore feeling you get when you exercise after a long period of being sedentary. It hurts a little, or maybe it's just a bit uncomfortable, but it also feels good - that you're stretching yourself in good ways and using parts of you that you'd forgotten about. It's how I felt when I started yoga classes this winter: you think you can't possibly bend yourself that way, but after you try it for awhile, you build the strength to do things you thought you could never do. This call is good exercise for me. Parts of me are a little sore now and again, but it's a good sore: it's good exercise.
And Beloved is coming tomorrow night for a weekend visit, so that feels good too.
I've been at New Church for nine days. On the one hand, it feels like about nine months. On the other, about nine seconds.
I find myself more caught up than I had anticipated in the grief process for my previous congregation, and like all grief journeys, it takes me by surprise when it shows up. I'm doing fine, I'm not thinking about them at all, and then I meet someone with the same name, or who looks like or sounds like, a previous parishioner, and poof! I'm back at stage one again. I suspect this will go on for a long time. It helps to know that the interim pastor there is someone I trust, who will shepherd them well into the next phase of their ministry. But still - I'm not there. And they are fine, of course, which is even harder than the idea that they are NOT fine without me.
This tightrope between then-and-now hit me full force last week on my first Sunday. I suppose it would have in any circumstance, but it turned out that two of my former parishioners showed up to hear my first sermon here. I found myself torn between gratitude that they would make the trip and, to be perfectly frank, irritation that I was being pulled backward on a day when I wanted only to try and leap into this new place. It felt a bit inappropriate for them to be there, even as I appreciated the gesture. I know those people will be in my mind and heart for a long time to come - I just didn't figure some of them would be there in the flesh on Sunday Number One.
So that threw me off a bit and I was relieved that they only stuck around for the first service. New Congregation has three worship services (aack!) but that was less difficult than I'd imagined (though boy, did I sleep like a rock that night). I think that preaching the same sermon three times on a routine basis will provide a challenge for me, since I was fairly sick of my words by the time the third service rolled around. I'm a manuscript preacher, so although I don't read my manuscript - it's more or less memorized by the time I give it - I do have weaknesses when it comes to spontaneity from the pulpit. I have also had some bad experiences with spontaneity, so it's not a virtue I hold in too much esteem when it comes to preaching practices. (Bad experiences as a listener, to be precise. As in, wondering what on earth the POINT OF THIS SERMON is and WHEN we might actually GET TO IT.)
We had a staff retreat on Monday and Tuesday of this week. Bad: didn't get a day off. Good: great, great staff. I'm so excited to work with these people. And it turns out that one of the staff, four years older than me, has gone through in-vitro twice (unsuccessfully, sadly) and is now in the process of adopting their second child. She had shared her faith story, including a tiny sentence about infertility, before it was my turn, so when my turn came around, I - to my own surprise - shared quite a bit about our infertility challenges.
This was a huge change for me. In Previous Congregation, I never told anyone about that struggle except for one colleague who was, in many respects, like a spiritual director. Otherwise, I did not feel ready to share that story nor did I want it to be a topic of discussion in the congregation. I told the staff the gist of the story and, although I did say that I do not want to talk about this with parishioners, it felt very good to include other people in this struggle. I know that our decision-process will speed up this summer and chances are, we'll have doctor appointments of one form or another which might prompt questions. I shared partly to explain what might yet come.
But I also shared because I realize two things: one, as much as I might believe with every fiber of my being that people ought to talk about infertility when it affects them because there is no other way to get rid of the shame around it, I am only adding to the problem if I can't talk about it myself; and two, that this has become a huge part of my faith story and I would not be telling the truth about myself if I didn't include a real description of the valley in which we find ourselves these days.
It came to me when I was writing the sermon for Sunday about the woman at the well. She came trying to hide the deepest pain in her life, and Jesus went straight for it. He refused to let her hide, and then he refused to walk away. When, "I have no husband" came out of her mouth, I'm betting that, "Oh, God, why did I say that out loud" immediately followed in her mind. Naming your pain out loud is terrifying.
But it is also freeing in the most amazing way. Now these people know me, the real me. And they did not walk away. And I have another conversation partner along the journey. Pain transformed by being borne among the many instead of one. Praises be for that.
So week one is down - week two is underway. This is the right place for me, and praises be for that as well. Now if we can just find Beloved a job and sell our house and buy another one...but these will come.
Today was my first Sunday in New Congregation, and I realize there should be lots of important and theologically meaningful things to say, but it's also Oscar Sunday. So I need to get back to the good stuff. Thus far:
1. George Clooney is still the most attractive man ever. (I love Beloved, don't get me wrong, but WOWZA. Clooney in a tux is hard to beat.)
2. Renee Zellweger's dress is great but what the HELL is with that haircut?
3. Marion Cotillard's dress - amazing.
4. Sean Rogan (is that his name?) and The Other Dude from Knocked Up - hilarious.
5. Much as I otherwise love him, John Stewart as host...eh.
Gotta go. More watching. Meaningful reflection on first Sunday later.
New call = new office = new computer = new blog template.
Besides, it's really, really time for spring.
Hope you like it.
It's hard to start over. This is my first week in New Congregation (which won't be new for long, so I need another name for it) and part of me is just now starting to remember how much work it is to do the pastor thing in a new place. I feel a bit like I'm watching people in a raquetball court from that viewer window they always have upstairs: the only way to learn to play is to actually get in there and do it, but it's much more attractive to watch from above given that it looks like that little blue ball would really hurt if it hit you in the head.
Of course, I hate raquetball, so this is probably a bad metaphor.
Anyway. I started on Wednesday, and now it's Friday. I'm preaching on Sunday, and the sermon is actually done, though I'm not entirely pleased with the ending. It's also a bit on the long side (I'm typically a 12-15 minute preacher and this one is probably pushing 15-18). However, I'm not sure about this because I'm using a new computer with a new font, and it would seem as if more pages is a result of the font rather than wordiness on my part.
One of the many complications of sermon-writing.
My office is very beige. Literally. Blah. I've unpacked all my books (joy of joys, I have plenty of shelf space!) and that perks it up a bit, but I'm looking into a new paint color for a few of the walls. That and some pictures on the walls will help a lot.
Yesterday I had coffee with the quilting ladies and chatted with the newsletter-folders. I talked for a bit with two staff members about confirmation ministry and with another staff member about children's ministry. I also got to go to Office Max and buy things for my office, including a box of my very favorite pens. If it sounds mundane, that's because so far I've done a lot of mundane things - and that takes some getting used to. This morning, my colleague was in his office talking to the mother of a 26-year old guy who made it through his tour in Iraq but died last night after contracting a staph infection in his heart. I asked him if I could do something to help, but he said no - and truthfully, that's right. I really can't do much of anything for anyone right now, which is REALLY STRANGE (if also a bit of a relief). If I were the only pastor, it would be completely different. But being the second pastor when the first has been here for twenty-some years really does render me a bit useless when that kind of thing happens in my first week on the job. This is a little hard on the ego.
It will be good for me not to be so beloved. There's no way to say it without sounding like an arrogant jackass, but it's the truth: my former congregation loved me (okay, okay, not everybody, but the vast majority) and it made me wary. I feel like that level of beloved-ness makes pastors do dumb things because they feel invincible. I understand that pastors get a certain level of love because of a million different reasons, some of which have absolutely nothing to do with the pastor him/herself, but still...I get nervous. And I fear that I also get lazy. Becuase once they love you, you don't have to work so hard. That's not all bad. But it sure isn't all good, either.
So now I'm brand new again, and no one loves me. We will have to start over, which is very exciting and completely terrifying. This is the first sermon I have written in a long, long time for a group of people I don't know at all. Writing those kinds of sermons is hard, like throwing at a dartboard while blindfolded. Will you hit them where it counts? Or will you miss and poke a hole in the wall?
I'm not sure how this post about starting in a new congregation ended up being about raquetball and darts, but it might indicate something Freudian about my fears of being hit by unexpected flying things. Maybe I'll put a dartboard up in my office. This would take the edge off the beige, anyway.
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