It occurred to me that I threw out this statement at the beginning of my last post, and never truly unpacked it.
"I don't know that I'm the same person who wrote in June."
Well, I'm still a 50 year old woman, I'm still a pastor, I'm still a mother of two adult-type young people, I'm still in a relationship with my Beloved, still living in the same place, etc, etc.
And I still have an aging father with health concerns.
But now I am his caregiver, in many very tangible ways. For better or for worse, the reversal of roles that is often threatened, resisted, bemoaned between adults and their elderly parents--- it has happened. It is, more or less, complete.
I have made decisions for my dad (with my brother's help, of course) that he was not able to make for himself in the last year.
The week he was in the hospital was probably the most frightening week of my life. I awakened every morning an hour or more before the alarm, my heart racing. "I'm not ready for this" ran through my head on a continuous loop. "If only" was a close second in frequency, though my wise Beloved helped me to stop that in short order.
At the point at which I was told he would need rehab, I knew with complete clarity what had to be done. He needed to be near me. I couldn't imagine him in a rehabilitation facility with no family nearby to stop in daily, to encourage him, to let him know he wasn't alone. My brother agreed, and it was done. One day, in a very lucid moment, even my dad agreed, though the narrative has shifted since for him. He is convinced that he was kidnapped.
I imagine that's exactly how it felt. One day in a life he knew intimately, in a house he'd inhabited for about thirty years, with a view that was etched on his heart, and all his memories encircling him like a blanket. The next, in a completely new place, with, sure, some photos on the wall of children, grandchildren, himself and my mother. But even more than that: with the dramatic loss of ability. He went from being able to walk (with great difficulty) unassisted, to needing a walker and/ or a wheelchair, and assistance from nurses and aides. He needs to wear a webbed transfer belt whenever he needs to stand and move himself (with help) from one place to another.
"Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.”
So my dad has had to go where he does not wish to go, and so, in total honesty, have I. I now have a host of responsibilities, financial, legal, medical, and moral that perch somewhat uncomfortably on my shoulders. But this is my life now, and this is my role.
I try to see my dad at least every other day. I was going daily, but a good friend (who happens to be the chaplain at the facility where dad is living) told me that it might actually help the transition for me to give dad a day in between. So I do.
The learning curve for me in terms of what my dad's dementia means is steep. I was recently truly shocked to find that a move from one end of a hallway to another end of an adjacent hallway was utterly confusing and anxiety provoking for him. I was also not shocked, but surprised, to learn that he conveys more happiness and contentment with his situation to the staff and other residents than he does to me. The family, it appears, hears the unhappiness. I'm the safe person, and I'm also the person who might be able to help.
I think the biggest change for me, though, has been one of attitude. Before his hospitalization I spent a lot of time feeling very frustrated with my dad, even angry, at his unwillingness to make changes. Once he had his fall, once the clarity came, it's as if I had an attitude transplant. Now, the whole point is, is he ok? Is he being well-cared-for? Is he happy? Or, is his unhappiness something I can help with? Or, perhaps this: Can I at least hear his unhappiness, let him know he has been heard?
In a strange way all this trauma has brought my dad and me closer to one another. I know he no longer considers me a meddling kid who's trying to cramp his style, though I suspect he has discomfort with the role reversal (as have I). But we are both trying, struggling, muddling through, even though life has taken us where neither of us wanted to go.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
What's Been Up
I don't know that I'm the same person who wrote in June.
But that is probably a good thing.
In the middle of July my dad had "the fall." The one I had been hoping we could avoid, if only... Well, as Beloved told me when I called from the hospital in New Jersey, the time for "if only" is past, and the time for "what's next?" has arrived.
What came next for my dad:
A week in the hospital.
Several weeks of rehab in a wonderful facility in my town--midway, as it happened, between my work and my home. He loved it. He loved the people. He loved the food. He loved Physical Therapy.
Then, the flood. A fairly terrifying (though very well-executed) evacuation from Wonderful Facility to another place--place that, like all subsequent places, would be compared (unfavorably) to Wonderful Facility.
A week later, a move to another wonderful Assisted Living facility.
Three weeks later (we're in late September now), two hospitalizations, one after another, for undiagnosed episodes of unconsciousness that resulted in our being told that dad need a skilled nursing facility.
Finally, an move to said facility, the dementia unit, because that seems to be progressing rapidly.
Dad is doing ok. He is at that stage in which he knows something is wrong ("Will I ever get my brain back?"), and is distressed about it. He can no longer walk unassisted by either a walker or helpers. He is encouraged to be as independent as he can, but help is a buzz away. He is encouraged to take part in all manner of activities, which he does, they tell me, with a very open and fun-loving nature.
When I see him, what comes through is his sadness and distress.
Today I am several hundred miles away, at Petra's Parents Weekend, the first of her college career. As of a couple of weeks ago, I was feeling fairly burned out by an intense summer of transitions and my new role as caregiver for my dad. On top of all this, my church was affected by the flood, both to our physical structure (many thousands of dollars in damage, plus damage or total loss to the homes of many members) and to our lives as a community. I had cut my study leave short in the summer (when my dad had his fall), and Beloved and I had cancelled our September vacation together, scheduled as it had been immediately after the flood.
I learned of a conference in a city roughly halfway between my town and Petra's college. I signed up for it. And so I took three days of study leave, followed by three days of vacation. I am on day five of my time away, sipping a skim latte in the coolest coffeehouse I've ever found. (Petra tells me I've logged enough hours here to officially be considered a student.) We will meet (for her breakfast and my lunch) in a little while.
Tomorrow I will drive home, to my Beloved and my church community, and, energized, I will begin preparations for Reign of Christ/ Thanksgiving Sunday.
Next time: Life with Petra in the Land of the White Squirrel
But that is probably a good thing.
In the middle of July my dad had "the fall." The one I had been hoping we could avoid, if only... Well, as Beloved told me when I called from the hospital in New Jersey, the time for "if only" is past, and the time for "what's next?" has arrived.
What came next for my dad:
A week in the hospital.
Several weeks of rehab in a wonderful facility in my town--midway, as it happened, between my work and my home. He loved it. He loved the people. He loved the food. He loved Physical Therapy.
Then, the flood. A fairly terrifying (though very well-executed) evacuation from Wonderful Facility to another place--place that, like all subsequent places, would be compared (unfavorably) to Wonderful Facility.
A week later, a move to another wonderful Assisted Living facility.
Three weeks later (we're in late September now), two hospitalizations, one after another, for undiagnosed episodes of unconsciousness that resulted in our being told that dad need a skilled nursing facility.
Finally, an move to said facility, the dementia unit, because that seems to be progressing rapidly.
Dad is doing ok. He is at that stage in which he knows something is wrong ("Will I ever get my brain back?"), and is distressed about it. He can no longer walk unassisted by either a walker or helpers. He is encouraged to be as independent as he can, but help is a buzz away. He is encouraged to take part in all manner of activities, which he does, they tell me, with a very open and fun-loving nature.
When I see him, what comes through is his sadness and distress.
Today I am several hundred miles away, at Petra's Parents Weekend, the first of her college career. As of a couple of weeks ago, I was feeling fairly burned out by an intense summer of transitions and my new role as caregiver for my dad. On top of all this, my church was affected by the flood, both to our physical structure (many thousands of dollars in damage, plus damage or total loss to the homes of many members) and to our lives as a community. I had cut my study leave short in the summer (when my dad had his fall), and Beloved and I had cancelled our September vacation together, scheduled as it had been immediately after the flood.
I learned of a conference in a city roughly halfway between my town and Petra's college. I signed up for it. And so I took three days of study leave, followed by three days of vacation. I am on day five of my time away, sipping a skim latte in the coolest coffeehouse I've ever found. (Petra tells me I've logged enough hours here to officially be considered a student.) We will meet (for her breakfast and my lunch) in a little while.
Tomorrow I will drive home, to my Beloved and my church community, and, energized, I will begin preparations for Reign of Christ/ Thanksgiving Sunday.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
So Many New Days
As I write this the ink is just about dry on Governor Andrew Cuomo's signature on the bill legalizing marriage between persons of the same sex. And in just fifteen days, the Presbyterian Church (USA)'s newly constituted Book of Order will go into effect, including Amendment 10-A, of which I have spoken/ written before.
So, now GLBTQ persons may marry whom they will in the state of New York. And there is no anti-gay litmus test in the PC(USA) Book of Order.
It's like waking up in an alternate universe.
Did I mention that today is Beloved's and my anniversary, of the "date, not a date"? Seven years since the beginning of what has become... so much more than words can express.
I am most truly blessed.
Ahead: preaching, Petra's high school graduation, and dinner with the whole (local) family. It is a new day.
So, now GLBTQ persons may marry whom they will in the state of New York. And there is no anti-gay litmus test in the PC(USA) Book of Order.
It's like waking up in an alternate universe.
Did I mention that today is Beloved's and my anniversary, of the "date, not a date"? Seven years since the beginning of what has become... so much more than words can express.
I am most truly blessed.
Ahead: preaching, Petra's high school graduation, and dinner with the whole (local) family. It is a new day.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Where Do I Begin...
"...to tell the story of how great a love can beeeeee...."
Oops. I thought it was 1970 and I was in a movie theater in Fort Lauderdale seeing "Love Story."
Well, since we talked last, much has happened.
Lent ended, Easter came. Thanks be to God.
Holy Week this year was a deeply satisfying experience for me... which I know is a possibly-missing-the-point thing to say. We offered the full range of services for the first time since I have been at St. Stoic, from a beautiful and moving Palm Sunday cantata, through a wonderful (and better attended than recently) Maundy Thursday Service, the already-discussed Good Friday Service, and then another first: an Easter Sunrise service, before the regular Festive Easter Service.
Whither my deep satisfaction? Well, for one thing, offering the full banquet. Holy Week is a narrative, a very particular story being spun, and to leave out any significant chunk (Good Friday????) is to leave out a part of the story. And, yes, I know, not everyone came to every service. Just like not everyone is handy with a socket wrench. The fullness of the story was told to the community-- the narrative was shared in its entirety, which means the Good News got out to the whole body. And as the pastor, that felt really wonderful. It felt as if it is something I want to make sure continues to happen.
As Easter approached, I was certainly skeptical that my own enthusiasm had resulted in my grossly over-committing myself. I worried that I might feel resentful if the Sunrise service, for instance, were to have only a handful attending. In situations like this, my rule is: Lower those expectations! So, I made 20 bulletins for Sunrise, which represented a "wildest dreams" number for attendees. We had 22 people... which felt absolutely great.
So we offered the fully monty, banquet, smorgasbord for Holy Week.
A week later, we did Holy Hilarity, which, unbeknownst to me, also served as the occasion for a surprise birthday party (for a Big Round Number). It was beautiful, fun, funny, and so very touching. I really am lucky, blessed, whatever you'd like to call it. Life is good.
On the Petra front: after having accepted the offer from my alma mater, Petra learned she'd made it to the top of the waiting list for Way Cool College. She was (is) overjoyed. She will be in the land of the white squirrel. She recently went to Prom with her boyfriend of about five months, whom I'm trying not to love too much (don't want to exert the dreaded mom-pressure). But he is pretty awesome-- nearly as awesome as my girl.
On the Dad front-- mostly un-bloggable, often difficult, but also filled with little rays of light that worm their way in through the cracks, as they will. Mostly I'm trying to see him as the fragile person he is, and appreciate him for the dad he has been.
On the Beloved front: all is good. Better than. My birthday present will involve a trip later in the summer, which we both need badly.
That's all for now. Nice to see you kids again.
Oops. I thought it was 1970 and I was in a movie theater in Fort Lauderdale seeing "Love Story."
Well, since we talked last, much has happened.
Lent ended, Easter came. Thanks be to God.
Holy Week this year was a deeply satisfying experience for me... which I know is a possibly-missing-the-point thing to say. We offered the full range of services for the first time since I have been at St. Stoic, from a beautiful and moving Palm Sunday cantata, through a wonderful (and better attended than recently) Maundy Thursday Service, the already-discussed Good Friday Service, and then another first: an Easter Sunrise service, before the regular Festive Easter Service.
Whither my deep satisfaction? Well, for one thing, offering the full banquet. Holy Week is a narrative, a very particular story being spun, and to leave out any significant chunk (Good Friday????) is to leave out a part of the story. And, yes, I know, not everyone came to every service. Just like not everyone is handy with a socket wrench. The fullness of the story was told to the community-- the narrative was shared in its entirety, which means the Good News got out to the whole body. And as the pastor, that felt really wonderful. It felt as if it is something I want to make sure continues to happen.
As Easter approached, I was certainly skeptical that my own enthusiasm had resulted in my grossly over-committing myself. I worried that I might feel resentful if the Sunrise service, for instance, were to have only a handful attending. In situations like this, my rule is: Lower those expectations! So, I made 20 bulletins for Sunrise, which represented a "wildest dreams" number for attendees. We had 22 people... which felt absolutely great.
So we offered the fully monty, banquet, smorgasbord for Holy Week.
A week later, we did Holy Hilarity, which, unbeknownst to me, also served as the occasion for a surprise birthday party (for a Big Round Number). It was beautiful, fun, funny, and so very touching. I really am lucky, blessed, whatever you'd like to call it. Life is good.
On the Petra front: after having accepted the offer from my alma mater, Petra learned she'd made it to the top of the waiting list for Way Cool College. She was (is) overjoyed. She will be in the land of the white squirrel. She recently went to Prom with her boyfriend of about five months, whom I'm trying not to love too much (don't want to exert the dreaded mom-pressure). But he is pretty awesome-- nearly as awesome as my girl.
On the Dad front-- mostly un-bloggable, often difficult, but also filled with little rays of light that worm their way in through the cracks, as they will. Mostly I'm trying to see him as the fragile person he is, and appreciate him for the dad he has been.
On the Beloved front: all is good. Better than. My birthday present will involve a trip later in the summer, which we both need badly.
That's all for now. Nice to see you kids again.
Monday, June 6, 2011
I'm back!
I've started at the private place. But I'll be cooking up a post for here soon, too.
I've missed you!
I've missed you!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Evaluating Church
How do we "evaluate" how well (or not) church is "working"?
I realize this is a loaded question for about a trillion reasons. Or, at least three.
1. What business do I have "evaluating" what I believe is the body of Christ?
2. On what basis do I evaluate? Attendance? Atmosphere? Aesthetics? Conversions? New Members? Demographics? Membership increase (or not)?
3. How, exactly, is church supposed to "work"?
Here's what has me thinking along these lines. We had our Maundy Thursday service last night; it consists of Communion (with a meditation) and a Tenebrae Service. So many things go into making this service come together. Seven readers, a choir, the bell choir or bell soloist, weather (because of the space in which we hold it-- light and darkness have a strong impact on the experience), the liturgy itself, choice of preaching passage, the meditation. Some of these things are in my control (I don't include the meditation in that; my sermons are, increasingly, something that seems to happen by another, sub-rational process I probably should address in another post). Some of these things are not in my control.
We started having this service in its current configuration my first year at St. Sociable. Good numbers the first year, slightly fewer attendees the second, fewer still the third. Last evening at 6:50 my thoughts were along the lines of, "We'll see how the numbers are this year, and maybe next year it will be time to try something different." And... the numbers were up. In short, we had a full house, including members of the community who are/ were new to me. Strangers. Glory!
And... the service came together beautifully. I changed up some of the elements of the service, adapting resources from Iona and Janet Morley's wonderful book, All Desires Known. I liked my meditation. I used somewhat unexpected music (unexpected for my congregation). In the end, I left the service feeling that I had worshiped, which doesn't happen automatically when I am in a leadership role.
I am tempted to call that-- the feeling that I worshiped-- a win. Which, I recognize, is only one tiny fraction of the picture, in terms of evaluating. If that's what we're doing.
Today we had a Good Friday service for the first time since I've been at the church. I was ready for painfully tiny numbers, and I was not disappointed. And because a significant part of my role was keeping silence following each of the Seven Last Words... it was a less than worshipful time for me, but my organist came to my office afterward, and whispering, said it was "powerful." She doesn't automatically do that. So, that feels like a win, too, despite the small attendance.
And, sincerely, if there had been just two or three of us, well, I believe Jesus has an opinion on whether that constitutes time spent in his presence.
I guess this is all fuzzy, but I'm in what is probably the most boring and predictable conundrum going for pastors: playing the numbers game, when I suspect numbers are the least helpful way to evaluate whether we have sincerely and thoughtfully tried to open a space for the holy in our little corner of Christ's body.
I'll let you know how Sunday goes.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Friday Lent 15: Annunciation
Here it is, right in the middle of a season often associated with wilderness wanderings: life. Promise of birth. Fecundity. The breathless "yes" when sense should say a firm "no."
That's our God for you.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Wednesday Lent 13: Not What I Thought It Would Be
I entered this Lent thinking I would be doing one particular spiritual practice.
Turns out I am engaged in another one entirely.
Asking your prayers for my dad. He has recently been diagnosed with Parkinson's. Actually, he was diagnosed over a year ago; but he didn't understand the diagnosis at that time. His hearing is extremely poor. Also, there is a dementia/ confusion component to Parkinson's that is kicking in. So... it's not clear what he knew and when he knew it. I only know that when I spoke to him about it this weekend, he seemed utterly stunned, not knowing at all what I was talking about.
I will be traveling to be with him every two to three weeks. My church is wonderfully supportive of this-- I mean, really exceptionally compassionate and helpful. It makes me teary to think of it. Dad needs help with his mail, paying his bills, and with things like having repair people come into the house. He shouldn't be driving, and the more I'm there, the more he can schedule things like doctor's appointments when I can be there.
The next time I go he will be having an echo-cardiogram, because he has an extremely slow heart rate (49) which so far has no medical explanation. They're wondering about congestive heart failure.
Dad is 89. He is feeling at sea, depressed, especially because I am urging him to make some changes, none of which he wants to make. He feels that I have turned on him. This is pretty heartbreaking. I want him to be safe, that's all. If he has a medical emergency I want him to have a system in place that will get him help fast.
My nightmare is that he has a fall or some other episode, and no one knows for days.
So. Asking for prayers, on this blog I said wouldn't have private issues on it. But there is is. Sometimes it's not so easy to separate out the public from the private. Thanks friends.
Turns out I am engaged in another one entirely.
Asking your prayers for my dad. He has recently been diagnosed with Parkinson's. Actually, he was diagnosed over a year ago; but he didn't understand the diagnosis at that time. His hearing is extremely poor. Also, there is a dementia/ confusion component to Parkinson's that is kicking in. So... it's not clear what he knew and when he knew it. I only know that when I spoke to him about it this weekend, he seemed utterly stunned, not knowing at all what I was talking about.
I will be traveling to be with him every two to three weeks. My church is wonderfully supportive of this-- I mean, really exceptionally compassionate and helpful. It makes me teary to think of it. Dad needs help with his mail, paying his bills, and with things like having repair people come into the house. He shouldn't be driving, and the more I'm there, the more he can schedule things like doctor's appointments when I can be there.
The next time I go he will be having an echo-cardiogram, because he has an extremely slow heart rate (49) which so far has no medical explanation. They're wondering about congestive heart failure.
Dad is 89. He is feeling at sea, depressed, especially because I am urging him to make some changes, none of which he wants to make. He feels that I have turned on him. This is pretty heartbreaking. I want him to be safe, that's all. If he has a medical emergency I want him to have a system in place that will get him help fast.
My nightmare is that he has a fall or some other episode, and no one knows for days.
So. Asking for prayers, on this blog I said wouldn't have private issues on it. But there is is. Sometimes it's not so easy to separate out the public from the private. Thanks friends.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Tuesday Lent 6: Mulligan!
Do-overs are awesome.
People gave Bill Clinton a hard time for taking all those mulligans. But I say, mulligans for everybody, whether they're the president or not!
That's what Lent is about. Hell, that's what Christianity is about. Mulligans.
The Greek word for sin, used in the Christian Testament, essentially means, a missed shot. You aimed, but your aim was off. It's an especially merciful word because it presumes the best in us was trying to do the right thing, but we missed. In contrast, I suppose, to the Calvinist theology which formed the basis of the tradition of which I am a part, which assumed no such thing. According to Calvin, original sin has utterly defaced the image of God in each of us, so that we are incapable of good action in and of ourselves.
The Christian testament, the very linguistics which make it up, beg to differ. Sin is not always about our total depravity. Sometimes, sin is about our valiant efforts falling short, straying to one side or the other of the mark we intended to hit.
Today's lectionary reading from Hebrews quotes from Psalm 95:
Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says,
“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion,
as on the day of testing in the wilderness... ~Hebrews 3:7-8
Hardening our hearts can have something to do with missing the mark. We think we're on the right track, the best track, but we have predisposed ourselves to taking the bend in the road when we ought to (sorry dear readers) have gone straight. Or, as my friend L. says, "gaily forward."
But/ And the good news is: mulligans all around! Today is a new day. This morning is a fresh start, whether you need it with the food you meant to eat or the kindness you intended to convey or the honesty you intended to share or the spiritual discipline you intended to practice.
Thanks. Be. To. God.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Friday Lent 3: 40
I said to a friend recently that one of the things I most value about F@ceb00k is the fact that it has become a kind of news aggregator for me. My friend share things they find interesting, and because they are my friends, often I find those very same things interesting too.
Not Farmville or Mafia Wars.
Other things.
Like this splendid and modest little video, which is startlingly powerful.
Lenten blessings.
Not Farmville or Mafia Wars.
Other things.
Like this splendid and modest little video, which is startlingly powerful.
Lenten blessings.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
On Jonah and "Goodbye Rob Bell"
Image courtesy of Convictions.
In case you missed it, today is Ash Wednesday!
Just kidding. Of course you haven't missed it. Unless... you're reading this from the other side of the world where the day is mostly gone by now.
But I'm going to assume you haven't "missed it." I'm assuming the readers of this blog are all too aware of the dawning season of Lent, and our invitations to its disciplines, which, as the daily lectionary reading from Hebrews (12:1-14) reminds us, "always seem painful rather than pleasant at the time, but later yield the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by [them]."
Can I get an Amen?
In case you missed it, there has also been a fascinating controversy in the blogosphere in reaction (not response) to the advance publicity for Rob Bell's new book, "Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived." (Modest title, don't you think?) In fact, the controversy even made the New York Times.
Just to be clear, I haven't read the book. (It comes out next week.) But from what I understand, in it Bell suggests something that other theologians before him have suggested. He suggests-- and provides scripture evidence to back up his suggestion-- that a loving God whose intention is for everyone's salvation, will, in fact, make that happen. He believes that there is a hell, but most likely, it is empty.
I have no problem with this view.
But, boy, some people sure do, including one seminary friend with whom I went toe to toe on this for about 25 comments on F@ceb00k. Some people have a HUGE problem with the idea that hell is empty. In fact, some people seem downright threatened by it.
Reminds me of Jonah. Today's Hebrew Scriptures lectionary passage is Jonah 3:1- 4:11. Which means, the reluctant prophet preaches repentance to Nineveh, Nineveh gets it and God decides not to punish Nineveh-- in other words, successful prophetic mission accomplished-- and Jonah gets pissed. As in, "I'm going into the desert to sulk," pissed. As in, "I didn't want these people to be saved" pissed.
But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. He prayed to the Lord and said, “O Lord! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” And the Lord said, “Is it right for you to be angry?”
Is it right for people to be angry over God's desire to save? My seminary friend appealed to the Christian tradition, orthodox teaching, which tells us there's a hell. I appealed to the "reformed, always reforming" notion of what it means to be faithful day by day. I also appealed to scripture-- though not this passage, which may be more on point than most.
It is always good, in the face of these kinds of controversies, to ask, "Who stands to gain?"
Who stands to gain if there is no hell? Who stands to gain if there is a hell?
To answer the first, we all do, of course. Everyone who is a sinner-- which, it is my understanding, is everyone, period. We all gain, because love wins and salvation is graciously extended to all. (That's the definition of grace, by the way. Unmerited good stuff/ God stuff.)
To answer the second, well, a select few. Who get to be gatekeepers (in their own minds), and to essentially say, "Nanny, nanny, boo boo" to everyone who doesn't do religion their way.
In the end, it's all about people trying to figure out how God thinks.
Frankly, Bell had me at "Hello," which is to say, the title: "Love wins."
That's who I believe God is.
What do you think?
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
L@dy G@G@: Put Your Paws Up
Here's what I knew:
I knew it would be an entertaining show. I knew the singing would be good, the choreography tight, the costumes numerous and provocative. I knew the volume would be high, the hall crowded, and the excitement at its peak. I knew the L@dy in question would give a hell of a show.
But, when Beloved and I took Petra to see the show in the Las Vegas of the East this past Saturday night, I did NOT know that I would leave with my estimation of G@G@ almost completely changed.
G@G@ is a woman with a mission. Her mission is this: to spread the message, far and wide, that each and every human being is a beloved child of God. That however we were born, God called that "good." That includes every manner and flavor of sexual orientation, race, religion (or lack thereof).
She repeated the message, over and over, just about every time she spoke to the audience. (OK, it happens to coincide with a tight marketing campaign for her new album. I never said she wasn't an exquisite businesswoman).
She had a deal with a cell phone company (Virgin Mobile): concertgoers could text a message, at a cost of $5, to be broadcast on large screens in the hall. The money went to a charity for homeless youth.
Did you know that GLBTQ youth are ten times more likely to be homeless than other youth?
At one point, G@G@, who has a strangely unexpressive face-- mask-like, really--said: "I don't want you to go home tonight loving me more. I want you to go home loving yourself more.
As we streamed out onto the boardwalk, I said to Petra, "She really is a kind of.... spiritual leader, isn't she? For people who have felt rejected by the mainstream, by religious communities?" Petra nodded.
So. This pastor of the Reformed tradition came home from that particular concert feeling... inspired. As if I'd just ingested a chunk of the bread of life along with my likely mild hearing loss. And as if I, we, who are the "mainstream" churches and faith communities, have a lot of catching up to do.
Put your paws up, baby.
~~~
"Born This Way"
It doesn't matter if you love him, or capital H-I-M
Just put your paws up
'Cause you were born this way, baby
My mama told me when I was young
We are all born superstars
She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on
In the glass of her boudoir
"There's nothin' wrong with lovin' who you are"
She said, "'Cause He made you perfect, babe"
"So hold your head up, girl and you you'll go far,
Listen to me when I say"
I'm beautiful in my way,
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Don't hide yourself in regret,
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
(Born this way)
Ooo, there ain't no other way
Baby, I was born this way
Baby, I was born this way
(Born this way)
Ooo, there ain't other way
Baby, I was born this way
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Don't be!
Give yourself prudence and love your friends
Subway kid, rejoice the truth
In the religion of the insecure
I must be myself, respect my youth
A different lover is not a sin
Believe capital H-I-M (hey, hey, hey)
I love my life, I love this record and
Mi amore vole fe yah
I'm beautiful in my way,
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Don't hide yourself in regret,
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Ooo, there ain't no other way
Baby, I was born this way
Baby, I was born this way
(Born this way )
Ooo, there ain't other way
Baby, I was born way
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
...
Don't be drag, just be a queen
Whether you're broke or evergreen ...
Whether life's disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
'Cause baby, you were born this way
No matter gay, straight or bi
lesbian, transgendered life
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born to survive
...
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born to be brave
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
Don't hide yourself in regret,
Just love yourself and you're set
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way, yeah!
Ooo, there ain't no other way
Baby, I was born this way
Baby, I was born this way
(Born this way )
Ooo, there ain't other way
Baby, I was born this way
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way
I was born this way, hey!
I was born this way, hey!
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way, hey!
I was born this way, hey!
I was born this way, hey!
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way, hey!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Daring to Hope
Here's how it usually goes.
Every two years my denomination holds its General Assembly, a gathering of representatives of all the presbyteries. During that meeting, which normally lasts about nine days, clergy and layfolk (all ordained officers, ministers and elders) discuss and deliberate changes to our constitution, as well as other proposed business- statements about world affairs, for example. Or whether or not to add another theological statement to our Book of Confessions.
In 1997 the General Assembly vote resulted in adding the infamous "amendment B" to the Book of Order-- that paragraph which, on the surface, would seem to apply equally to gay and straight alike, but which in fact has only been enforced against GLBTQ ministers, elders and deacons. It states,
"Those who are called to office in the church are to lead a life in obedience to Scripture and in conformity to the historicconfessional standards of the church. Among these standards is the requirement to live either in fidelity within the covenant ofmarriage between a man and a woman (W-4.9001), or chastity in singleness. Persons refusing to repent of any self-acknowledged practice which the confessions call sin shall not be ordained and/or installed as deacons, elders, or ministers of the Word and Sacrament."
There are many critiques that can, be and have been, leveled at this paragraph. One such critique is the fact that it calls us to be obedient to Scripture rather than God or Jesus Christ. Another is the absurd call to repent of any practice which "the confessions call sin", which, since our confessions are historical and include the Westminster Catechism, the Scots Confession and others, would include such practices as allowing women to perform baptisms and Bingo games. It's not well written, and it's theologically abysmal.
Three times since 1997 the General Assembly has sought to remove this language. This year, the proposed paragraph is the following:
“Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life (G-1.0000). The governing body responsible for ordination and/or installation (G.14.0240; G-14.0450) shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office. The examination shall include, but not be limited to, a determination of the candidate’s ability and commitment to fulfill all requirements as expressed in the constitutional questions for ordination and installation (W-4.4003). Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.” ~ Amendment 10-A
Obedience to Jesus Christ, who alone is Head of the Church. Check. Authority, in this order: Christ, Scriptures, Confessions. Check. And finally, the right of the ordaining/ installing body-- church or presbytery-- to assess each candidate's gifts and calling. Oh check and Amen.
So, how it usually goes is, these amendments come to the presbyteries for ratification. The process is the equivalent of changing the US constitution: first congress votes, and then the states ratify. And usually, I maintain a somewhat detached, not too eager stance. I check in on the votes every once in a while. Sometimes there are signs of life of hope, but mostly, it looks like a losing battle.
Except, every time it happens, we get a little closer. You could chalk it up to demographics. As people, say, the ages of my children (23 and 18) come to leadership in the church, of course, this issue will be resolved in favor of inclusion.
This year, it feels like the power of the Holy Spirit is at work.
And I'm enough of a superstitious Irishwoman to already regret "saying" that "out loud" by typing it here.
But it feels as if, maybe, just maybe, this is the year it will happen. We are ahead in the voting, for the first time ever. Right now we have a "net" gain of six presbyteries. We need a "net" of nine. Here is the voting chart as tallied by the Covenant Network.
The voting is far from over, our time may not have come.
But I am daring, this year, to hope.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Women in Danger
From the Huffington Post's Nancy Northup:
Read the rest here.
Read the rest here.
Would you ask someone else to die for your religious beliefs? A new proposal moving through Congress makes clear that the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops apparently expects everyone to die for theirs. The same members of Congress who last week attempted to dial back the definition of rape to the nineteenth century now propose another change to federal law that is just as shocking: in a move long sought by the political arm of the Catholic clergy, hospitals would be permitted to refuse to treat women with life-threatening emergencies.
A newly revised bill in the House of Representatives proposed by Rep. Joseph Pitts (R-Penn.), would allow religious hospitals to determine the care provided to patients regardless of prevailing standards in medical care -- even in medical emergencies -- and regardless of the religious beliefs of the patient. Though dramatic, it is no overstatement to say that the so-called "Protect Life Act" would be more aptly named the "Death Warrant for Women Act," as it would allow hospitals to refuse to treat a woman needing a medically necessary abortion to save her life...
Sunday, February 13, 2011
What I Actually Said
Well, you know about best-laid-plans, etc. A motion to limit comment to two minutes per person meant I had to slash my statement, which was really fine. It was more like this:
On Ash Wednesday 2009 I started a Lenten discipline of reading the daily lectionary passages, and I read the following, from Paul’s 2nd Letter to the Corinthians. Paul is talking about his own ministry:
As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. 2For he says, “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.” "See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!" ~ 2 Cor. 6:1-2.
Paul goes on to describe the ways in which people have perceived him: he has received honor and dishonor, he has had both a good and a bad reputation, he has been regarded as an impostor, and yet as true.
I felt instantly that through this scripture God was speaking to me, about my situation. As I continued throughout Lent to read scripture daily, I continued to experience it as God nudging me, and on May 12, 2009 I sent my congregation a letter informing them that I was in a long-term committed relationship with another woman.
Long before I ever imagined I would be in such a relationship, I believed that God did indeed call people of all kinds and conditions into ministry, and my belief was grounded in scripture.
When Zachariah ecstatically prayed, “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet on the road to peace,” I believed him.
And when Paul preached a gospel of faith and not works, urging that those previously considered unclean be admitted to the body of Christ, I believed him.
And when Jesus said that he came to proclaim release to the captives, and to let the oppressed go free, and when Jesus spent all his ministry opening doors that had been closed, and befriending the outcast, I believed him.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify slavery. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify excluding women from ministry of Word and Sacrament. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
For centuries, Christians used Jesus’ own words to justify excommunicating those whose marriages ended in divorce. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
Inall each of these cases we have been persuaded that love of God and love of neighbor reign supreme over the specific words formerly used to exclude, and in this, we have followed Jesus’ example.
Today, I ask you,my friends and colleagues, my sisters and brothers in Christ, to vote to approve Amendment 10-A. I ask this so that those whom our Sovereign God calls might answer that call without fear. I ask this so that churches and presbyteries who see and value those calls and gifts might be able to welcome all God’s people into ministry. And I ask this so that the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high, might at last break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and guide our feet on the road to peace. And I ask this so that we might put into action Jesus' commandment that we love one another as he has loved us.
Paul goes on to describe the ways in which people have perceived him: he has received honor and dishonor, he has had both a good and a bad reputation, he has been regarded as an impostor, and yet as true.
I felt instantly that through this scripture God was speaking to me, about my situation. As I continued throughout Lent to read scripture daily, I continued to experience it as God nudging me, and on May 12, 2009 I sent my congregation a letter informing them that I was in a long-term committed relationship with another woman.
Long before I ever imagined I would be in such a relationship, I believed that God did indeed call people of all kinds and conditions into ministry, and my belief was grounded in scripture.
And when Paul preached a gospel of faith and not works, urging that those previously considered unclean be admitted to the body of Christ, I believed him.
And when Jesus said that he came to proclaim release to the captives, and to let the oppressed go free, and when Jesus spent all his ministry opening doors that had been closed, and befriending the outcast, I believed him.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify slavery. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify excluding women from ministry of Word and Sacrament. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
In
Today, I ask you,
I spoke about fifth, I think, out of perhaps 11 or 12 who spoke. Those who spoke against amendment 10-A talked of their need for scriptural standards, as if no argument from scripture is possible in favor of inclusion. They also, a few of them, spoke of their "sorrow" at needing to be opposed to glbtq ordination. That rings a little hollow; have your essential humanity questioned, the validity of your baptism, and then get back to me about your sorrow, ok?
As you can see, I didn't address the "clobber" passages (Romans 1:26-27 comes to mind). The intellectual dishonesty of those who insist on using the word "homosexual" in translating this is staggering to me. But those who believe this is the deciding word on the matter are not interested in hearing that all the activities described in this passage are the result of idol worship, and are described as "unnatural". Science shows us increasingly that same-sex love and attraction are entirely natural for a significant proportion of the population, both human beings and other species. And there is no passage of scripture, not one, which envisions a "natural" orientation to same-sex love which is lived out in long-term committed relationships.
Not to mention Jesus' absolute silence on the matter.
But I'm preaching to the choir here. I know I don't have to convince you all. It's funny; it was harder to hear my colleagues speak against this issue yesterday than it was when I was closeted two years ago. Yesterday I took it more personally, because I am flying below the radar no longer. They know me. They know my congregation. They know my work. And still their hearts are hardened.
It's discouraging. And at the same time, it's freeing. I am who I am. I am held in the palm of God's hand, beneath the shadow of the divine wings. I have the love and support of my family and my Beloved and my friends and my church and many, many colleagues. I can live with that.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
What I'll Say
“Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life (G-1.0000). The governing body responsible for ordination and/or installation (G.14.0240; G-14.0450) shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office. The examination shall include, but not be limited to, a determination of the candidate’s ability and commitment to fulfill all requirements as expressed in the constitutional questions for ordination and installation (W-4.4003). Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.” ~ Amendment 10-A
On Ash Wednesday 2009 I started a Lenten discipline of reading the daily lectionary passages, and I read the following, from Paul’s 2nd Letter to the Corinthians. Paul is talking about his own ministry:
As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. 2For he says, “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.” See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation! ~ 2 Cor. 6:1-2.
Paul goes on to describe the ways in which people have perceived him: he has received honor and dishonor, he has had both a good and a bad reputation, he has been regarded as an impostor, and yet as true.
I felt instantly that through this scripture God was speaking to me, about my situation. As I continued throughout Lent to read scripture daily, I continued to experience it as God nudging me, and on May 12, 2009 I sent my congregation a letter informing them that I was in a long-term committed relationship with another woman.
Long before I ever imagined I would be in such a relationship, I believed that God did indeed call people of all kinds and conditions into ministry, and my belief was grounded in scripture.
When Zachariah ecstatically prayed, “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet on the road to peace,” I believed him.
And when Paul preached a gospel of faith and not works, urging that those previously considered unclean be admitted to the body of Christ, I believed him.
And when Jesus said that he came to proclaim release to the captives, and to let the oppressed go free, and when Jesus spent all his ministry opening doors that had been closed, and befriending the outcast, I believed him.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify slavery. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify excluding women from ministry of Word and Sacrament. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
For centuries, Christians used Jesus’ own words to justify excommunicating those whose marriages ended in divorce. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
In all these cases we have been persuaded that love of God and love of neighbor reign supreme over the specific words formerly used to exclude, and in this, we have followed Jesus’ example.
Today, I ask you, my friends and colleagues, my sisters and brothers in Christ, to vote to approve Amendment 10-A. I ask this so that those whom our Sovereign God calls might answer that call without fear. I ask this so that churches and presbyteries who see and value those calls and gifts might be able to welcome all God’s people into ministry. And I ask this so that the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high, might at last break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and guide our feet on the road to peace.
On Ash Wednesday 2009 I started a Lenten discipline of reading the daily lectionary passages, and I read the following, from Paul’s 2nd Letter to the Corinthians. Paul is talking about his own ministry:
As we work together with him, we urge you also not to accept the grace of God in vain. 2For he says, “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.” See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation! ~ 2 Cor. 6:1-2.
Paul goes on to describe the ways in which people have perceived him: he has received honor and dishonor, he has had both a good and a bad reputation, he has been regarded as an impostor, and yet as true.
I felt instantly that through this scripture God was speaking to me, about my situation. As I continued throughout Lent to read scripture daily, I continued to experience it as God nudging me, and on May 12, 2009 I sent my congregation a letter informing them that I was in a long-term committed relationship with another woman.
Long before I ever imagined I would be in such a relationship, I believed that God did indeed call people of all kinds and conditions into ministry, and my belief was grounded in scripture.
When Zachariah ecstatically prayed, “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet on the road to peace,” I believed him.
And when Paul preached a gospel of faith and not works, urging that those previously considered unclean be admitted to the body of Christ, I believed him.
And when Jesus said that he came to proclaim release to the captives, and to let the oppressed go free, and when Jesus spent all his ministry opening doors that had been closed, and befriending the outcast, I believed him.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify slavery. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
For centuries Christians used words found in scripture to justify excluding women from ministry of Word and Sacrament. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
For centuries, Christians used Jesus’ own words to justify excommunicating those whose marriages ended in divorce. But ultimately, we were persuaded that that was a wrong use of God’s holy word.
In all these cases we have been persuaded that love of God and love of neighbor reign supreme over the specific words formerly used to exclude, and in this, we have followed Jesus’ example.
Today, I ask you, my friends and colleagues, my sisters and brothers in Christ, to vote to approve Amendment 10-A. I ask this so that those whom our Sovereign God calls might answer that call without fear. I ask this so that churches and presbyteries who see and value those calls and gifts might be able to welcome all God’s people into ministry. And I ask this so that the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high, might at last break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and guide our feet on the road to peace.
Friday, February 11, 2011
An Anniversary
Five years ago tonight I was sitting on my couch when the phone call came from my brother, to tell me that my mother had died. It had been a busy day-- I'd awakened in New York City, where my daughter and I had traveled with my son for one of his college auditions. I'd spoken to mom as we'd driven out of the city... I'd called her to tell her about the audition.
She was at home, on hospice care. She was so weak it was nearly impossible to understand her... her words were slurred together. But she knew it was me, and I told her I loved her. I knew the end was near.
In those days my brother and I were taking turns being at the house. We knew one of us would be there when she died, we just didn't know which one. As it turns out, he was there. Sort of. He'd taken an hour to go to a friend's house- literally, steps away. So, my dad was with my mom.
I knew it was coming. But you're never ready, really. My brother said the words... I forget exactly what... and I wailed. Just wailed. And Petra and Larry, who were both upstairs trying to get to sleep, came running, and joined me on the couch, one on each side. Sweet things.
It seems, this week, that about every other word out of my mouth has been a quote of something my mom said often, or would have said. She is very much with me. And the experience of losing D. this week-- who was so like my mom in personality and temperament-- has brought it all home that much more.
So. Praying today in gratitude for this extraordinary woman. She is with me still.
She was at home, on hospice care. She was so weak it was nearly impossible to understand her... her words were slurred together. But she knew it was me, and I told her I loved her. I knew the end was near.
In those days my brother and I were taking turns being at the house. We knew one of us would be there when she died, we just didn't know which one. As it turns out, he was there. Sort of. He'd taken an hour to go to a friend's house- literally, steps away. So, my dad was with my mom.
I knew it was coming. But you're never ready, really. My brother said the words... I forget exactly what... and I wailed. Just wailed. And Petra and Larry, who were both upstairs trying to get to sleep, came running, and joined me on the couch, one on each side. Sweet things.
It seems, this week, that about every other word out of my mouth has been a quote of something my mom said often, or would have said. She is very much with me. And the experience of losing D. this week-- who was so like my mom in personality and temperament-- has brought it all home that much more.
circa 1948
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
When I Came Out to D.
I was scared of her. She was a powerhouse. She was strong and she was opinionated and I knew, if she perceived this was wrong, wrong, wrong... well, I'd have a very uncomfortable situation on my hands.
So the day "The Letter" went out I went to D's house. It was near the end of a long day, in which I'd been visiting elders, pillars, staff members, etc. D. was sick... she'd been struggling with cancer since early 2007. Still, she was able to attend church, and she was formidable. I loved her and I was scared of her.
At about 4 in the afternoon I dropped by. We chit-chatted for a bit. Finally, I said, "D., has your mail arrived yet?" She said, "No, it should be here any minute. Why?" I could tell that her radar was up. The night before, when I'd met with the session, some of them had let me know that they were relieved the letter was not a letter of resignation (!). D. seemed to "go there" as well. I said, "D, I sent a letter to the congregation. This is what it says." And I told her.
Her response was immediate. "That's no one's business but your own. People act like this is a brand new thing, but it's been going on for thousands of years. Michelangelo! The Emperor Hadrian! I had two teachers in my elementary school who lived together in the same house. Maybe they were in a committed relationship! You're a good pastor. That's all that matters to me."
We buried D. yesterday. This memory is one of the treasures she left me.
So the day "The Letter" went out I went to D's house. It was near the end of a long day, in which I'd been visiting elders, pillars, staff members, etc. D. was sick... she'd been struggling with cancer since early 2007. Still, she was able to attend church, and she was formidable. I loved her and I was scared of her.
At about 4 in the afternoon I dropped by. We chit-chatted for a bit. Finally, I said, "D., has your mail arrived yet?" She said, "No, it should be here any minute. Why?" I could tell that her radar was up. The night before, when I'd met with the session, some of them had let me know that they were relieved the letter was not a letter of resignation (!). D. seemed to "go there" as well. I said, "D, I sent a letter to the congregation. This is what it says." And I told her.
Her response was immediate. "That's no one's business but your own. People act like this is a brand new thing, but it's been going on for thousands of years. Michelangelo! The Emperor Hadrian! I had two teachers in my elementary school who lived together in the same house. Maybe they were in a committed relationship! You're a good pastor. That's all that matters to me."
We buried D. yesterday. This memory is one of the treasures she left me.
A Funeral Meditation on John 11:27-37
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
~Alfred Lord Tennyson
In looking for a passage of scripture to share with you today, I confess I had something fairly specific in mind. I wanted a passage that portrayed a strong woman openly and confidently expressing her opinion. I wanted this woman to be challenging someone who was a recognized authority figure. And, of course, I wanted a passage that at the same time managed to convey our Christian hope in the resurrection. In short, I wanted a passage that would honor D., whose life we gather to celebrate on this beautiful winter day, and only a strong, opinionated woman challenging an authority, while at the same time hoping against hope, seemed appropriate.
And so I found my way to this story of Martha and her sister Mary, mourning the loss of their beloved brother Lazarus. As you can hear, Martha is not too happy with Jesus, because he was late in arriving, too late, in her opinion, to save Lazarus. But what Martha doesn’t seem to understand is this: Jesus is mourning Lazarus every bit as much as his sisters. Jesus loves Lazarus every bit as much as they do. And Jesus, though he has a point to make, is filled with anguish at the suffering he sees before him.
And so are we. D. was battling this terrible disease the day I met her, and every day since. I never knew her, as many of you did, at the height of her strength and spirit. I didn’t know her, as you did, when she took her many trips—to Europe, and South America, and the Canary Islands, and China, and countless other places. I didn’t know her, as you did, when she worked tirelessly to assemble our church Museum, named in her honor in 2007. I didn’t know her, as you did, when she was Sunday School Superintendent, or president of the Ladies Aid Association, or an active member of Session.
Still, I can claim with confidence that I did know the essential D., a woman who, the day we met, gave me her unvarnished opinion on matters concerning the church and the presbytery. I knew the essential D., who cared deeply, passionately, about this church into whose membership she was baptized on the same day as her lifelong friend, M. I knew the essential D., who, when the time came at last to face her own mortality, did so with the resolve of the poet, confident she would see her Pilot, her Maker, when at last she passed from our sight.
But D. did not go gentle into that good night. Along with Martha, she raged against the dying of the light, and she fought the good fight for four long years. Let me be clear: death is a thief. It steals from us, and D. clung to the life she loved. Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t any of us? Our lives are precious gift from God. As the psalmist says, God forms our innermost parts. God knits us together in our mother’s womb. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, and in life and in death we belong to God. What a glorious calling: to live our lives in the presence and the service of our Lord and our fellow human beings. D. lived out that calling, with gusto, until her body simply wouldn’t allow her to do so any longer.
The suffering of those we love fills us with anguish. The death of those we love fills us with sorrow. And, like Martha, we challenge Jesus, we call upon God to help us to make sense of it all. And this is what Jesus says to us: He says, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And he calls upon us to believe that this life, though it is good and rich and beautiful, is not all there is. He calls upon us to trust that death does not have the last word. He calls upon us to affirm, with Martha, with D., that yes, Lord, we believe.
The story of Martha and her brother Lazarus does not end here. Jesus goes to Lazarus’ tomb and calls him out, raises him from the dead. But Martha makes her statement of faith, her affirmation in Jesus, in life beyond this life, in hope against hope, before that happens. Martha makes her statement of confidence in Jesus before she really has any evidence to back it up.
We and Martha and D. are all in the same boat together. We know that death calls upon each of us, that we are summoned to embark upon that ship, mostly, before we feel ready. We know that death will steal those we love from us, whether it is they or we who embark first. And still we are called upon to put our faith and hope in Jesus’ affirmation that death is not, will not be, the last word. We are called upon to be like Martha, to declare, yes, Lord, I believe in you. Yes Lord, I hope in you. Yes Lord, I trust in you.
About a month before D. died, P. and I shared communion with her in her home. D. always eagerly accepted when the church offered an opportunity for her to receive the Lord’s Supper. We prayed that day, in gratitude for this church, which brought us together. We prayed in gratitude for that sacrament which shows us how God gives his own life for us and to us. We prayed in hope for D., that her pain might be eased and she might grow stronger. After communion, we held hands for a final prayer of thanksgiving, and, though I encouraged her to stay seated, D. insisted on struggling to her feet, and she gripped our hands with her own, surprisingly strong ones. That, for me, was classic D.. Jesus was there, present with us, and D. stood, weak as she was, to affirm, Yes Lord, I believe. Yes Lord, I hope. Yes Lord, I trust.
And so we commend our beloved sister in Christ into the welcoming and embracing arms of her Pilot, her Maker, her Lord and Savior. We trust that D. will forgive and even appreciate our sadness as she embarks. We trust that this strong and opinionated woman is not gone, only gone from our sight. And we trust, with Martha, with D., that she will rest in peace and rise in glory. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Remember This?
The awesome mom who supported her son, who wanted to be Daphne for Halloween?
She has been excommunicated from her church, and her son kicked out of the preschool.
Words fail me.
Read about the carnage here.
Thanks, MadPriest, for keeping us all in the loop.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Sermon's Up! Featuring Jay Bakker...
... and his really worthwhile new book, Fall to Grace: A Revolution of God, Self and Society.
Read all about it here!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Coming Out. Again. And Again. And Again.
Petra and Beloved and I watched "Groundhog Day" tonight. You know the film. Bill Murray plays a not-so-nice weatherman from Pittsburgh who gets sent to cover Groundhog Day in Punxatawny, PA, with his producer (Andie MacDowell) and cameraman (Chris Elliott). At the end of a long and terrible day, during which just about everything that could possibly go wrong does, he wakes up to find out he is re-living the same day over. And then it happens again. And again.
The movie goes on to follow the many ways he tries to cope with and/ or game his situation. Everything from deciding he can do whatever he wants with no consequences, to trying to get the beautiful producer into bed, to trying to kill himself, and more. It is wonderful and painful and quite funny. And, in the end, he learns some things about himself.
Well, I sometimes feel that coming out is a little like Groundhog Day. It has been for me, anyway. I officially came out twenty-one months ago (you can read the story here, in the archive for that month. Start at the bottom of the page and scroll up). And... at that time, it was fully my intention that everybody in the world, personally and professionally, would know, from that point on, that I am a minister in a committed relationship with another woman. A lesbian. That was the plan.
Well, the way the wheels of bureaucracy worked in my denomination, it didn't end up being quite as public as all that. So, I found myself needing to come out to people over and over. First I told my congregation. Then my regional governing body. Then I told various colleagues, who asked me questions about why certain things were going on in my congregation.
After a while, I got kind of tired of it. If I have to tell one more person, I thought, I will tear my hair out. And then I can be a bald lesbian minister. So I just floated along.
As a result, I don't really know who knows at this point. Occasionally I tell someone. For example. I met with a couple not long ago who would like to join the congregation. At the end of our meeting, I said, "Well, there's just one more thing. In the name of full disclosure." And, pulse racing, I told them. Whereupon they shrugged, and said, "Oh we know that." And I laughed a little too hysterically.
Next Saturday my regional body is voting on changes to the constitution of our church. One of that changes, something we vote on every two years (like clockwork), is removal of the anti-LGBTQ language from our Book of Order. We will be seeking to replace this:
“Those who are called to office in the church are to lead a life in obedience to Scripture and in conformity to the historic confessional standards of the church. Among these standards is the requirement to live either in fidelity within the covenant of marriage between a man and a woman (W-4.9001), or chastity in singleness. Persons refusing to repent of any self-acknowledged practice which the confessions call sin shall not be ordained and/or installed as deacons, elders or ministers of the Word and Sacrament.”
with this:
Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life (G-1.0000). The governing body responsible for ordination and/or installation (G.14.0240; G-14.0450) shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office. The examination shall include, but not be limited to, a determination of the candidate’s ability and commitment to fulfill all requirements as expressed in the constitutional questions for ordination and installation (W-4.4003). Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.”
Never mind the alphabet soup (if it has a W it's from the Directory of Worship; if it has a G it's from the Form of Government). The point is, the amendment upon which we will vote-- and upon which the entire church has been voting-- is far superior theologically, a return to the historic practice of the church, and just plain good sense.
So naturally it is being fought tooth and nail. So much so, that a large group of (all-male) so-called "tall steeple" pastors have issued a letter complaining that the church is deathly ill. It appears to be an attempt to distract from what is happening: we are voting on something to end discrimination against a whole class of people and to restore the church's good name.
(Here's a very entertaining blogpost about the letter from my buddy John Shuck. Tell us how you really feel, John!)
So here's my issue. I'm thinking, I probably have to come out, again, next week. I probably need to stand in front of my presbytery and say, "Hi. I'm gay. My church knows all about it, and they have decided to keep me. So far, we are doing just fine. Let's just get on with the business of doing ministry. OK?"
OK campers, rise and shine, and don't forget your booties, 'cause it's cooooooold out there today!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Saint Brigid: Lesbian Icon?
I love the blogging world. Where else might I have found this treasure?
Raised by Druids, Brigid seems to have made a smooth transition from being a pagan priestess to a Christian abbess. Today she is Ireland’s most famous female saint. Legend says that when she made her final vows as a nun, the bishop in charge was so overcome by the Holy Spirit that he administered the rite for ordaining a (male) bishop instead.
A younger nun named Darlughdach served as Brigid’s ambassador and her “anam cara” or soul friend. The two women were so close that they slept in the same bed. Like many Celtic saints, Brigid believed that each person needs a soul friend to discover together that God speaks most powerfully in the seemingly mundane details of shared daily life. The love between these two women speaks to today’s lesbians and their allies. Some say that Brigid and Darlughdach are lesbian saints...
Read the whole thing here. And many thanks to Madpriest for the tip!
Image by Robert Lentz, OFM, c. 1999.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Sermon's Up
I struggled this week to respond to last week's shootings in Tucson.
Believe me, I pretty quickly passed judgment on what had happened and why. But I kept reading and reading all week-- all the coverage and commentary I could get my hands on. I read this on Thursday, a statistical analysis of where one is most likely to be shot in the United States-- very interesting, I highly recommend it. I also read this, a Jewish scholar responding to the phrase "blood libel." I started writing Friday, and finished this morning. This was my response, for better or for worse: a sermon on Isaiah 49:1-7.
Believe me, I pretty quickly passed judgment on what had happened and why. But I kept reading and reading all week-- all the coverage and commentary I could get my hands on. I read this on Thursday, a statistical analysis of where one is most likely to be shot in the United States-- very interesting, I highly recommend it. I also read this, a Jewish scholar responding to the phrase "blood libel." I started writing Friday, and finished this morning. This was my response, for better or for worse: a sermon on Isaiah 49:1-7.
Stars of January (So Far)
(Not so interested in "bullets" at present.)
I am gazing at my Christmas tree. I'm having another of those "years of not letting go," in the Christmas department. I said to Beloved not too long ago, "I just love my tree this year." She answered, "You always love your tree." You know, I think she's right. I always love my tree. I think this is the result of not having one, ages 8 through 16 and 18 through 20. Ever since I was first married (age 21) I've had a tree, and it has delighted me beyond all rationality.
And, aside from the Christian meaning of Christmas-- which, for me, is Incarnation, the astounding notion that God does not leave us alone on these dark shores but shows up and lights a candle for us-- there is the pre-Christian, still applicable celebration of the lightening of the days after the darkest and longest night, which we celebrate with lights, and, darn it, I'm still celebrating. It's still dark and cold out there.
Still, there are things happening other than my holding on to my Douglas Fir.
* Petra finished her college applications. The angels wept tears of joy and relief. I'm pretty sure.
* Petra also completed her first college audition at Big City U, in the aftermath of a big snowstorm. We drove towards the storm last Tuesday night but arrived there before the snow fell. (Evidently, it fell throughout the night and cleared off before daybreak). She auditioned Wednesday, and felt good about it. It was a remarkable privilege to be there with her, and to remember accompanying Larry on auditions five (!) years ago.
* The leadership from my church participated in a presbytery-wide day of learning, as we have the past three years, and, as usual, came away energized and refreshed for our work together. And I once again said, God, you are so cool. You put me here. With these fantastic people.
That said, there are little issues here and there at work. I still feel an energy about my work. But I do believe the congregation has relaxed a bit. Maybe a bit too much. I'm starting to feel that some entropy has set in, and that makes it harder to move forward programatically. But I still leave every Sunday grateful for our worship together, and that's the key-- the cornerstone. All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
* Beloved and I had really lovely weekend together, in which nothing much happened except enjoying one another's company (and some good movies). But it was rich beyond description. Last night, after one of said movies, we huddled together on the floor under a blanket, in front of the fire, and talked about some hard things. (Stuff going on in my family.) Her love and kindness sustain me in ways I can't even fathom.
That's all for now. I'll try to be a better correspondent. Stay warm. Listen to this, and look at the scenes from my hometown (the outdoor shots, all from 'round these parts).
I am gazing at my Christmas tree. I'm having another of those "years of not letting go," in the Christmas department. I said to Beloved not too long ago, "I just love my tree this year." She answered, "You always love your tree." You know, I think she's right. I always love my tree. I think this is the result of not having one, ages 8 through 16 and 18 through 20. Ever since I was first married (age 21) I've had a tree, and it has delighted me beyond all rationality.
And, aside from the Christian meaning of Christmas-- which, for me, is Incarnation, the astounding notion that God does not leave us alone on these dark shores but shows up and lights a candle for us-- there is the pre-Christian, still applicable celebration of the lightening of the days after the darkest and longest night, which we celebrate with lights, and, darn it, I'm still celebrating. It's still dark and cold out there.
Still, there are things happening other than my holding on to my Douglas Fir.
* Petra finished her college applications. The angels wept tears of joy and relief. I'm pretty sure.
* Petra also completed her first college audition at Big City U, in the aftermath of a big snowstorm. We drove towards the storm last Tuesday night but arrived there before the snow fell. (Evidently, it fell throughout the night and cleared off before daybreak). She auditioned Wednesday, and felt good about it. It was a remarkable privilege to be there with her, and to remember accompanying Larry on auditions five (!) years ago.
* The leadership from my church participated in a presbytery-wide day of learning, as we have the past three years, and, as usual, came away energized and refreshed for our work together. And I once again said, God, you are so cool. You put me here. With these fantastic people.
That said, there are little issues here and there at work. I still feel an energy about my work. But I do believe the congregation has relaxed a bit. Maybe a bit too much. I'm starting to feel that some entropy has set in, and that makes it harder to move forward programatically. But I still leave every Sunday grateful for our worship together, and that's the key-- the cornerstone. All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
* Beloved and I had really lovely weekend together, in which nothing much happened except enjoying one another's company (and some good movies). But it was rich beyond description. Last night, after one of said movies, we huddled together on the floor under a blanket, in front of the fire, and talked about some hard things. (Stuff going on in my family.) Her love and kindness sustain me in ways I can't even fathom.
That's all for now. I'll try to be a better correspondent. Stay warm. Listen to this, and look at the scenes from my hometown (the outdoor shots, all from 'round these parts).
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
2011 Hello!
I have exactly fifteen minutes to write this post, before I must leave for a meeting.
I'm reminding myself of my friend Stacy, who blogged about this busy-ness thing here. There is a way in which it's tempting to measure ourselves by how busy we are.
I know I've been thinking about this a lot as 2010 turned to 2011. There are a lot of things to do at church (surprise!), and in a way, at the end of those weeks in which I work more than the prescribed 48 hours, I feel smugly self-justified. Justification by works, baby! As if, NOW everything's going to be ok. You'll see!
But that's not how it works at church, I find. Church is about connection-- people connecting to God and to one another, and through the strength gained in those connections, making more connections, to the hungry, the thirsty, the homeless, the imprisoned-- you know the ones. And relationships, connections, are not things that happen because we put in the hours being busy. They're things that happen because we resist the temptation to scurry around and decide to be willing to linger, to listen, to ask another question, to laugh, to make some coffee, to put off the administrivia.
Problem is, the administrivia isn't going anywhere, is it?
I've noticed something about my work. I feel sure I've mentioned this before. Home visits are something I love to do-- when I'm doing them. When I feel the pressure of creating the bulletin, studying for the sermon, writing the sermon, submitting my mileage, organizing the event, etc etc, home visits feel like the last thing I should be spending my time on. But then I go.
Yesterday I sat down with a beautiful elderly gentleman. The first words out of this mouth? "What is the soul?" And we were off on a wide-ranging conversation the likes of which often cease after they give you the paper with the M. Div. on it. Moments like that, and I am mentally down on my knees saying a little prayer of thanks that I get to do this for a living. How lucky can you get?
The internet is filled with lists pertaining to the turn of the calendar from 2010 to 2011-- top ten movies (read the hilarious conversation over at Slate-- you know you want to), most memorable news stories, people who died, and, of course, resolutions.
Used to be I had one New Year's Resolution every year: lose weight. Since 2008 I've been embarked on a healthy program that makes that resolution feel unnecessary--it's happening, I'm getting healthier, I'm doing it, thanks be to God. But I have so many more things to think about than my avoirdupois. Like-- my soul. My relationships. My call. My family.
So, I'm going to copy my dear friend Martha and say I think I'll make one resolution that will positively impact all the others-- I know it will, because it always does. I'm going to put prayer at the front end of my day, every day. Meditation, quiet time, time to connect-- the Big Connection. When I do, all those other things fall into place. All those other connections happen more organically. I am held in a great reality that requires my acknowledgement. That's my resolution. That's my plan.
Happy New Year everybody.
I'm reminding myself of my friend Stacy, who blogged about this busy-ness thing here. There is a way in which it's tempting to measure ourselves by how busy we are.
I know I've been thinking about this a lot as 2010 turned to 2011. There are a lot of things to do at church (surprise!), and in a way, at the end of those weeks in which I work more than the prescribed 48 hours, I feel smugly self-justified. Justification by works, baby! As if, NOW everything's going to be ok. You'll see!
But that's not how it works at church, I find. Church is about connection-- people connecting to God and to one another, and through the strength gained in those connections, making more connections, to the hungry, the thirsty, the homeless, the imprisoned-- you know the ones. And relationships, connections, are not things that happen because we put in the hours being busy. They're things that happen because we resist the temptation to scurry around and decide to be willing to linger, to listen, to ask another question, to laugh, to make some coffee, to put off the administrivia.
Problem is, the administrivia isn't going anywhere, is it?
I've noticed something about my work. I feel sure I've mentioned this before. Home visits are something I love to do-- when I'm doing them. When I feel the pressure of creating the bulletin, studying for the sermon, writing the sermon, submitting my mileage, organizing the event, etc etc, home visits feel like the last thing I should be spending my time on. But then I go.
Yesterday I sat down with a beautiful elderly gentleman. The first words out of this mouth? "What is the soul?" And we were off on a wide-ranging conversation the likes of which often cease after they give you the paper with the M. Div. on it. Moments like that, and I am mentally down on my knees saying a little prayer of thanks that I get to do this for a living. How lucky can you get?
The internet is filled with lists pertaining to the turn of the calendar from 2010 to 2011-- top ten movies (read the hilarious conversation over at Slate-- you know you want to), most memorable news stories, people who died, and, of course, resolutions.
Used to be I had one New Year's Resolution every year: lose weight. Since 2008 I've been embarked on a healthy program that makes that resolution feel unnecessary--it's happening, I'm getting healthier, I'm doing it, thanks be to God. But I have so many more things to think about than my avoirdupois. Like-- my soul. My relationships. My call. My family.
So, I'm going to copy my dear friend Martha and say I think I'll make one resolution that will positively impact all the others-- I know it will, because it always does. I'm going to put prayer at the front end of my day, every day. Meditation, quiet time, time to connect-- the Big Connection. When I do, all those other things fall into place. All those other connections happen more organically. I am held in a great reality that requires my acknowledgement. That's my resolution. That's my plan.
Happy New Year everybody.
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