.... moves the church of God.
Brothers, we are treading
Where we've always trod.
Unknown, attr. to Rev. Jeannette Piccard
Well, it took three days to get the official word, but... they said yes.
Yes to a four year renewal of my contract with my congregation, because my governing board told them in great detail why I am the right pastor for this congregation.
It was not unanimous (a little birdie told me). But it was not close, either.
I've been too busy this week to properly absorb it...
But thank God. And thanks to those people who were able to look beyond me as an "issue" to see me as a pastor.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Prayer Requests
This just in:
There are so many things going on today, and so many people involved... it's hard to single out any one thing.
But I will ask this: prayers for the ongoing ministry of the church I serve, and for its wonderful people, and for those who will soon be making decisions that will affect us all.
Today a body meets that will decide, pretty much, whether I am able to continue as pastor here.
While they are meeting I will be singing and dancing and otherwise cavorting onstage in a dress rehearsal for a play that will open Thursday night.
And while all this is going on, my dad is trying to figure out what he wants, what he can and cannot do, what he will and will not do, and how his children figure into all of it.
While you're on your knees, you might throw in a petition on behalf of my blood pressure.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
There are so many things going on today, and so many people involved... it's hard to single out any one thing.
But I will ask this: prayers for the ongoing ministry of the church I serve, and for its wonderful people, and for those who will soon be making decisions that will affect us all.
Today a body meets that will decide, pretty much, whether I am able to continue as pastor here.
While they are meeting I will be singing and dancing and otherwise cavorting onstage in a dress rehearsal for a play that will open Thursday night.
And while all this is going on, my dad is trying to figure out what he wants, what he can and cannot do, what he will and will not do, and how his children figure into all of it.
While you're on your knees, you might throw in a petition on behalf of my blood pressure.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Independence Day
I have been thinking about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness a lot recently. I have been thinking about independence, and what that means.
I don't think it necessarily means isolation, though I know it can be used to convey a stance of being apart. The Hebrew notion of holiness is also one of being apart, but certainly not so that one can be isolated... so that one can be devoted to God's service in a particular way.
My dad loves his independence. By which I mean, his identity is as a man responsible for himself. He is a person who does not rely on others to fulfill his basic needs, or even his less tangible ones. He satisfies all these himself. He eats what he wants, when he wants. He watches television according to his interest. (He is very, very interested in Greta Van Sustern. Perhaps I shall try to shift him Rachel's way....) He comes and goes as he pleases. Socializes as matches his mood. Likes getting into a scrap with the butcher at the grocery store. (A butcher by trade, he is forever dissatisfied with the current state of butchering in America.) He thinks of himself as independent.
To try to persuade him to accept help in any given area of his life is very, very hard. A year or two ago he recognized that he could not go about his planting as he had done previously. He liked to fill four planters with artful arrangements of red geraniums and white and striped white-and-blue (really purple) petunias. (You understand the color scheme.) But his loss of upper arm strength meant that he really could not do this himself any longer. He hired a young man to do it for him, gave him a list of the flowers he wanted. The young man came back with yellow and purple flowers, no petunias, no geraniums. Dad was not just upset. He was devastated. He had taken a little leap, had asked for help (paid for it, really) and what he wanted was completely disregarded.
At this point, dad sees everything that is offered as "help" as an encroachment on his status as an independent man. There is some truth to that. If he comes to rely on others for his meals, or to drive him here and there, there is a loss of independence. I cannot deny it.
I had a beloved aunt with whom I discussed women's rights as I became aware of them, as an adolescent in the 1970's. She used to say, "Don't be fooled for a minute Ceci. Women were liberated the day they learned to drive." Dad is aghast that he might need to stop driving. (That is the regulation for receiving Meals on Wheels in the county where he lives.) I get that.
To me independence has something to do with integrity, but it also has to do with relationship. I do not value my separateness and aloneness all that much. (This distinguishes me, among many other characteristics, from my Beloved.) I like to imagine I'd accept the help if my life called for it. But who knows? I can jump in my car and drive 250 miles to respond to an emergency, and get myself whatever I want to eat, and climb stairs without needing to collapse on a bed to rest. I know nothing of what my dad is going through. Nothing.
Last night Beloved and Petra and I attended a Fourth of July/ Graduation party at the home of a mutual friend. Young people were swimming in a pond. A fifty-something physician was running around the yard setting off fireworks with the glee of a twelve-year-old. Three generations interacted seamlessly, and music echoed through the hills with the cracking sound of the fireworks. We were celebrating our independence.
I don't think it necessarily means isolation, though I know it can be used to convey a stance of being apart. The Hebrew notion of holiness is also one of being apart, but certainly not so that one can be isolated... so that one can be devoted to God's service in a particular way.
My dad loves his independence. By which I mean, his identity is as a man responsible for himself. He is a person who does not rely on others to fulfill his basic needs, or even his less tangible ones. He satisfies all these himself. He eats what he wants, when he wants. He watches television according to his interest. (He is very, very interested in Greta Van Sustern. Perhaps I shall try to shift him Rachel's way....) He comes and goes as he pleases. Socializes as matches his mood. Likes getting into a scrap with the butcher at the grocery store. (A butcher by trade, he is forever dissatisfied with the current state of butchering in America.) He thinks of himself as independent.
To try to persuade him to accept help in any given area of his life is very, very hard. A year or two ago he recognized that he could not go about his planting as he had done previously. He liked to fill four planters with artful arrangements of red geraniums and white and striped white-and-blue (really purple) petunias. (You understand the color scheme.) But his loss of upper arm strength meant that he really could not do this himself any longer. He hired a young man to do it for him, gave him a list of the flowers he wanted. The young man came back with yellow and purple flowers, no petunias, no geraniums. Dad was not just upset. He was devastated. He had taken a little leap, had asked for help (paid for it, really) and what he wanted was completely disregarded.
At this point, dad sees everything that is offered as "help" as an encroachment on his status as an independent man. There is some truth to that. If he comes to rely on others for his meals, or to drive him here and there, there is a loss of independence. I cannot deny it.
I had a beloved aunt with whom I discussed women's rights as I became aware of them, as an adolescent in the 1970's. She used to say, "Don't be fooled for a minute Ceci. Women were liberated the day they learned to drive." Dad is aghast that he might need to stop driving. (That is the regulation for receiving Meals on Wheels in the county where he lives.) I get that.
To me independence has something to do with integrity, but it also has to do with relationship. I do not value my separateness and aloneness all that much. (This distinguishes me, among many other characteristics, from my Beloved.) I like to imagine I'd accept the help if my life called for it. But who knows? I can jump in my car and drive 250 miles to respond to an emergency, and get myself whatever I want to eat, and climb stairs without needing to collapse on a bed to rest. I know nothing of what my dad is going through. Nothing.
Last night Beloved and Petra and I attended a Fourth of July/ Graduation party at the home of a mutual friend. Young people were swimming in a pond. A fifty-something physician was running around the yard setting off fireworks with the glee of a twelve-year-old. Three generations interacted seamlessly, and music echoed through the hills with the cracking sound of the fireworks. We were celebrating our independence.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Home at Last
I'm home from a couple of days at my dad's house.
I really know nothing more than when I received the frightened phone call from him at 10:15 on Sunday morning.
He had an episode on Saturday night in which he was too weak to walk, it frightened him, and he called 911. By the time the paramedics had broken in through the back door of the house, dad was able to walk, and got to the ambulance under his own steam.
For some reason when he got to the hospital, he de-emphasized his weakness and talked instead about insomnia and vivid dreams. So the ER doc released him with a prescription for a sleeping pill.
Other possibly relevant facts:
Dad had a car accident (slow motion fender bender) on June 10. He was distressed about this, but had not told me or my brother.
In the day (days?) before his episode of weakness, he hadn't eaten, except for sips of water. (Why? No clear answer.)
When I arrived, he seemed fine. He always has difficulty walking-- a knee injury that should have been operated on a long time ago plagues him. He has a somewhat frail appearance, a little more frail each time I see him. He ate everything I provided for him while we were together.
I told him there are basically four possibilities at this time:
He can come to live with me.
He can go to live with my brother.
He can live in some kind of assisted living facility (preferably near me or my brother).
He can stay in his house with modifications-- meals brought in, someone to clean regularly, people on a schedule to check in on him and drive him where he needs to go, severely restricted driving (if at all).
He wants none of these options. To him, he had a bad moment, it has passed, and all is well.
I am a pastor. Churches are filled with old people, with children of old people, and grandchildren of old people. This story is nothing new. It is a situation everyone in my congregation has been touched by on some level. I am witness to people making all kinds of decisions, good, bad and indifferent, about their own or their parents' care every day. I am also witness to people making no decisions, and untenable situations stretching on and on.
When I left I had in place:
Someone to prepare meals for my dad and assist with grocery shopping. This includes some social interaction for him at least twice a week (he wants to do the shopping with her).
Someone to stop in to check on my dad a couple of times a week.
An interview to be scheduled by Senior Services of the county he lives in.
Someone to visit him next Monday to talk about cleaning his house.
Someone to take him to the dentist next Tuesday (a minor adjustment of his bridge).
Someone to take him to the bus, to come visit me for a week, next Wednesday.
Now let's see how much of this actually comes to pass.
I really know nothing more than when I received the frightened phone call from him at 10:15 on Sunday morning.
He had an episode on Saturday night in which he was too weak to walk, it frightened him, and he called 911. By the time the paramedics had broken in through the back door of the house, dad was able to walk, and got to the ambulance under his own steam.
For some reason when he got to the hospital, he de-emphasized his weakness and talked instead about insomnia and vivid dreams. So the ER doc released him with a prescription for a sleeping pill.
Other possibly relevant facts:
Dad had a car accident (slow motion fender bender) on June 10. He was distressed about this, but had not told me or my brother.
In the day (days?) before his episode of weakness, he hadn't eaten, except for sips of water. (Why? No clear answer.)
When I arrived, he seemed fine. He always has difficulty walking-- a knee injury that should have been operated on a long time ago plagues him. He has a somewhat frail appearance, a little more frail each time I see him. He ate everything I provided for him while we were together.
I told him there are basically four possibilities at this time:
He can come to live with me.
He can go to live with my brother.
He can live in some kind of assisted living facility (preferably near me or my brother).
He can stay in his house with modifications-- meals brought in, someone to clean regularly, people on a schedule to check in on him and drive him where he needs to go, severely restricted driving (if at all).
He wants none of these options. To him, he had a bad moment, it has passed, and all is well.
I am a pastor. Churches are filled with old people, with children of old people, and grandchildren of old people. This story is nothing new. It is a situation everyone in my congregation has been touched by on some level. I am witness to people making all kinds of decisions, good, bad and indifferent, about their own or their parents' care every day. I am also witness to people making no decisions, and untenable situations stretching on and on.
When I left I had in place:
Someone to prepare meals for my dad and assist with grocery shopping. This includes some social interaction for him at least twice a week (he wants to do the shopping with her).
Someone to stop in to check on my dad a couple of times a week.
An interview to be scheduled by Senior Services of the county he lives in.
Someone to visit him next Monday to talk about cleaning his house.
Someone to take him to the dentist next Tuesday (a minor adjustment of his bridge).
Someone to take him to the bus, to come visit me for a week, next Wednesday.
Now let's see how much of this actually comes to pass.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Orphan Girl-- edited
I'm with my dad tonight. He seems to be doing well. More when I know something.
Edited to add... the pictures in this... well. A little... lurpy? Oh, the bad art, mixed in with some lovely photographs.
But still a good song.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Well, Duh...
... to quote author Rev. Candace Chellew-Hodge. She is responding here to a new Barna poll that reveals-- better sit down folks-- that lots and lots of LGBTQ people cite faith as being central to their lives. Despite being portrayed over and over by right-wing media as "godless, hedonistic Christian-bashers," turns out an awful lot of us claim--GASP!-- to have a relationship with Jesus Christ, whom we consider to be our Lord and Savior.
Of course, George Barna being the author of this poll, he helpfully points out that we're not the right kind of Christians, that our faith is somehow defective.
Don't you get tired of being told what you believe by others?
I have long suspected that LGBTQ people were pretty much crazy about Jesus (those of us who are raised within the Christian faith and who haven't taken the very reasonable route of rejecting it outright because it so many of its "orthodox" proponents degrade and bash us and do us spiritual violence). In fact, I have long suspected that LGBTQ people are over-represented in the clergy in proportion to the rest of the population.
I have a theory as to why this is so. It's pretty simple. Once you get past the Pat Buchanans and the Jerry Falwells (may peace be upon him) and Pat Robertsons to the actual, you know, core of the gospel-- what some are calling "red-letter Christianity", which I take to mean the words of Jesus-- you find a faith that is...
Inclusive.
Liberating.
Love-centered.
Focused on gathering the lost and lonely at the banquet table.
Focused on healing that which has been broken.
Well, Duh. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why LGBTQ people might run right into the arms of such a God, such a faith. Thanks be to God.
Of course, George Barna being the author of this poll, he helpfully points out that we're not the right kind of Christians, that our faith is somehow defective.
Don't you get tired of being told what you believe by others?
I have long suspected that LGBTQ people were pretty much crazy about Jesus (those of us who are raised within the Christian faith and who haven't taken the very reasonable route of rejecting it outright because it so many of its "orthodox" proponents degrade and bash us and do us spiritual violence). In fact, I have long suspected that LGBTQ people are over-represented in the clergy in proportion to the rest of the population.
I have a theory as to why this is so. It's pretty simple. Once you get past the Pat Buchanans and the Jerry Falwells (may peace be upon him) and Pat Robertsons to the actual, you know, core of the gospel-- what some are calling "red-letter Christianity", which I take to mean the words of Jesus-- you find a faith that is...
Inclusive.
Liberating.
Love-centered.
Focused on gathering the lost and lonely at the banquet table.
Focused on healing that which has been broken.
Well, Duh. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why LGBTQ people might run right into the arms of such a God, such a faith. Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Renewal
The church council, after a lengthy discussion, decided to ask the congregation to vote to renew my contract. This was seen as the best way to reach out to those who are not sure they are willing to live with a gay pastor, as well as a better prospect for the Powers That Be in our regional body to approve.
I have mixed feelings. On the whole, I think to seek a permanent call at this time would have been risky, given that our church (the larger church, not my local congregation) is so divided on this as an issue. People are not, for the most part, divided on the matter of "me" as a person; they are divided on "me" the issue. The congregation remains (it would appear) overwhelmingly in support of my staying. I just had a conversation with a pillar of the church who is hard up against his beliefs on this issue as they conflict with his experience of me as pastor. He expressed gratitude and relief at the decision in favor of renewal. That to me seems a good sign. It could be a unifying move.
On the other hand... I feel tired. There is something about the idea of another bunch of years without the issue being settled that makes me tired and a little disheartened. As I drove to the church this morning it occurred to me that I miss the good old "she walks on water" days. Before you gasp, please observe, tongue planted firmly in cheek. There was always a sense of unreality for me in the ways in which people experienced me as too good to be true. Here is the other shoe; it droppeth. And, of course, no one is too good to be true. We are all exactly as good and bad and totally depraved as we are. Truly. And this, I suspect, is what it feels like to be a pastor who is loved and appreciated and who has managed to disappoint people all the same. Feet of clay and all that.
And yet, there is that word, "renewal." It is calling to me. It is suggesting to me that this time, if we use it wisely, could be a time of real growth, both for me and the congregation, as each of us renews our commitment to this particular little manifestation of the body of Christ.
Renewal. It could be a good thing.
I have mixed feelings. On the whole, I think to seek a permanent call at this time would have been risky, given that our church (the larger church, not my local congregation) is so divided on this as an issue. People are not, for the most part, divided on the matter of "me" as a person; they are divided on "me" the issue. The congregation remains (it would appear) overwhelmingly in support of my staying. I just had a conversation with a pillar of the church who is hard up against his beliefs on this issue as they conflict with his experience of me as pastor. He expressed gratitude and relief at the decision in favor of renewal. That to me seems a good sign. It could be a unifying move.
On the other hand... I feel tired. There is something about the idea of another bunch of years without the issue being settled that makes me tired and a little disheartened. As I drove to the church this morning it occurred to me that I miss the good old "she walks on water" days. Before you gasp, please observe, tongue planted firmly in cheek. There was always a sense of unreality for me in the ways in which people experienced me as too good to be true. Here is the other shoe; it droppeth. And, of course, no one is too good to be true. We are all exactly as good and bad and totally depraved as we are. Truly. And this, I suspect, is what it feels like to be a pastor who is loved and appreciated and who has managed to disappoint people all the same. Feet of clay and all that.
And yet, there is that word, "renewal." It is calling to me. It is suggesting to me that this time, if we use it wisely, could be a time of real growth, both for me and the congregation, as each of us renews our commitment to this particular little manifestation of the body of Christ.
Renewal. It could be a good thing.
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