[Un] Closeted Pastor

Where You Do Not Wish to Go

2011-11-13T07:32:00.000-08:00

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.

What's Been Up

2011-11-12T08:22:00.000-08:00

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

So Many New Days

2011-06-26T05:19:00.000-07:00

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.

Where Do I Begin...

2011-06-08T11:24:00.000-07:00

"...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.

I'm back!

2011-06-06T09:21:00.000-07:00

I've started at the private place. But I'll be cooking up a post for here soon, too.

I've missed you!

Evaluating Church

2011-04-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

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.

Stuff's Up

2011-04-04T05:01:00.001-07:00

At the other place.

Looking for prayers.

Friday Lent 15: Annunciation

2011-03-25T03:56:00.000-07:00

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 Lent 13: Not What I Thought It Would Be

2011-03-23T04:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Tuesday Lent 6: Mulligan!

2011-03-15T04:49:00.000-07:00

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 Lent 3: 40

2011-03-11T03:33:00.000-08:00

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.

On Jonah and "Goodbye Rob Bell"

2011-03-09T05:00:00.000-08:00

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?

L@dy G@G@: Put Your Paws Up

2011-02-23T15:25:00.000-08:00

Oh my.

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!

Daring to Hope

2011-02-18T19:31:00.000-08:00

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.

Women in Danger

2011-02-15T10:48:00.000-08:00

From the Huffington Post's Nancy Northup:

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...

Great Article on Sex in the Bible by Rev. Dr. Jennifer Wright Knust

2011-02-13T21:03:00.000-08:00

Read it here.

What I Actually Said

2011-02-13T20:28:00.000-08:00

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.~~

In ~~all~~ 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.

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.

What I'll Say

2011-02-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

“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.

An Anniversary

2011-02-11T05:06:00.000-08:00

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.

circa 1948

So. Praying today in gratitude for this extraordinary woman. She is with me still.

When I Came Out to D.

2011-02-09T04:19:00.000-08:00

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.

A Funeral Meditation on John 11:27-37

2011-02-09T04:04:00.000-08:00

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.

~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.

Up at My Other Place

2011-02-09T03:51:00.000-08:00

... A Week in the Life.

Remember This?

2011-02-07T04:42:00.000-08:00

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.

Sermon's Up! Featuring Jay Bakker...

2011-02-06T05:10:00.000-08:00

... and his really worthwhile new book, Fall to Grace: A Revolution of God, Self and Society.

Read all about it here!

Another wonderful post...

2011-02-05T19:48:00.000-08:00

... about the aforementioned letter:

Katie Mulligan from "Inside Outed."

Keep speaking out, sister!

Coming Out. Again. And Again. And Again.

2011-02-05T19:23:00.000-08:00

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!

Saint Brigid: Lesbian Icon?

2011-02-03T04:07:00.000-08:00

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.

Sermon's Up

2011-01-16T20:58:00.000-08:00

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.

Stars of January (So Far)

2011-01-16T20:51:00.000-08:00

(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).

2011 Hello!

2011-01-05T15:33:00.000-08:00

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.

Christmas 1: Our Wandering Savior

2010-12-26T09:01:00.000-08:00

Sermon for this Sunday's difficult reading, the flight into Egypt and the slaughter of the innocents, can be found here.

The Tale of the Innkeeper's Wife: A Sermon for Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T18:24:00.000-08:00

You can find it here.

Christmas Blessings

2010-12-24T17:37:00.000-08:00

May your days and your nights be merry and bright.

May the One who comes among us light your way.

May our world know peace in our day, in every heart and home and all throughout the earth.

May we all understand how intimately we are connected.

Christmas blessings to you all, my friends.

Advent 5 Thursday: O Immanuel

2010-12-23T11:42:00.000-08:00

O Immanuel, our Sovereign and Lawgiver, desire of the nations and Savior of all: Come and save us, O Lord our God. Come, Lord Jesus.

Advent 4: Wednesday: O Rex Gentium

2010-12-22T10:56:00.000-08:00

O Ruler of the Nations, Sovereign for whom the people long, you are the Cornerstone uniting all humanity. Come, save us all, whom you formed out of clay. Come, Lord Jesus.

This is the sound of longing.

Advent 4 Tuesday: O Oriens

2010-12-21T03:57:00.000-08:00

O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, Sun of justice: Come, shine on those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death. Come, Lord Jesus.

On the longest night our longing turns towards the dawn.

In our day this night was marked by a full lunar eclipse, the first time the solstice has coincided with that celestial event since the 1600's. In my neck of the deep dark woods, there was too much cloud cover to be able to see. But for many this longest night offered a view of even the moon being extinguished, and the optical illusion created under these conditions that the stars around the moon are falling. At the sub-rational level, it feels like the end of all things.

But it is not the end of all things. It is, instead, the turning point. Beginning today the days will lengthen, slowly, incrementally, almost imperceptibly. So imperceptibly that the church, in a rare display of self-deprecating humor, celebrates this day that well-known "doubter," the apostle Thomas. I can only assume that, either we are celebrating him because we can revel in being for faithful because we are sure we know what's coming, or, perhaps more charitably, we know that Thomas knows that the Light truly is returning, has returned.

I offer you a poem by the wonderful Madeleine L'Engle, who, thanks to her marvelous book, "WinterSongs," has become an essential part of my Advent celebrations.

O come O come Emmanuel

within this fragile vessel here to dwell.

O Child conceived by heaven's power,

give me Thy strength: it is the hour.

O Come thou Wisdom from on high

like any babe, at life you cry;

for me, like any mother, birth

was hard, O light of earth.

O come, O come thou Lord of might

whose birth came hastily at night;

born in the stable, in blood and pain,

is this the king who comes to reign?

O come, thou rod of Jesse's stem,

the stars will be thy diadem.

How can the infinite finite be?

Why choose, child, to be born of me?

O come, thou key of David, come,

and open the door to my heart-home.

I cannot love thee as a king--

so fragile and so small a thing.

O come, thou Day-spring from on high,

I saw the signs that marked the sky.

I heard the beat of angel's wings;

I saw the shepherds and the kings.

O come, desire of nations, be

simply a human child to me.

Let me not weep that you are born.

The night is gone. Now gleams the morn.

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel,

God's Son, God's Self, with us to dwell.

Advent 4 Monday: O Clavis David

2010-12-20T07:17:00.000-08:00

O Key of David, Scepter over the house of Israel, you open and no one can close, you close and no one can open: Come to set free the prisoners who live in darkness and the shadow of death. Come, Lord Jesus.

At a certain point in my life I realized I had spent a lot of time banging on, and then clawing on, doors that were closed to me. I mean this, of course, in an emotional sense. It had to do with relationships in which the person I cared for withdrew and I was left feeling like I was out in the cold (a metaphor that has come home to me this year in a new way, as we have both experienced record-breaking cold temperatures where I live, AND as I have been unusually cold myself this year).

I carried around this image of myself clawing at doors that would never open to me. At a certain point I realized it had to do with, childhood stuff, blah blah blah. I also realized that I had closed doors to others-- one significant way in which I had done this was by piling on about 200 extra pounds. I was an impenetrable fortress, not exactly a "decision" I made, but also not something I felt equipped to do anything about until much, much later.

The Messianic title we remember today is "Key of David," the One who is truly in charge of opening and closing doors-- whether they be the doors to our hearts or the bars that wall in prisoners. I have learned, on my journey, that the opening of those doors was made possible only by yielding that control to the One who was always in control anyway.

Advent 4 Sunday: O Radix Jesse

2010-12-19T05:14:00.000-08:00

O Root of Jesse, rising as a sign for all the peoples, before you earthly rulers will keep silent, and nations give you honor: Come quickly to deliver us. Come, Lord Jesus.

I have written about this before, here. The Christmas of my freshman year in college (what will that be like for Petra?), I almost didn't come home for Christmas.

My family had a long-standing tradition of ignoring Christmas at home (the apartment above the store) and throwing ourselves-- all of ourselves-- into Christmas in the business. My brother and I wrapped bottles, we decorated windows. But upstairs-- it wasn't Christmas, there were no carols played on record players, there was no tree after the year I was 7. There were some good reasons for this: retail, especially small-business-family-owned-and-operated retail, is exhausting at this time of year. I look at Beloved, working 63 hours a week right now. But also, my mother hated Christmas. I don't know whether it was because of traumatic childhood memories of deprivation, or some other circumstance she never shared with me. But she hated it. The music, the decor, the tree.

So beginning the Christmas I was 8, we always went to Florida. My mom would take my brother and me as soon as school was out, and my dad would join us on Christmas day. And-- please understand-- I loved it. I am a swimmer, always have been, and my joy and delight was to be in the pool or the ocean all day, every day. I had a tradition of diving into the pool at midnight on New Year's.... that was my real celebration. I was a very fortunate little girl. I wanted for nothing.

Except, I wanted Christmas. So, when one of my roommates invited me to her home for the holidays, a place her parents always decked out in grand Christmas fashion, I leapt at the idea. And I told my mother. And after a brief pause, she said, "We will have a tree this year."

So I went home. And when I got there, there was a naked tree in the living room, and a box of decorations and some lights. And I set about decorating the tree all alone, while listening to a Christmas record I'd bought at the Harvard C00p; "Christmas in Cambridge" with the Harvard/ Radcliffe Glee Club. And I was happy.

I've thought about this memory a lot this year, one reason being, I've been very late getting my tree (it finally made it into the house last night), and I have been hesitant to get it, partially, because of what's been going on with Petra. I was afraid the idea of the tree would be unwelcome to her-- well, not unwelcome, exactly, but more work, more stress. I had to decide I was willing to decorate the tree alone, and that would be just fine. I decided it would be.

The anthem here, Virga Jesse by Anton Bruckner, was on that Christmas record, the first I'd ever owned-- the first ever to make its way into my childhood home. Here is the translation of the lyrics:

The branch from Jesse blooms:
a Virgin brings forth God and man:
God restores peace,
reconciling in Himself the lowest with the highest.
Alleluia.

This O antiphon has a way, always, of filling me with a kind of awe... here is the mystery, that the roots planted there, blossom here in the most thrilling and unexpected and glorious way. As I drove home last night with the tree nestled in the car (the trunk was right next to me, and the smell of the pine was glorious), I gave thanks for the roots that make my delight in this season so deep and sweet.

Tears, some joyful, some not

2010-12-18T15:57:00.000-08:00

I received the news as I was driving home from an enormous grocery store trip-- the kind of trip where you stock up on your canned goods, and your dried fruit, and your pasta and your rice and your eggs. It was a big trip, and long, because-- my goodness, a week before Christmas, and I suppose there are many parties between now and then. And so, my favorite grocery store was jammed with people, most of whom were in fairly pleasant-to-festive moods.

So I headed home with my trunk full of food, and the sun was shining to warm up the inside of my car on a cold day, and I heard my cell phone thunk with a text message. Assuming it was Petra, I took the next safe opportunity (a red light) to steal a quick look.

It was a text from the Human Rights Campaign. The procedural vote to permit the real vote on repealing Don't Ask, Don't Tell had passed. It was all but certain: that wretched, unjust law that makes the US less safe by denying gifted and educated and trained military personnel the opportunity to serve was going down. At last.

I immediately broke into tears. Real tears. I sobbed. It took me by surprise, actually, the force of my tears. Sometimes we don't understand the weight of what we blithely call "current events" until they take us by the shoulders and give us a good shake.

I called Beloved, and told her. "It's done. They're repealing it. Don't Ask Don't Tell is no more." And my love, who was in hear early twenties when Stonewall was in the news, joined me in my emotion. She didn't cry. She was jubilant. She just kept saying, "Isn't it amazing when the right thing happens?"

Here is a photo, from the NY Times, of someone who is weeping, but not from joy. This was taken after the Dream act was defeated, a piece of legislation that would have enabled those in this country without documentation, but who are clearly striving to be productive members of our society, a chance, a shot at that fabled great American dream. I suppose the Senate only had it in them to free one group from bondage today.

Some tears of joy. Some tears of frustration, anger... but I pray not despair. I believe Martin Luther King was right. The arc of history bends towards justice. It is but a matter of time.

Advent 3 Saturday: O Adonai

2010-12-18T10:21:00.000-08:00

O Adonai, Ruler of the house of Israel, you appeared in the burning bush to Moses and gave him the law on Sinai: Come with outstretched arm to save us. Come, Lord Jesus.

The title given to the Messiah here is "Adonai," Hebrew for "Lord." Adonai is used as a placeholder in the Hebrew bible for the unspeakable, unpronounceable, most holy name of God. Though the text may read the four letters-- yod, heh, vav, heh, which many Christians pronounce "Yahweh" or "Jehovah"-- the cantor in a synagogue will replace that word with "Adonai."

Of course, Adonai also means "Lord" in much the same way "Lord" has been understood as designating a man of great nobility-- as in the house of lords. So the use of Adonai as a Hebrew Messianic title does not automatically take us to the mystery of the incarnation. But the resonance is there for us, as Christians.

Here, a choir from Rome singing "O Adonai" with some fascinating silent film footage illustrating Moses and the Lord on Mount Sinai:

And here, something I wish I'd found yesterday: music of Hildegard of Bingen, "O virtus sapientiae":

Is it wrong for me to want to hear women's voices in these late Advent days?

Advent 3 Friday: The O Antiphons Begin

2010-12-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

O Wisdom, coming forth from the mouth of the Most High, pervading and permeating all creation, you order all things with strength and gentleness: Come now and teach us the way to salvation.

Come, Lord Jesus!

Beginning tonight, the Church's vesper prayers make use of the "O antiphons." seven words of praise and supplication which make use of Messianic titles found in the Hebrew Scriptures. Each day there is a new antiphon until Christmas Eve, when the church's prayer turns towards the birth of Jesus.

Tonight's title is "Wisdom," in Latin, "Sapientia." It reminds us of the first verses of John's gospel: Christ comes forth from the mouth of God: he is the Word made flesh. As God's Word, he contains-- no, he embodies God's wisdom.

Wisdom is one of those slightly mischievous, slightly subversive titles for Jesus. Wisdom has a tradition of being translated into the feminine form, as in the Greek "Sophia" and the Hebrew Hokhmot. Verbal femininity is not necessarily to be understood as female, until it is:

Does not wisdom call,
and does not understanding raise her voice?
On the heights, beside the way,
at the crossroads she takes her stand;
beside the gates in front of the town,
at the entrance of the portals she cries out:
“To you, O people, I call,
and my cry is to all that live.
O simple ones, learn prudence;
acquire intelligence, you who lack it.
Hear, for I will speak noble things,
and from my lips will come what is right;
for my mouth will utter truth;

wickedness is an abomination to my lips. Proverbs 8:1-7

There is a great and venerable tradition of personifying Wisdom female, and the case can be made (and has been made by actual scholars of Greek and Hebrew) that some of this seeps into the gospel portrayals of Jesus.

So, on this first night of the O antiphons, I invite you-- I invite myself!-- to remember the resonances of the messianic title, "O Wisdom," as we wait with longing for the revealing of Christ.

Advent 3 Monday

2010-12-13T04:59:00.001-08:00

Advent 2 Friday

2010-12-10T14:45:00.000-08:00

Today's lectionary passage from Isaiah 7 contains the "money" verses of prophecy for many Christians:

¹³Then Isaiah said: "Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary my God also? ¹⁴Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.

Phew! That's pretty potent stuff. One little discrepancy from the way we often hear it translated-- "Behold, the Virgin shall conceive," the alto sings in the Handel setting. Trouble is, the Hebrew doesn't say "virgin." It says, "young woman."

Other interesting things in this passage you won't hear too much about in the Christmas sermon:

²⁰On that day the Lord will shave with a razor hired beyond the River - with the king of Assyria - the head and the hair of the feet, and it will take off the beard as well.

And also,

²³On that day every place where there used to be a thousand vines, worth a thousand shekels of silver, will become briers and thorns. ²⁴With bow and arrows one will go there, for all the land will be briers and thorns; ²⁵and as for all the hills that used to be hoed with a hoe, you will not go there for fear of briers and thorns; but they will become a place where cattle are let loose and where sheep tread.

Oh, we Christians are so great at plucking verses of scripture out of context to support the arguments we want to make. Please don't get me wrong: my faith is in Emmanuel, God-With-Us, in Jesus. But this is precisely the same trouble we get into when we want to enforce all the verses we think are about particular understandings of sexuality, and ignore, for instance, all the verses in which Jesus tells us what we should do with our money.

What we need, when we read scripture, is some humility. Which, in fact, I think is found in the post below, in which Dave Matthews sings a song of Jesus that gives me chills.

Hear this, and I think you hear the words of another kind of prophet.

She was his girl; he was her boyfriend
She be his wife; take him as her husband
A surprise on the way, any day, any day
One healthy little giggling dribbling baby boy
The wise men came three made their way
To shower him with love
While he lay in the hay
Shower him with love love love
Love love love
Love love is all around
Not very much of his childhood was known
Kept his mother Mary worried
Always out on his own
He met another Mary for a reasonable fee, less than
Reputable as known to be

His heart was full of love love love
Love love love
Love love is all around
When Jesus Christ was nailed to the his tree
Said "oh, Daddy-o I can see how it all soon will be
I came to she'd a little light on this darkening scene
Instead I fear I spill the blood of my children all around"

The blood of our children all around
The blood of our children all around
The blood of our children all around
So the story goes, so I'm told
The people he knew were
Less than golden hearted
Gamblers and robbers
Drinkers and jokers, all soul searchers
Like you and me

Rumors insisited he soon would be
For his deviations
Taken into custody by the authorities
Less informed than he.
Drinkers and jokers. all soul searchers
Searching for love love love
Love love love
Love love is all around

Preparations were made
For his celebration day
He said "eat this bread and think of it as me
Drink this wine and dream it will be
The blood of our children all around
The blood of our children all around"
The blood of our children all around

Father up above, why in all this anger have you fill
Me up with love
Fill me love love love
Love love love
Love love
And the blood of our children all around

More lyrics: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/d/dave+matthews+band/#share

A Christmas Song by.... Dave Matthews??

2010-12-10T14:34:00.001-08:00

How have I never heard this until recently?

And the refrain is love, love, love.

Advent 2 Tuesday

2010-12-07T07:49:00.000-08:00

Ah, you who call evil good
     and good evil,
who put darkness for light
     and light for darkness,
who put bitter for sweet
     and sweet for bitter!
Ah, you who are wise in your own eyes,
     and shrewd in your own sight!

~Isaiah 5:20-21

This morning's lectionary reading from Isaiah hits me where I live. This is my fear, that I cannot see what is good and what is evil because I am hopelessly compromised by my subjective experience. I no longer have these particular doubts in the area of sexuality (which is where one might reasonably expect me to). The theology I hold is just so clear, that a loving and all-powerful God would not create an entire class of individuals who were doomed by trying to live according to the way in which they were created. I believe we were all created, no matter where we are on the spectrum of sexualities, to live in communion and in community, and I believe we can all do that ethically and still be true to ourselves.

No, that's not the area that scares me. It's the other places-- the interpersonal relationship places, where I'm so sure I'm right, where I'm so sure I've got the wisdom, if only he/ she/ they could see with my "wise" eyes!

Advent is useful for this condition. Advent used to be considered a penitential season, as was Lent, but Advent has taken on a kinder, gentler tone in these last-- what, 50?--years or so. Instead of penance, we speak of preparation. Preparation always involves self-examination, or else it's not much help. So, on this cold and snowy Advent Tuesday, I wish you (and me) fruitful self-examination, and openness to the Spirit who will instruct us (if we could get around to listening).

I leave you with another of today's lectionary readings, a fitting blessing for an Advent day:

See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all. Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise the words of prophets, but test everything; hold fast to what is good; abstain from every form of evil.        ~ I Thessalonians 5:15-22

Advent 1 Saturday

2010-12-04T08:28:00.000-08:00

²On that day the branch of the LORD shall be beautiful and glorious, and the fruit of the land shall be the pride and glory of the survivors of Israel. ³Whoever is left in Zion and remains in Jerusalem will be called holy, everyone who has been recorded for life in Jerusalem, ⁴once the Lord has washed away the filth of the daughters of Zion and cleansed the bloodstains of Jerusalem from its midst by a spirit of judgment and by a spirit of burning. ⁵Then the LORD will create over the whole site of Mount Zion and over its places of assembly a cloud by day and smoke and the shining of a flaming fire by night. Indeed over all the glory there will be a canopy. ⁶It will serve as a pavilion, a shade by day from the heat, and a refuge and a shelter from the storm and rain. ~Isaiah 4:2-6

This is a classic early Advent text, in that it describes beauty and horror intermingled. Isaiah (the first Isaiah, writing at the time of Kings Uzziah and his son Hezekiah) warns against both Judah becoming a client state of the enormous and powerful Assyrian Empire, and against assimilation as expressed in a casual approach to worship of the one true God. Both kings ignore Isaiah until it is almost too late. Total devastation is averted. Significant devastation takes place.

So we have Isaiah describing Zion/ Jerusalem as beautifully restored and protected (about which he seems to be confident), and then, smack in the middle, the appearance of imagery that recalls the anti-woman rhetoric we find in many of the prophetic texts. The unfaithful city is a whore, its daughters are filthy. The bloodstains serve the dual purpose of reinforcing the image of the filth and also describing the devastation taking place at the hands of the Assyrians.

As much as I would like Advent to be about pregnancy and birth and awaiting in holy, candle-lit darkness the birth of this extraordinary baby, Advent forces my attention elsewhere. I can do as I did last Sunday and simply ignore it (I preached off lectionary-- after dealing with apocalyptic imagery in the Sundays of December, I needed to get to Jesus' birth). But it will not be ignored. It is the Glenn Close-Fatal-Attraction of the lectionary year: Advent will bring us images of death and destruction before it allows us to get to the baby.

That is because sea-change, world-upside-down events are believed to presage the coming of Jesus next time around. I'll say here what I say to everyone who asks (and, apparently, to some who don't). I don't believe God's plan is to destroy the earth. I believe there is too much in scripture-- including this passage-- that speaks of God's firm intention to provide us with restoration and and renewal. That God will be among us, face to face, is a firm promise. That this world will be a new creation, is set down here and in other places.

Below, my attempt at posting something that conveys both the chaos and the restoration, with the babe for good measure.

Advent 1 Wednesday

2010-12-01T04:18:00.000-08:00

¹¹Since all these things are to be dissolved in this way, what sort of persons ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness, ¹²waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire? ¹³But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home.

¹⁴Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish; ¹⁵and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation. So also our beloved brother Paul wrote to you according to the wisdom given him, ¹⁶speaking of this as he does in all his letters. There are some things in them hard to understand, which the ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction, as they do the other scriptures. ¹⁷You therefore, beloved, since you are forewarned, beware that you are not carried away with the error of the lawless and lose your own stability. ¹⁸But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity. Amen. ~ 2 Peter 3:11-18

~~~

I know I don't need to tell you today is World AIDS Day. I share Sting's haunting "Hounds of Winter" because it is about the loss of the beloved in this season of growing cold and darkness. The selection from 2 Peter is one of today's lectionary readings (you can find them here, every day). I find its emphasis on waiting for the coming day of God to be so beautiful, so refreshing... we wait, not cowering in our bunkers with our five years' supply of canned goods and water filled with fear (as some would have us wait). Rather, we wait at peace, striving to be kind to one another. We live in stability, not anxiety (can I get an amen there?). We wait, hoping to grow in grace and knowledge.

So much of this speaks to our attitude as a society towards those who are struggling with AIDS, or with sexual identity, or with the private violence that plagues their lives. We strive to offer this peace, this kindness, this stability. We wait for the day of God in the same way we live: hoping, day by day, to grow in grace and knowledge. I can get behind that.

I WON!

2010-11-30T20:03:00.000-08:00

Which is to say, I completed my novel today, in time to qualify for "winner" status in the NaNoWriMo community.

It feels extraordinarily satisfying.

Now, to edit.

Advent 1 Sunday: Dark and Sweet

2010-11-28T05:04:00.000-08:00

Good Morning, and blessed Advent, friends!

It seems as if it would be more appropriate to write this in the evening, as the sun is setting, or just after. To me, evening is Advent time... it is a time of darkness made less so by the kindling of fire.

I love these words of Gertrud Mueller Nelson, from her exquisite book, To Dance With God:

It is Advent, and along with nature, we are a people waiting. Far out of the south, the winter light comes thin and milky. The days grow shorter and colder and the nights long. Try as we may, we cannot fully dismiss the fundamental feelings that lie deep at our roots, a mixture of feelings dark and sweet. Will the sun, the source of our life, ever return? Has the great light abandoned us?

This song captures, for me, those feelings 'dark and sweet.' A contemporary twist on an ancient hymn, it speaks my longings. Blessings, my friends.

End of Days

2010-11-15T18:08:00.000-08:00

Sermonizing here.

A Coming Out Story

2010-11-10T13:19:00.000-08:00

The wonderful Rev. Elizabeth Kaeton tells the story of Bishop Jim Swilley, pastor of the Conyers Church in the Now. This 52 year-old pastor of a mega-church has just come out to his congregation. I cannot recommend Elizabeth's blogpost highly enough. It's a beautiful story. You can find it here.

A Long Time Ago...

2010-11-07T12:25:00.000-08:00

Someone from my church asked me to preach on "biblical family values."

I think this is the first installment of that sermon.

I'm Doing It! Are You?

2010-11-03T22:05:00.000-07:00

NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. November.

I first learned about NaNoWriMo four years ago, as evidenced here. I gave it a try then, the last November I was unemployed (thanks be to God). Ever since then, I've been thinking, Hey, I should do that again.

Why now? I have no earthly idea. I have a bear of a schedule that has me at meetings four nights a week since the beginning of September. I have a daughter who is a senior in high school, getting ready to launch (she submitted her early decision application to a far away school last Saturday. Gulp! I mean, Go Fighting Methodists!). I have a son who is in the process of moving into a new apartment in the Big City, and launching his own acting career (complete with two part-time jobs to pay the rent). And I have a very busy, hardworking girlfriend who likes to see me once in a while.

Oh, and I have to write a sermon every week. Based on the length of sermons I write, NaNoWriMo is asking me to write the equivalent of a sermon a day.

Nuts, right? Right. But I just want to do it.

Like the last novel (a truly treacly thing about coming of age and a trumped up mystery around a mother's death), I'm basically using this to process my own stuff. Like the last novel, I am full of doubts about this one being remotely of interest to anyone except those who love me dearly. (Maybe not even them!) But still, I write. Because, there's a whole crazy community out there doing the same thing, and it's November, and it's fun, and it's writing!

Wish me luck.

It's Halloween, so...

2010-10-31T14:39:00.000-07:00

... naturally, sermon's up.

Throwing Jesus Off the Cliff

2010-10-24T07:04:00.000-07:00

I've had a number of comments, both here and by email, around this topic of "getting mad at the pastor" and someone asked for the reference about Jesus nearly getting thrown off the cliff. The story starts out well-- after the temptation in the wilderness, Jesus returns to his hometown.

¹⁴Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee, and a report about him spread through all the surrounding country. ¹⁵He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. ¹⁶When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, ¹⁷and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: ¹⁸“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, ¹⁹to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” ²⁰And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. ²¹Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” ²²All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?”

At first glance, all seems to be going swimmingly. Jesus reads from Isaiah, and the words are incredibly encouraging and hopeful, and he even goes so far as to say, "This is IT. It's happening NOW." The locals, the ones who watched as Jesus grew up in Mary and Joseph's home, are thrilled.

Then things get a little funky.

²³He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” ²⁴And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. ²⁵But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; ²⁶yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. ²⁷There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.”

Suddenly, the word the people had heard as comforting gets turned around a bit-- indeed, it becomes clear pretty quickly that they believe it's been turned on them. The gist of what Jesus is saying is, the good news of God's love extends beyond the boundaries of religion and race and ethnicity. The good news of God's love went to a widow who wasn't a Jew. The good news of God's love extended to a leper who was leading an enemy army. Ooops. It's all right there in scripture. Guess what? God is bigger than the little categories you and I try to lock her in.

²⁸When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. ²⁹They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. ³⁰But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way. ~ Luke 4:14-30

Yeah, that really comes as no surprise. The people perceived that the good news had turned bad. Solution: get rid of the pesky prophet. But something stopped them. And along Jesus went on his merry way.

I think congregations and congregation members get mad at pastors for all sorts of reasons. Some are not so cool with the fullness of the pastor's identity coming to the fore. (Thank God, I had only a little of that when I came out). Some feel neglected by the pastor, sometimes justifiably, sometimes not. Sometimes the congregation and the pastor have different ideas of mission and what it means to do ministry together-- just a case of a bad match. Sometimes it's so intangible it's hard to put into words why these relationships take a southward turn.

I am interested in the question asked in the comments. For those in ordained ministry, how do you respond when the anger of your congregants becomes an issue? How does it feel? How do you cope? And how do you know when (if) it's time to go?

I'm grateful to say that I am not dealing with anything like this in my ministry at present (that I know of... sometimes I realize anger and hurt lurk quietly for a long time). But I know many of my colleagues deal with it. What say you? And-- how about this-- how do you deal with your own anger?

Cleaning Up My Act

2010-10-20T04:02:00.000-07:00

So here's my plan. My plan is, in response to your emails and comments, keep "(un) closeted pastor" going, but with an emphasis on what the title says: what it's like going about my business as a pastor out and about in my neck of the woods. My personal stuff will be kept private, which is appropriate (though you can certainly expect Beloved, Larry and Petra to make the occasional appearance on these pages). I do have a story to share about trusting God as God reveals my truth to me-- and believe me, that happens at least once a day if I'm paying attention at all. (And sometimes, you know, I'm not, because that's what it's like to be an unfinished, incomplete, under construction kind of person-- i.e., human).

I'm still trying to parse and work on my private situation. I will say this: I hate the idea that I've caused pain, and that someone is angry with me, especially a family member. It's painful, it's not what I want. It takes real discipline for me to deal with it like a grown up, and I do not always have that particular tool available to me. So I covet your prayers in this area.

Let me add, on a related note, this is one of the major personality characteristics that is challenging for me as a pastor. Because, let's face it, after his first sermon they tried to throw Jesus off a cliff. If we don't ruffle feathers now and then we're probably not doing our work with integrity.

That's it for today. Thanks for reading. Thanks for being a real community. Thanks for the love. Love you back.

Wrestling Redux

2010-10-17T10:06:00.000-07:00

... In sermon form, here.

Better-Late-Than-Never Department...

2010-10-16T10:45:00.000-07:00

... Last Sunday's sermon, here.

I am pondering the feedback I've gotten from many of you regarding the blog. I am trying to figure out a way to keep this blog going, minus the intensely personal stuff... I'll keep you posted.

A Change of Seasons

2010-10-13T09:46:00.000-07:00

It is time for this blog to go from being public to private. Suffice to say, I have been somewhat foolish in believing I could be so open about much that is very intimate in a public forum. Beloved warned me, God bless her. But I have learned that someone was very hurt by something I wrote here-- something I believed sincerely to be true, but which I am open to having clarified. In the wake of this, I recognize that therapy is therapy, blogs are blogs, and I have crossed that line here in a way that has the potential to hurt others, even if I believe I am speaking my truth from the heart.

So. Those of you who are interested in remaining connected with this blog, please send an email to revceciliapastorATyahooDOTcom. I will go private in a week or so.

In the meantime, I will ponder how I might repair the damage I have done.

Since It's Sunday

2010-10-03T05:36:00.001-07:00

There's a sermon.

There's a Sermon

2010-09-26T06:50:00.001-07:00

There.

Poem, August 4 8:30 AM

2010-08-06T05:26:00.000-07:00

driving too fast
to make my meeting
(careening left-hand-turns through yellow lights)
i saw an incongruous
picket fence on
a shabby city street
where a man in
a white shirt tenderly
tended his sunflowers

and i was four five six
stiff sandals slapping the
three hot blocks of
ocean city pavement
eager to taste again
the newfound land
of orange sherbet
and chocolate
double-dip.

i encountered it, at first
a monster, taller than me,
thing out of an episode of
lost in space
but lemon-bright, smiling,
playful, earth-scented,
inviting,
i gasped and laughed
delighted
and it nodded to me.

how many sunflowers
have i seen since?
how did this man
these sunflowers
unlock the creaky door
of memory?

Revelated

2010-08-03T14:35:00.001-07:00

I've been preparing to give a talk to a denominational group on the subject of-- hold on to your hats, sports fans-- Revelation! The book, not the dance. (Singular, not plural).

Of course, you know I've read it before. I read it... well, I didn't read it in seminary, actually. I read it... well, I didn't actually read it in my first theology MA program either. Hmmm.

Well, I can tell you for SURE I read it (partially) in middle school, when I (briefly) attended a bible study at my parish.

And I can tell you for SURE SURE that I read the whole kit and kaboodle, from stem to stern, in 2005-- that's the year I got my One Year Bible (TM), and did that thing. (So, I read it in December.)

But lately, I've read it-- all in one go, over the span of the last two days, with the help of a study guide. I've just finished, actually.

I'm blown away. Part of what has blown me away is my embrace of the interpretive scheme of the study guide, to be sure. It is most assuredly not a dispensationalist/rapturist/pro-Armageddon reading (unlike that of the current L3ft B3hind craze). It is a feminist (in the sense that we take note of the disturbing imagery regarding women, as well as how it has been used historically) and Reformed (in that it correctly uses scripture to interpret scripture, according to the best of our tradition). And it is environmentalist (in that it takes note of God's strong words for those who destroy the earth, and the role the earth/ river of life/ tree of life has in the restored New Jerusalem).

I sat there for a few minutes after I'd finished reading with my heart racing.

I think I've had a conversion experience. I've been converted to loving this crazy, problematic book of which Luther said, "My spirit cannot fit itself into this book." I find, my spirit can. And I'm blown away.

It's a revelation.

Just Wondering

2010-07-27T17:09:00.000-07:00

Petra has just returned home from this fantastic youth conference.

I'm going to make a true confession: I was a little nervous about her going. Let me count the ways.

First, there was the matter of pastor-mom-pushing-pastor's-kid-to-participate-in-religious-stuff. Petra is 17. And, thus far, she has, apparently, been participating willingly in the life of each congregation I've served. She actually joined Saint Sociable two years ago, which made me very happy. Of course.

This has been a marked difference from my experience with her brother, who resisted church stuff around the time he was participating in Confirmation Class (age 13), and never willingly went again. Petra has been different.

Still, I was worried. Is she doing all this just to make mom happy? Last fall when the conversation began about whether to attend this conference or not, Petra was worried it would conflict with a summer theater program she normally participates in. I decided, early on, if it conflicted and she therefore resisted, I would absolutely let it go. Period. I have no desire to force my children to participate if it means they are there resentfully.

As it happens, it didn't conflict, and Petra signed up.

Still, I fretted, just a bit. I wondered, exactly what kind of theology would be on display at this conference? I mean, I assumed mainstream, orthodox Christianity-- and I'm, of course, down with that. But... would there be conservative elements? What if my child comes home-- horror!!!-- more conservative than when she left??? This is a young woman whose Facebook profile describes her as "Very Very Liberal," so my anxiety was... perhaps... misplaced. And I figured: Petra is who she is. I believe she has been taught sound theology, both at my knee, so to speak, and in the churches of her earlier childhood, before I was ordained. I trusted her to sort the wheat from the chaff. I also let go of the idea that I can control where she lands theologically. She is who she is, and she will be who she will be. And it will be wonderful, I feel sure.

Then, she went, and every night I received a call from her saying, essentially, THIS ROCKS. I was, of course, pleased. In fact, Petra tells me, more than one preacher threw out some words on GLBTQ issues, same sex marriage, etc. With a light touch they shared the firm conviction that inclusivity is the heart of Christianity; when you start excluding people, or stop loving people because of their sexuality, you have departed from the core of the gospel. (To which 5000 Presbyterian youth responded with thunderous applause).

After Petra got home, and we began processing her experience together I mentioned to her that several churches in our presbytery have stopped sending their youth to this conference, precisely because they perceive it to have an unacceptably liberal bias. And I confessed to her my tiny (unfounded) fears about her being exposed to theological conservatism.

I trusted Petra. Why can't the churches and parents who are theologically conservative trust their children?

There She Goes!

2010-07-19T03:50:00.000-07:00

Petra has just turned on the shower. She is leaving this morning for a church youth conference of epic proportions (well, to her). I can see her excitement. We spent yesterday afternoon under the sign of the bulls-eye, purchasing, among other things, a lightweight bathrobe (for modesty), a bunch of unmentionables (ditto), a very cute dress (for-- well, cuteness) and a tiny fan (for cool, in the not air conditioned dorm rooms in which she will be staying).

When I was a youth, and very active in the church, we went on retreats, with priests. Beloved rolled her eyes when I said that... now everything is a bad joke related to the church's abysmal track record at dealing with sexual predators. I never encountered any priest, at least until I got to college, whose intentions towards young people was anything other than showing them the love of God in Jesus Christ.

The conference Petra is attending is a different model of making disciples. Through the experience of nearly a week of small and large group activities, including wonderfully inspiring worship, engagement in mission projects, Bible study and team-building, this conference seeks to raise up the next generation of leaders for the church. Every kid I know who has ever gone has been changed by it. Every kid I know who has ever gone has remained active in church through the classic fall-away years of college and early 20's.

So, Petra is going. And she is not going unwillingly, but with a real spirit of openness and adventure, thanks be to God.

When Petra was six, this movie came out. Between the theater and our living room, we have probably watched it together, oh, about 50 times. We love it that much. So, with a little prayer for Lindsey Lohan, here's a tiny clip, of a girl stepping out for an adventure.

Opera, Rainstorm, Anniversary

2010-07-18T05:43:00.000-07:00

Last night Petra and I took an hour and forty-minute drive to a gorgeous lake-side opera house to see "Le Nozze di Figaro," certainly one of my top two or three favorite operas of all time. The setting is beautiful and serene-- deep in the woods with the lake glimmering behind. We ate wonderful boxed dinners (chicken for me, crab cakes for Petra) and listened to a lecture from the continuo player. Then we allowed ourselves to be drawn into Mozart's Shakespearean domestic tragi-comedy. (I can't see stories of unfaithfulness as not having a dose of tragedy in them.) The opera was aurally and visually sumptuous, the singing was just about perfect, and we had the added thrill of hearing the Count's vengeance aria while enormous claps of thunder rattled the opera house.

Susanna's singing of 'Deh vieni non tardar' almost made my heart stop. So luscious, so full of desire and tenderness, and the soprano had such a gorgeous tone. It was breathtaking.

One of the things I adore about seeing plays and operas with my children is how very engaged they are in the arts themselves. We talked about the vocal production of the singing actors, and their stage presence, and the creativity of the staging. We talked about how very like "A Midsummer Night's Dream" the opera is (minus fairies and potions). But our conversation ground to a halt not long after our car pulled out of the driveway, as we encountered scary-severe weather, at the start of our 91-mile trip home. At one point, as hailstones smashed into the windshield, and we were creeping along at 11-miles per hour along a densely wooded road, I started remembering stories of people whose cars washed away in such sudden storms, or whose cars were crushed beneath trees downed by such winds.

Enough drama; we got home safe and sound, though the trip home took an hour longer than the trip there. Which means, I go to worship this morning with about 5 hours of sleep. I'm letting Petra sleep in (she heads off to a week-long youth conference tomorrow; she needs her rest!).

And yesterday was the anniversary described here. Still so grateful for this love.

Dead-Heading

2010-07-16T06:04:00.000-07:00

*Note: This post has nothing to do with the Grateful Dead. Not that there's anything wrong with them.

I was outside this morning watering and dead-heading flowers. Well, specifically, petunias in my window boxes. I have two different shades of purple in three long window boxes outside my dining room window, plus a couple of odd, spiky, daisy-like flowers which some garden store bestowed upon Beloved as a token of their appreciation for her business.

I know I've talked a lot in the past (other springs and summers) about planting, and gardening, but you know what? I'm such a fraud. Four years ago (?) I asked my then neighbor ALG (Adorable Landscaping Guy) whether I could just tear out my grass and put in flowering plants. I hate, loath, despise and abominate grass. It is anathema to me. Why? Why grass? Why water and cultivate and care for something whose sole purpose, in my neighborhood at least, is to cut it to an even length, not allowing the plant to do what it wants to do according to its nature? Makes NO sense to me.

ALG said, sure! Why not? So, we did. I remember him moving my ancient rhododendrons around on the Fourth of July that year, while we huddled inside, hiding from a pouring rain. The first year it looked much like a lunar landscape: occasional tiny plants and vast expanses of mulch. And rhododendrons, one of which, after moved, took on a distinctly Japanese landscaping appearance, growing as it had into a long trunk and wide, shallow canopy.

Year by year the flowers have filled in and thickened.... no thanks to me. I feed them, never. I weed-- well, close to never. I water only sporadically. (The last time I'd watered before today was last week, when I did so daily out of sheer Christian compassion for all living things in the midst of our wicked heat wave).

There is one patch of land- well, two, bordering my driveway-- for which I do have complete responsibility, however. Where I plant my annuals (though I am sneaking some perennials in there, too-- hello Lavender! I don't care that one of your mystical functions is to repel romance. You are staying!). And-- my windowboxes. And, I don't know, this morning after Beloved had gone on her way, while Petra was still sleeping, and before I had to shower and get me out of here, I found myself, not only watering everything (windowboxes, side-planters, driveway flowers, and vast landscape of perennials), but also, dead-heading my petunias. But only my petunias. The foxglove is going to have to wait.

As I was dead-heading, I noticed, not for the first time, that sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between the blossoms that are past and dead, and those that are just coming-- this is mostly a petunia phenomenon, I think. My experience is limited. I have learned to touch the suspect blossoms gently. Those that are fresh and coming are firm, rubbery and cool. Those that are spent are like tissue and often break away before I have a chance to pinch them off.

I thought about the things I'd like to dead-head from my life. Ways of spending time. Things others (ahem, Beloved) might think are tissue, pinch-'em off things, but which I feel have some value to me-- I can feel the coolness of budding life in them. And they have to be allowed to grow.

Church is the same. We so often look at programs and wonder: dead? Or alive? And sometimes it is very, very hard to call it.

I would like to dead-head the following things from my life:

Compulsive behaviors of all types (this includes, but is not limited to, certain ways of using the internet, food-- even healthy food!-- and even my relationship with Beloved.

Whoa, Nellie, I did NOT say I want to dead-head my relationship with Beloved. But there are ways I use that relationship-- ways in which I am not my healthiest self, but am, instead, needy, compulsive, and immature-- those are the things I want to go.

I heard in a pastor training session a couple of months ago that in every relationship, one person is a pursuer and one is a flee-er. Me: Pursuer. Beloved: Flee-er. (Also, Ex: Flee-er. Clearly.) In the training (which was led by a pastor who is also a psychotherapist) the suggestion was made that we ought to attempt to act in the opposite way of our natural tendency. In other words, if you are a pursuer, well, don't flee, necessarily, but at least back off. Don't crowd, overwhelm or otherwise smother your loved one. If you are a flee-er-- well, try to hang in there. Try not to run when things get tough and all your instincts are telling you to go.

I have been trying to practice this in little tiny ways. The other night I had planned to see Beloved-- just hanging out at her place, after a meeting at work. But I had things at home I needed to tend to. But all my instincts tell me: See her if you can! Don't miss an opportunityfortogetherness!!! But I chose, instead, to go home. To tend to what needed my attention. To speak to her briefly on the phone ('cause, you know, I'm crazy about her and all). But not to smother. I think it was a good thing. Pursuing relentlessly: trying to deadhead it. Just a bit. I think we will be a healthier "plant" in the end.

OK, I lied. Enjoy!

Hello! A Re-Entry Game

2010-06-13T04:09:00.000-07:00

Hi there friends.

I didn't mean to disappear. This happens in blogland, at least to me.... I just got overwhelmed for a bit. Came down with a cough/ sinus infection/ flu-like thing that had me in bed the entire three days before Pentecost... and none too energetic that day, either. Anyway, dear Sarah from "Seeking to Build a Bridge" played this game as a part of her re-entry into blogging after an absence. I'm imitating her.

99 Things About Me (Everything that I have done is in bold)

1. Started your own blog

2. Slept under the stars

3. Played in a band

4. Visited Hawaii

5. Watched a meteor shower

6. Given more than you can afford to charity.

7. Been to DisneyWorld

8. Climbed a mountain

9. Held a praying mantis

10. Sang a solo

11. Bungee jumped

12. Visited Paris

13. Watched a lightning storm

14. Taught yourself an art from scratch

15. Adopted a child

16. Had food poisoning

17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty

18. Grown your own vegetables

19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France

20. Slept on an overnight train

21. Had a pillow fight

22. Hitch-hiked-- nah, too much a "good girl."

23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill-- does a "personal day" fall under this category? Better bold it....

24. Built a snow fort

25. Held a lamb

26. Gone skinny dipping.

27. Run a Marathon-- no, but I did the Walk for Hunger in Boston, 20 miles.

28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice

29. Seen a total eclipse.

30. Watched a sunrise or sunset

31. Hit a home run

32. Been on a cruise

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person

34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors.

35. Seen an Amish community

36. Taught yourself a new language

37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied... Is this a trick question? I have enough money. That is not what satisfies me! My relationships (including my relationship with God), my family, my work... those are the things that satisfy.

38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person

39. Gone rock climbing.

40. Seen Michelangelo’s David

41. Sung karaoke

42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt

43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant

44. Visited Africa

45. Walked on a beach by moonlight

46. Been transported in an ambulance

47. Had your portrait painted

48. Gone deep sea fishing

50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris

51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling

52. Kissed in the rain

53. Played in the mud

54. Gone to a drive-in theater

55. Been in a movie

56. Visited the Great Wall of China

57. Started a business .

58. Taken a martial arts class

59. Visited Russia- Czech republic

60. Served at a soup kitchen

61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies

62. Gone whale watching

63. Got flowers for no reason

64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma

65. Gone sky diving

66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp

67. Bounced a check

68. Flown in a helicopter

69. Saved a favorite childhood toy

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial

71. Eaten Caviar

72. Pieced a quilt

73. Stood in Times Square

74. Toured the Everglades

75. Been fired from a job

76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London

77. Broken a bone

78. Been a passenger on a motorcycle

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person

80. Published a book... no, but an article.

81. Visited the Vatican

82. Bought a brand new car

83. Walked in Jerusalem

84. Had your picture in the newspaper

85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve

86. Visited the White House

87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating

88. Had chickenpox

89. Saved someone’s life... No, but someone saved mine, from a riptide in the Atlantic Ocean. An off-duty cop. Still friends with his sons.

90. Sat on a jury

91. Met someone famous
... Arnold Schwarzenegger (at a shop in Palm Beach: he held my son, who was 1 at the time), Gordon MacRae (he was the romantic lead opposite me in a play in college), Joan Chittister (she was one of my professors in my first Master's program), Raymond Brown (ditto-- we may be getting into people who are only "famous" to theology geeks"), Marcus Borg... maybe others?

92. Joined a book club

93. Got a tattoo

94. Had a baby

95. Seen the Alamo in person

96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake

97. Been involved in a law suit

98. Owned a cell phone

99. Been stung by a bee

An Anniversary

2010-05-13T14:40:00.000-07:00

One year ago today I was getting ready, at this very hour, to sit down with the governing board of my church to place before them a letter telling them their pastor was a lesbian. I remember that as I sat in my office, trying not to hyperventilate, I opened my bible and read psalm after psalm.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me.

The Lord is my shepherd.

God is our refuge and our strength,
a very present help in trouble...
Be stlll, and know that I am God.

And so God is... God is God, and we are not, and it turns out the people of my congregation (beginning with that governing board) don't much care whether their pastor is a lesbian. They care whether she is a good pastor, preaching the Word, sharing the sacraments, visiting the sick and homebound, connecting with people of all ages... none of which I do perfectly, by any stretch, but all of which I try, every day, to do with love.

My revelation has been met with more love than I could have imagined. I am out to my congregation, to many (most) in my area, in and out of the church. I am so, so, so down-on-my-knees grateful, today, to be....

.... free.

Now THAT is worth another Glory! Hallelujah!

We Interrupt This Broadcast...

2010-05-08T14:19:00.001-07:00

... to bring you a few updates Chez Cecilia.

* Teh Prom Dress: Has been acquired. The crafting of a first-person sermon on Lydia was interrupted for several thoroughly enjoyable hours with Petra and her two best buds, one of whom is the style guru and one of whom is the makeup artiste. Much talk about "line" and "drape" and fabric weight and advantageous color to go with Petra's (very very) fair skin tone. We left one place with a "favorite, but". We went to another place where Teh Dress was donned and three girls shrieked simultaneously "It's THE ONE!" Cecilia smiled and wrote the check.

* It was summer here for two weeks. Tonight it will snow. The line on OurTown is "If you don't like the weather, wait a minute."

* Petra and I just marveled at an enormous and venerable linden tree covered with Wisteria on our way home.

* I really must finish that sermon now.

Link to A Wonderful Book

2010-04-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

You can purchase "A Right to Be Merry" from Amazon here, or, of course, you could ask your locally owned bookstore to get it for you!

Reading "A Right to Be Merry"

2010-04-22T10:25:00.000-07:00

In 1948 (the same year my parents were first, refused, and subsequently, permitted to be married in the church) the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Santa Fe, New Mexico, sent out an urgent call to the Chicago monastery of Poor Clares. Clare of Assisi founded what were then called the Poor Ladies, with the help of her friend Francis, back in the 13th century, part of a great church renewal. They are an order of cloistered, contemplative nuns. That means that, once they take their vows, it is their firm intention never to leave their monastery again, but to live their whole lives there, lives of service to the world through their self-offering of prayer, work and contemplation. In 1948, apparently, the Archbishop felt that Roswell, New Mexico urgently needed the presence of such a group of women. And so nine Poor Clares, who had all thought they would live and die within the Chicago enclosure, boarded a train for Roswell, to meet their Mother Abbess and Novice Mistress (who had preceded them by several months) to found a new monastery there. This is the book I am reading, at thirteen.

I am absolutely gripped by this story. (And I didn’t even know the parts about the spaceship and the aliens, which only came together for me in the late nineties when I started catching up on “The X-Files.” Sister Mary Francis maintains a judicious silence about all that.) What was it that so enthralled me about this book? Was it the romance of the cloister—living as a bride of Christ? (Oh yes, at least partially.) Was it the promise of life close to the earth, reading about the nuns growing and canning all their own vegetables (no small feat in the desert climate of New Mexico)? Or was it this: The book is called “A Right to be Merry.” That title comes from a quote of someone referring to the anchoress Margery Kempe, who also lived a cloistered life: “These poor ladies have as great a right to be merry as any in the world!” [*Those of you who have read the sermon, here, know that I incorrectly attributed the quote, there, to Saint Francis. I had conflated the quotes and the fact that the Franciscan rule of silence permits laughter. In other words, I, evidently, made it up.]

Whatever it was, this book was so influential for me that I found myself, at a certain point, writing to the monastery in Roswell to ask whether I might have a pen pal from among its inhabitants. My letter was answered by Mother Mary Francis, herself the abbess. She said, yes. I could correspond for a time with a Postulant, Sister Mary Angela. Sister Mary Angela could write me exactly four letters per year. They also put me on the monastery newsletter mailing list. I was in heaven.

I remember the letters I wrote as being rather passionate and florid. I was on fire to be a Poor Clare. I could not wait. All this fervor had erotic overtones for me, I feel sure—as does religious fervor generally. Passion has a single source, and we experience every kind of passion in our bodies. I would probably cringe to read the letters now. Sister Mary Angela’s letters were, by contrast, kind, measured, chattily informative. Not passionate though.

Eventually the day came when Sister Mary Angela was to be invested as a novice and take her first vows. I wrote to Mother Mary Francis, inquiring what would be an appropriate gift. Poor Clares take a vow of poverty. According to the rule of Saint Clare, “The sisters shall not appropriate anything to themselves, neither a house nor a place nor anything, (but be) as strangers and pilgrims in this world.” So the question of an appropriate gift weighed on me: it wasn’t as if one could send a tchatchke or trinket or piece of jewelry. Mother Mary Francis wrote back: “Eighteen yards of unbleached muslin would be nice.” My long-suffering mother (no doubt reminding herself that she had promised to raise this girl Catholic) took me to an Atlantic City fabric store, where high on a shelf the clerk found a bolt of dusty but unbleached muslin. We bought it. I took it home and washed and dried and ironed it, then gift-wrapped and packaged it for the postal service to transport it from the East coast to Roswell.

On April 10 I was working on a sermon for “Holy Hilarity Sunday.” That phrase, “A right to be merry,” kept floating in and out of my mind. I thought, by now they surely have a website—and of course they do. They have a new abbess, too, Mother Mary Angela—unless I am mistaken, my old pen pal. As I scanned through the pages—detailing much of the monastery’s history—I found a page dedicated to Mother Mary Francis, whose book so affected me. It gave her dates—she was born in 1921 (my mother was born in 1920). She died on February 11, 2006, the day on which my mother died.

This odd little coincidence has been on my mind and heart ever since I learned of it. And I know why—I knew why a shiver went up my spine when I first saw that date. Mother Mary Francis was a spiritual mother to me, in ways my mother was unable to be. My mother did what a good parent should do. Teach your children all you can, and when you find there’s some area in which you are unable to teach, find someone else who is able. My mother struggled with her faith her whole life—she looked at me with a kind of awe, because she believed I had a “hotline” to God. This makes me so sad. I do not have a hotline. I am no mystic. My prayer discipline is spotty at best, though it fills me and nurtures me when I bother to take it seriously. I probably should have been clearer with my mother about how lacking my own spiritual disciplines were, about my own experiences of the deafening silence of God, and of my own very real doubts and questions. But I wasn’t. I let her think I was spiritually genius, partially, because it gave her such pleasure to think it. But also because I so very much wanted her to love and approve of me. (Which she did. She loved me.)

It is my intention to spend some time with my two mothers, with J., who loved and raised me, and found resources for me when she experienced herself as lacking them; and with Mother Mary Francis, as truly my spiritual mother as if I had entered the monastery for a time at age 13. I have purchased another copy of “A Right to Be Merry” (though I suspect there is one hanging around in my attic, I wanted to read the preface written when it was reprinted in 2000). I will be recording privately my thoughts and impressions and associations as I read, as I re-enter this sacred space of nearly forty years ago.

Mothers I Have Known: The Beginning of a Long and Meandering and Private Journey

2010-04-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

I was born and raised Roman Catholic. Let me be more precise: I was born to an unmarried Catholic college-girl, whose only wish for her daughter (whose face she never saw: the anxious nurses in the Philadelphia hospital had placed a washcloth over my face when she was “permitted” to hold me, just once) was that she go to a good Catholic family.

My mother and father but slenderly matched that profile. My dad was the son of Russian and Latvian immigrants, who had been Catholic until a priest refused to bury a stillborn child in consecrated ground; then they all went Pentecostal. Dad was the next baby born; to this day he has not been baptized. My mom was “lace curtain” Irish Catholic, raised in the church but somehow always existing in a vaguely alienated state with regard to its teachings. She attended Catholic school, grades one through twelve. Still, more than once a puzzled nun, on hearing my mom ask a question (usually the gist of which was, Why should we believe that?), queried, “Are you a convert, dear?” My parents were married by a Justice of the Peace because my mother was insulted that my dad would not be permitted to darken the door of the church because of his non-baptized status. An angry phone call from her mother, and the priest let my dad into the church. They always celebrated the first date as their anniversary.

But oh they wanted a baby. A second baby. They had adopted my brother two and a half years earlier, and their pediatrician, in observing the hyper-attentive anxiety with which they parented him had urged, “Why don’t you two adopt another baby?” And so my parents had their good friend, an Ob/Gyn, on the lookout for young unmarried girls who might want to surrender their babies for adoption (which, in 1961, they just about all did).

In late April 1961 I was born, and five days later my mother and my Aunt Natasha went to the hospital to collect me. Mom carried a bag of baby clothes they had bought (all white: my mother dressed me in white exclusively for about three years). My birth mother, Nell, held me in her arms, washcloth and all, and wept. At a certain point Aunt Natasha became fearful that this transaction was not going to happen. She grabbed me and made a run for it, leaving my mother patting Nell on the back. Mom said the sound of Nell’s wailing haunted her dreams for years.

About a month after my birth I was baptized, and my mother and father proceeded to hold up their end of the bargain. I was raised Roman Catholic. During my childhood my mother made various attempts to deepen her own faith, but my sense of her was always that it was a struggle. When I was very young—Kindergarten perhaps?—my mom presented me with three little books, “The Lives of the Saints,” which she had picked up in a retreat center gift shop. I sensed a sorrow in my mom—I think those little books were all she brought home with her. It is not an exaggeration to say that those little books sparked something, started something in me, that is still unfolding. They set me on my spiritual path.

Here’s what I remember of them (I could actually consult them: they are in a bookshelf in my dining room as I type this). Romantic, rather insipid watercolors of the various saints (two of the books were of women saints, the other of men), accompanied by a single page description of each life, complete with Feast Day. I remember reading about Saint Agatha, whose breasts were torn off, and Saint Cecilia, who was the patron saint of musicians. Refusing to marry was a common theme: many of the women had consecrated themselves to Christ, and were willing to endure torture (burning, cutting, ripping, beheading) rather than submit to marriage. I remember reading about Saint Clare, whose story was, somehow, different. There was no torture, but much joy. There was a life consecrated to Christ, to be sure. The thread that ran through all these mini-biographies caused me to wonder, Who is this Jesus, that these women want to be married to him? Who is he, that they are willing to be tortured and die for him?

Before long, as a friend in high school reminded me long after I’d forgotten, I was, annoyingly, wearing a rosary on my belt and dreaming of life as a nun. My first role models for this were the nuns in the parochial school I attended. The next was Maria von Trapp in The Sound of Music, which I saw no fewer than 13 times in the theater. The next was Audrey Hepburn in The Nun’s Story. (Fascinating that several of these role models eventually left the convent, either for love or out of alienation.)

Fast forward to 1973. I am a bored seventh grader who is roaming the house, in the days before computers and iPods and text-messaging and DVD’s. I have not yet heard the music from “Godspell” or “Jesus Christ Superstar,” both of which will be powerfully formational for me. I am disgruntled, and in need of something—anything!—to read. My mother picks up a book by one Sister Mary Francis, a cloistered Poor Clare Nun, and places it in my hand. And I can’t put it down.

Easter Plus One

2010-04-05T12:58:00.001-07:00

I'm going to add my voice to the chorus of blogging pastors saying "I'm so tiiiiiiiirrrrrrrred." 'Cause I am.

Easter was glorious. Our church was full, the choir sang lustily. A brass quintet augmented our usual forces, and gave the morning both festivity and the heft of the sublime. We "flowered the cross" again, it having been so wildly successful last year. That is to say, we have a kind of classic "old rugged cross" in the sanctuary throughout Lent. For Easter we "cage" it with chicken wire, and have buckets of cut flowers at its base. During the prelude all are encouraged to come forward to flower the cross, so that by the time worship begins it looks as if it has simply burst into bloom. It is simple, it is effective, it smells great, it looks lovely, and the congregation loves it!

Here is a great joy for me from this Lent just past. We tried tons of "new stuff" at church. And the congregation loved all of it, and threw themselves into each first-time activity with openness and gusto. How cool is that?

Still. It's the day after Easter. I have to do some scrambling to be ready for Holy Hilarity Sunday this week, and also to take off the two days I've promised myself. But I need some Sabbath, and I need it badly. All work and no play makes Cecilia a cranky girl with back troubles.

That's all for now.

Risen

2010-04-04T05:01:00.000-07:00

Dear friends, I am still here. As one of you suggested, Lent simply swallowed me whole.

I overbooked myself. (That is the kindest characterization of the outcome of a rather serious character flaw, vanity. More on that another day. Today is the day on which I am forgiven that, and all the others.)

It was Lent, see, and so we had a Lenten Series (a rather awesome one involving depictions of Jesus in film including "Life of Brian" and "Jesus of Montreal).

And the local university extension program asked whether I might teach a class on Women of the Hebrew Scriptures-- which, since I did it just two years ago, was part 2, and so-- no repeats. All new women! And it was wonderful and so very time consuming-- I found myself delving into the Hebrew and loving, loving, loving it. And being stressed out of my mind over it.

And the local Christian counseling center (which is affiliated with my church) offered me an opportunity to create a grief group with one of their MSW interns. So, we did that. Tomorrow is the 6th of seven sessions. Verdict: intense, wonderful, something I'd love to do again.

But perhaps not in Lent!

And then, there was the Confirmation Class, which owing to everyone's scheduling nightmares, is just getting off the ground next weekend. So yay for that, it will be wonderful.

And then, there were the regular responsibilities of Sunday mornings. Preaching. Presiding. And the regular responsibilities of every day-- administration. Newsletter articles. Home communions. Pastoral visits, emergency and otherwise.

Yesterday there were two funerals.

I ended up re-hashing or simply re-purposing sermons for three of the Sundays in Lent, as well as for today. Sermons preached at other churches, mind you, no repeats for my people. And all good sermons, sermons of which I am proud. But... it feels a little like cheating.

Still, it is my understanding that John Wesley considered a sermon legitimate only after it had been preached about 20 times. And he considered it exceedingly poor stewardship to preach a sermon only once. (No doubt John Calvin considered reusing sermons the final nail in the coffin proving total depravity.) She tells herself.

I walked out my door on Friday morning and breathed in that God's Friday air, and you know what? That day really is different than all other days. This morning I awakened before the alarm went off, and was able to listen to the different voices of the bird chorus as they joined in. Beautiful, holy.

A blessed Easter to you, friends. I have risen from the tomb of my own foolish belief that I can do it all two times over. And it is not of my doing; it is the Lord's work. It is marvelous in my eyes.

Seeing It, Naming It

2010-02-24T13:46:00.000-08:00

I grew up on "Godspell." I was introduced to the play in 1973 by my "cousin", who took me to see it at Ford's Theater in Washington, DC. This was the first and only time I ever attended a play in which people were invited to the stage to receive bread and wine at intermission. That alone sealed the play in my heart.

As a young adolescent I listened to the soundtrack over and over, and the songs became the language of my faith.

I actually went around, briefly, with a pebble in my shoe.

Briefly.

Now, "Godspell" has reappeared in my life in two ways.

First, Petra is in a production at her high school. Yay! Petra! And also, I am jealous. I never got to be in a production of "Godspell," and now I am officially too old. It is a play of youth and vitality and childlike wonder. The wonder I got; the vitality, not as much as I'd like.

Second, we are having a Lenten series at my church, beginning tonight. "Jesus Christ, Movie Star!" No copyright infringement intended . Tonight we begin the series with, you guessed it, "Godspell." I'll be using the call of the disciples to talk about how Jesus calls us.

So, in preparation, yesterday Petra and I watched the whole film. And I was overwhelmed, for the first time, with a conviction about something.

The gayness of Jesus in this film.

Now, I don't know if it's something Victor Garber intended to bring to the role or not. I have only just learned (last evening, after our screening) that Victor Garber is, in fact gay. Who'd a thunk? But I just felt my gaydar activated, and every scene confirmed it.

Now, do I mean by that, that Jesus sashayed around in some absurd, stereotypically "gay" fashion? I do not.

It was, instead, a vulnerability I saw in his portrayal of Jesus. A willingness to be who he was despite the fact that not everyone would be ok with it. And, yes, it was the tenderness in the moments between him and Judas/John.

I know there have been various works of art and theater that have depicted Jesus as gay. I studied queer theology as part of my seminary education. (I understand Sir Elton also has some thoughts on the idea.) But I have never needed Jesus to be gay in order to be absolutely confident that he embraces me (any more than I needed him to be a woman). But... I am just so struck by what I saw in that film, and how deeply it moved me.

I just wanted to share with the class.

Lent Day 3: Rejoice! Gently

2010-02-19T04:00:00.000-08:00

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

~ Philippians 4:4-8

As I have mentioned (repeatedly, now-- see the last two posts), it is a very different Lent for me this year. A year after a Lent that was about the wilderness and discernment and walking a challenging path (for me; others have far greater challenges, to be sure), I find myself this year wanting to enter into Lent differently. I want to do it with joy.

Imagine my pleasure that the lectionary cooperates. Today, at any rate. "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice." Perhaps the most famous lines from this epistle, which itself is know by its joyous tone. But the lines I love follow here: "Let your gentleness be known to everyone; the Lord is near."

There is a huge assumption here: the reader is gentle. The reader is capable of gentleness. I wonder if that was as counter-cultural in Paul's day as it is in ours. I know that I entered this new year with all sorts of resolutions about my work at St. Sociable. Not a single one had to do with gentleness, and one or two had to do with its direct opposite, getting "tougher" in a few areas, working harder to claim my pastoral authority. (Beloved thinks I'm a pushover. Which is funny, because you should listen to Beloved-the-Marshmallow with her staff.)

No one will give Barack Obama points for being gentle, no gentle TV news anchor will last long, no leading man is looking to cultivate a gentle persona. Lady Gaga Gentle? Mmmm, I don't think so. I'm not sure I'd even say Jesus was gentle, certain syrupy hymns notwithstanding. (Meek and mild? Not hardly.)

Gentleness connotes a kind of care one would take with others. A way of speaking, listening, being with people that takes into account their needs, their feelings. A way of being that seeks to avoid doing harm. Gentleness.

Now, it does occur to me that cultivating gentleness in the early Christian community might have been a kind of adaptive response to threats from without. If the Christians are thought of as gentle, the emperor might decide not to crucify them or set them on fire or throw them to the lions. Let's not have any heroes here, people. That sort of thing.

But I choose to believe Paul's admonition in favor of gentleness is not cynical or tactical. (Oh help, is anyone else out there stressed that they still don't know the difference between tactical and strategic??) I choose to believe that gentleness is being recognized here as a gospel value, a sign of the kindom breaking loose and wreaking a kind of whimsical havoc. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.

Un-Lenty

2010-02-18T19:59:00.000-08:00

So, here's the "Invitation to Lenten Disciplines" I wrote last evening, at about 13 minutes before our Ash Wednesday service was to begin:

Each year at the time of the Christian Passover we celebrate our redemption through the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Lent is a time to prepare for this celebration and to renew our life in the paschal mystery.

We begin this holy season by acknowledging our need for God, and for the communion with him demonstrated by the life of Jesus.

We begin our journey to Easter with the sign of ashes. This ancient sign speaks to us of the frailty and uncertainty of human life, and marks the willingness of this community to walk with Christ into the wilderness.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of Christ, to observe a holy Lent,

by self-examination and acts of forgiveness,

by prayer and fasting,

by works of love,

and by reading and meditating on the Word of God and the beauty of God's world.

Anything strike you as a little... odd about it?

As in, not a word about penance? Or even the S-word (shhh: sin).

Well, that stuff is in the sermon... sort of. Repenting of our self-hatred, don't ya know.

It's his fault.

I've been reading his book.

It's having an effect on me. Like, this sermon.

That effect is, I want to tell people how much God loves them.

This is a very different Lent for me than last year's.

What God the Ball Rolling

2010-02-16T19:46:00.000-08:00

So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

6As 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! ³We are putting no obstacle in anyone’s way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, ⁴but as servants of God we have commended ourselves in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, ⁵beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; ⁶by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, ⁷truthful speech, and the power of God; with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left; ⁸in honor and dishonor, in ill repute and good repute. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; ⁹as unknown, and yet are well known; as dying, and see—we are alive; as punished, and yet not killed; ¹⁰as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing everything.

~ 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:10

We read this as a part of our leadership development time tonight at the church council meeting. Of course, because of my experience last Ash Wednesday, my reading of this passage is forever altered/ altared. This has become a sacred text that is written on my heart as deeply as if you could actually see the alphas and the omegas there, etched in the muscle. It has become the story of my life, 2009.

Not long ago I had to write my annual report to the congregation. As I sat staring at the blinking cursor, I thought, OK, as far as I'm concerned, one thing happened last year. One thing that eclipses all the other things, that is. I had to talk about coming out in my annual report. And I had to do so in a way that wouldn't open wounds that are beginning to heal in those few folks who were troubled and yet have stayed, and have welcomed my continuing care as their pastor. I think I pulled it off. My experience of last year was saturated with a profound gratitude, so that's the form my annual report took: a gratitude list.

Beginning tomorrow I am going to try to read and blog the daily lectionary as a part of my Lenten discipline. But the big thing for me this Lent is really the search for the center: that place of balance from which I can act without reacting, love without feeling needy about love, fail without wanting to die, succeed without thinking that is what makes me a valid person.

A blessed Lent to you, my friends.

Oh, and, by the way....

2010-02-14T06:47:00.000-08:00

Sermon's up. Happy T-Fig!

A Real Cecilia Moment

2010-02-14T05:31:00.000-08:00

So, I was on the phone with a parent of a friend of my daughter's, trying to organize a ride for her (a 180 mile ride.... from a distant city, where she was, home, where she is now). And I was explaining to this other mom how my back is out. Again. And my ankle is still bothering me (despite the doctor relenting and injecting it as I begged him to do last Wednesday). And I was saying, man, this middle age stuff- it's like my body parts are all hitting their expiration date!

Said I. To a woman who's been on our prayer list. For something much, much worse.

God, give me perspective. And a nice big mouth to fit my size 10's into.

Finding the Center

2010-02-12T04:34:00.000-08:00

I don't know about any of you, but I am such a book fiend I can see a box from Amazon and think, Oh! What did I order? And have no idea whatsoever.

Yesterday afternoon I found myself at home, for an extended stretch during which I was to do some work, and I opened such a box. Turned out, it was not something I ordered at all. It was a gift, from a colleague in my local judicatory. The woman in whose office I cried after a meeting last week. The box contained a book and a set of CD's by Byron Katie:

I Need Your Love-- Is That True? How to Stop Seeking Love, Approval and Appreciation, and Start Finding Them Instead

Your Inner Awakening: Four Questions That Will Transform Your Life

So, there's that.

Last week continued on with more work for the judicatory, including a Saturday training event for church members that was attended by 19 churches (including my own-- we had 16 folks there). It was the annual event that Lovely Conservative Colleague and her husband were anxious about having me participate in. I have to confess this: from the time she and I had that conversation in November, I had not attended one planning meeting. Not a single one. I simply backed off, went away. They knew I was prepared to lead my session (Faithful and Vital Worship-- a presentation totally cribbed from this wonderful Tom Long book) and they knew I was prepared to co-lead worship.

I'd finally had one planning meeting, Thursday, I think, with my co-leader for worship. He is another very conservative guy-- a sweet man, very prayerful, the kind of guy who can break into one of those "Father, we just..." prayers. Frankly, I envy the ease of his prayer. But I digress. We'd had a meeting to plan worship, and I had one objective going in. I wanted us to use hymns the congregation would know. I wanted us to do them in a more contemporary way-- we'd be playing guitars and keyboard, jazzing up rhythms, maybe. But that was the one thing I heard last year as a critique of our worship-- we'd sung praise songs, which only about 5 % of the group had known, and it was not a helpful worship strategy. (And, by the way, it violates one of the core principles from the Long book: participatory congregational singing is vital.)

So I went into the planning meeting with one objective: songs everyone could sing. And at the end of the meeting I had exactly one well-known hymn (which could be found in the hymnal) and four praise songs. Which about 5 % of the congregation would know.

Why couldn't I stand my ground with this nice guy? Why did I let him suck up all the decision-making power in the room? Calling Byron Katie. Calling Byron Katie.

Fast-forward to Saturday. Worship is, actually, lovely-- though much of it feels more like performance to me. (The same person who complained about not having the music in front of them last year complained again this year.)

And my workshop-- 60 attendees. All, incredibly enthusiastic about it. People saying things to me such as, What church do you serve? They are so lucky! OK, I made that last one up.... but you could feel the love. Seriously! By the end of the day I was flying.

I went home and waited for Beloved. We were going out to dinner with two of our very, very favorite people in the world, a fabulous couple who are half-relocated 4 hours from here already. (C. is a brilliant professor, who has found a great match for her gifts at a college in another state. J. is a brilliant pastor in the Majorly Correct Church, who will be following her love in a couple of months.) When Beloved arrived I was slouched, half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, sort of spent.

I have to find some middle ground, I said. I have to find the center. I have to find someplace between dying a thousand deaths over the meeting I have to moderate wherein I am sure everyone will be furious with me, and the workshop I lead wherein I am the rock star whom everyone loves. I have to find a way to be ok with myself, peaceful and centered within myself, in the midst of both kinds of occasions.

Beloved nodded soberly.

The roller coaster of this week... I just can't keep doing this to myself, I said. I have to find the thread that runs through the peaks and valleys.

Maybe that's my Lent: finding the center.

Saying No

2010-02-04T19:52:00.000-08:00

I have a job in my local judicatory. I'm not talking about my call, my pastorate. I'm talking about service to the larger body. I'm in the last year of a three-year term of service, and now I think I get it.

I get why people sometimes resign this job even before they get to the last year.

I get why people get grim-faced and tight-lipped at some point during this last year.

I get why people take a year (or two) off after they've finished their term of service.

I had a meeting this week, a meeting that had a bunch of people mad at me even before we were called to order. They were mad because I'm the one who gets to say "No." I don't decide "No," mind you. But I get to say it and explain it. And, boy do people get mad at me sometimes.

I cried after my meeting, in an office with two sympathetic and supportive colleagues. "I hate this job," I said.

"Why do you think God might have put you in this job right now?" one asked.

"Because I need to learn how to live with people being mad at me all the time," I blurted.

She smiled.

There's more to it than that. But this week, that's the part that's bugging me. I, who love to be loved (I know... that makes me human. OK.), am in a position that makes me the face of "No" for a year.

I know there's something valuable for me to learn here.

So far I hate it.

Sea Legs

2010-02-01T05:54:00.000-08:00

Growing up at the shore, and spending a lot of time, therefore, in boats, we talked a bit now and then about people who had a tough time getting their "sea legs"... the ability to walk on deck given the pitching and rolling of a boat or a ship. I seem to be having trouble getting my blogging sea legs these last months. Given the pitch and roll of day to day life as an uncloseted pastor, I haven't yet figured out how to walk these planks.

If I analyze the frequency of posting, I see that I am pretty prolific in the following kinds of situations:

I am about to make an enormous and terrifying life change. (See February-May 2009).

The church is in the midst of one of its particular seasons. (Advent, Lent--- see most Decembers, February-April 2009).

I am in pain. (See last week).

Ordinary time, especially in these days when this blog is no longer titled "Closeted Pastor", is, well, ordinary. And I don't seem to have the brain space to think of anything particularly worth recording here.

But I would seem to be addicted to blogging. It might be the comments-- it truly excites me and comforts me and encourages me and challenges me to read what this cyber-community has to say. I get something here I don't get anywhere else.

Beloved suspects it's all about narcissism.

Now, you have to understand about Beloved. She is late to the whole blogging enterprise as a viable time expenditure. In fact, she's still on the fence, despite having sent me this, with some amount of glee, last week. So I have my closest adult relationship, my one-and-only love, somewhat skeptical (to say the least) that blogging is worthwhile, period.

She wonders why people blog, why we assume anyone else in the world could possibly be as interested in the mechanations of our own little mental hamster wheels as, well, as we ourselves. It must be narcissism. Says the one who loves me best.

But I don't see that out here in the blogosphere. I read blogs by intelligent, engaged women and men (admittedly, mostly of my own liberal persuasion), and I don't see narcissism there. I see people struggling to make sense of a world, a faith, a family, a loneliness, a wound, a situation... whatever it is... with honesty and courage.

In my own case, however. I gotta wonder if the n-word applies. (Narcissism. In case that wasn't clear.)

I do much of my blogging for the feedback. I admit it. I love having an audience. Hell, that's why, when I'm not in the pulpit, you might find me on a stage pretending to be a Japanese fury or a bumboat woman or a medieval chorister. I do love an audience. But I try to make that work for me, rather than against me, if you know what I mean. I know full well that I love an audience, so I engage in all sorts of discernment about how that plays out in the pulpit or at coffee hour, and I try to keep myself honest in all this.

I would like to be a more faithful correspondent in this space. I would like to feel as easy about it as I used to, like sitting down for coffee and a dish with my favorite pal. I would like these things. I will work on it.

Overconfidence

2010-01-26T09:14:00.000-08:00

I had a medical procedure yesterday. Just to cut to the chase, all is well. I have no new problems, and some of the old have even cleared up. Rejoicing ensue! The procedure involved anesthesia, what they refer to as "twilight sedation," which has nothing to do with vampires, but instead causes drowsiness and amnesia.

It also causes impaired judgment. I was given instructions not to drive for at least 24 hours following the procedure. One nurse commented that one of the problems manifested by people who have been sedated this way is that they exhibit "overconfidence."

I need no overconfidence behind the wheel, that is for sure. I think of myself as a pretty damned good driver. I imagine with this stuff flowing through my veins I might feature my little hybrid leaping tall buildings with a single bound, or perhaps going into FTL mode. So I obediently abstained from driving for the required time.

I am late (very!) submitting my article for our next newsletter. I hesitated to write it under influence of the "overconfidence" drug. Can you imagine? Pastor Cecilia invites congregation to a drag show! Or some such thing. They should warn people not to write newsletter articles for at least 24 hours.

Other things they might mention:

No entering dance or karaoke contests.

No trying on clothes in department stores.

No applying for mortgages or credit cards.

But here's the one I really, really wish they'd mentioned:

No heart-to-heart conversations with your children. Or "candid" emails.

That would have been helpful.

Ow: Shameless Bid for Sympathy Alert

2010-01-21T05:16:00.000-08:00

Warning: boring post filled with too much information.

My back is out.

Here's how it happened.

I have these really awesome clogs, sort of "prescribed" for me as a result of some issues I've had with my feet.

I under pronate. Do you know what that means? It means, the way my foot hits the ground, my shoes tend to wear on the outside.

So, my awesome clogs wear on the outside. For about a month, I've been thinking, Hmmmm, better get some new clogs. These are worn on the outside!

Fast forward to last Saturday. I am wearing my clogs, carrying a big pot of chili to a church supper. (We watched "Up!" "I've been hiding under your porch because I love you!") It's a little slippery out. I under pronate, and I twist my ankle.

By Sunday morning my ankle really hurts, but I know nothing's torn or anything-- it's not swelling, I can put weight on it. So I take some (ineffectual) meds, the kind you can take when you have colitis and an ulcer, and plan to ride it out.

Tuesday. My back starts to feel funny. I've been favoring my right ankle, so my back ends up going badly out of alignment.

I'm toughing it out. Yesterday I tried to lie down on the couch in my office, but I realized I needed a different book (I'm trying to prepare for my sermon). I tried to get up, and then I went into such a spasm I thought, Oh my Baby Jesus, lying in his Graco playpen and chewing his little divine/human toes, do I need to call an ambulance???

I managed to get up. And home. Where I lay on the couch until Beloved brought me dinner. I groused and complained and generally made a nuisance of myself until she said, GO TO THE DOCTOR.

So. Today I will do that. And, hopefully, write a sermon. And, hopefully, get ready for a retreat I'm helping to lead tomorrow into Saturday.

::Sigh:: I mean, Ow.

Shut Up, Pat

2010-01-14T04:26:00.000-08:00

I wanted to start this off by saying, as a kind of professional courtesy, I generally don't want or like to publicly criticize other ministers or clergy.

Ah, who am I trying to kid? Only myself.

Many wiser heads than mine have commented on Pat Robertson's outrageous statements regarding the cause and effect of the devastating earthquake in Haiti. But that's not going to stop me from adding my two cents. Of course, it reminds me of when Jerry Falwell, may he rest in wisdom and peace, blamed 9-11 on God smiting Teh Gays (to which a dear friend of mine replied, then his aim wasn't very good, because he missed the West Village entirely).

I wonder at the hate behind such comments. I wonder at the ignorance. I wonder why this guy continues to get viewers and money-- oh, wait I just figured it out: because he is a wonderful spokesperson for those who share those prejudices. I wonder how he reads the New Testament and finds THAT Jesus, that fictional hater he thinks agrees with him on all the pure crap that emanates from his mouth.

So here's what I believe. The devastation in Haiti can be traced back to:

~ corrupt rulers who stole the people's money and did not insist on building codes being created or enforced...

~ the shifting of techtonic plates which may or may not be related to ongoing global weather patterns related to climate change...

God smiting Haiti? Hitting the already impoverished country over the head with a cosmic 2" X 4" so that they would "turn to Jesus"? Not a chance. Not the God of Jesus. Not a chance.

A Hard Time Letting Go

2010-01-12T03:35:00.000-08:00

I had a conversation with a member of my congregation yesterday in which she described an older gentleman, a Depression baby like my parents, who just couldn't let go control of all sorts of things-- being in charge of his food, being in charge of his medicine. Now, let me say, first off, hat's off to him. Do not go gentle into that good night, and all the rest. Just a few hours earlier than that, I read the text of a sermon that was delivered to my congregation on the Sunday of my vacation (January 3). (No, I don't read all the sermons that guest preachers deliver to my church. This one was written by a good friend.) A line of the sermon brought tears to my eyes: "It's hard to pull away from this scene." A couple was standing in a windy, barren downtown on Christmas eve, on their way to volunteer at a shelter, gazing into a store display window in which there was a manger, with a doll for the baby and mannequins for the mother and father.

I too am having a hard time letting go right now, of all sorts of things.

I sit writing this in my darkened living room, by the light of my Christmas tree. I suppose you could pretend with me that I've re-framed "Twelfth Night" as the 12th night of January, but that would be disingenuous. I don't want to let go of Christmas this year, in the worst way I can remember.

I don't remember whether I've written of this here (I don't use those handy labels... my bad), but I grew up feeling fairly Christmas-deprived. My mother, especially, hated Christmas. To my parents it was a crazy-busy season that meant they and we had to work all-out. They owned two liquor stores, and the push was not just through December 24, but through December 31. They made enough money during the Christmas season to get to the Fourth of July, and enough money on the Fourth of July to get to the Christmas season-- that's how they described it.

I should note here that my mother, particularly, hated Christmas. She hated Christmas carols. She hated the obligations of the season. Before my brother and I were even born she stopped sending out cards, she felt they were such a burden. And the whole thing reminded her of a childhood in which there was no money for presents, and there was barely enough money for food and clothing.

So December would find my brother and me in the back room of the store (over which we lived in a big apartment) gift-wrapping boxes and bottles for my parents-- they had lots of items that were popular enough that we pre-wrapped cases of them, as they could depend on selling them as gifts. The last year we had a tree I was seven years old, in 3rd grade. After that we never had a tree because my mother took my brother and me to Florida as soon as school was out, and my dad joined us, either right after Christmas or right after New Year's.

I must have whined and complained about my tree-less existence, because I remember a couple of attempts that were made to satisfy my itch by sending me to the homes of relatives who did have trees and decorations and traditions that looked like the one's in the Ladies' Home Journal. Thinking back on it now, it was a pretty bad strategy. It just made me feel more deprived.

As I write this I am fully aware that not having a Christmas tree (*pout*) but having to go to Florida on vacation instead (*sigh, stamping my foot*) is hardly anyone's definition of "deprivation." It's pretty embarrassing, in fact, to confess all this. I am very aware that my definition of "deprived" sounds pretty much like that of a spoiled brat who doesn't know the first thing about it. My mother did. (Read a bit about it here.)

What I'm really trying to set up for you is this: I now find myself professionally obliged to observe, at least, the religious significance of Christmas, beginning the first Sunday in Advent and going right on through the second Sunday after Christmas. Cool! None of this is to say my house resembles anything I ever saw in the LHJ (though I may be a good candidate for a photo in one of those "Declutter Your Home!" articles). But I do have a tree. Always. And we do have our Christmas traditions, such as they are. And this year, I fervently, almost petulantly, don't want any of it to end.

This is not all I don't want to "walk away from." As I write this I am nearing the 90 day mark in my abstinence (from flour and sugar), again. It's a big milestone. But I approach it with an inner unwillingness to commit myself to this program for life, which all the "successful" people in my 12-step program have done. I know, I know. It's supposed to be "one day at a time." And that is how I'm doing it. But not exactly. I'm committed to this program while it helps me lose weight. That is a big secret at this point-- something I haven't admitted to just about anyone. I don't want to give up a glass of wine (whine!) or a cookie for the rest of my life. I just don't. For today, I will do this, and probably for tomorrow, too. I make no promises about a year from now.

Last night I dreamed of cookies. In my program we call that a "freebie." In the dream I was unable to stop eating, and I was filled with regret. I was also filled with anger towards my mother, who was feeding me the cookies, and I was making plans to run away from home, a replay/ reinterpretation of a terrible argument from my college years. But as the dream progressed, I thought, I'm not a college kid. I'm an adult, with a job and responsibilities. What am I doing?

And then there was the dream from the night before, in which my ex figured, a recurring dream in which I believe we are getting back together (and I am hoping for it).

I am someone who has a hard time letting go:

Christmas, and all it represents: the fantasy of some kind of childhood dream.

My addictive substances: the fantasy persists that I will manage them well, or at least better.

Hurt and anger, whether at my mother or at my ex.

As I write this I can hear Beloved moving around upstairs, getting in the shower. She has been living with us for nigh on a month now, I think, as the work continues on her building and apartment. And I love it, I love it even as it disrupts everyone's lives and schedules and routines. I love curling up next to her at night, every night, like an old married couple spooning. And... at some point her building will be finished, and she will return to her home (which she so dearly loves) and most nights, again, I will sleep alone.

And I will have a hard time letting go of this too.

Thanks for Jumping With Me

2009-12-31T14:09:00.000-08:00

I am closing the book on what was close to the most important year of my life.

Others have been important, of course. The year I was born. The year I married my husband. The years in which my children were born. The year I was ordained, which was also the year my husband fell in love with the woman he will marry next year.

The year I began my relationship with Beloved.

But the year of coming out has been an extraordinary one. Glancing back through this blog, it is clear that an enormous amount of emotional and physical and spiritual energy was invested in the entire process, from the first inkling, to the decision (a very short time... days, really) to the act itself.

I am still coming out. I am coming out, most of all, to myself.

What does it mean to be open and transparent about my sexual identity as a lesbian in ministry? Hell, what would it mean to do the same as a straight woman? One thing it means is that there is no longer any space for any kind of pretense that I am a completely asexual being, like an angel, or an amoeba. It takes me out of the safe "don't ask, don't tell" zone, and places me, instead, in a place where:

~ I can learn about the truth of the lives of my parishioners and their families.

~ I can mention my Beloved without having to make up some story or scenario to account for the time I spend with her or commit to her.

~ I can preach without fear that my words will rebound upon me (when speaking of matters such as honesty or forgiveness). Well, that's not true. Every word I preaches rebounds on me, if I am honest. I preach no sermon that I personally don't need to hear. In fact, if I am thinking of a certain person when I write (as in, "Oh, I hope so-and-so takes this one to heart!") I can be sure, sure, sure, it's more pertinent to me than to him or her. I guess what I mean is that I don't have to fear "discovery" followed by accusation. I guess I just don't have to fear, period.

It's a strangely elated feeling. I am so, so grateful for the path God put me on this past year. I am so, so thrilled to not be hiding my life from my congregation any longer, and for the love and support of every single person who said "You can do this! We'll be right here beside you." Or, in the words of one colleague, "You jumped off a cliff. I'd like to jump with you."

Thank you for jumping with me. Wishing each of you a blessed and peaceful New Year, and the kind of good company I've enjoyed on the long fall back to earth.

2009 in the First Words of Each Month

2009-12-31T13:57:00.000-08:00

Time, dating, calendars... they are all arbitrary.

I have been gently nudged lately by a friend to consider, again, why I am closeted.

Consider your own call, brothers and sisters: not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. (1 Corinthians 1)

But you do see! Indeed you note trouble and grief, that you may take it into your hands; the helpless commit themselves to you; you have been the helper of the orphan. (Psalm 10)

Here are the opening lines of this morning's psalm (69): Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.

Just a few days now. I veer between serenity, even transcendence, and flipping-out-of-my-mind scared.

I'm not sure quite what to do with two blogs.

I'm home from a couple of days at my dad's house.

It took me a while, but I've finally realized a problem I have with my blogging. I want to be perfect.

I haven't had a lot to say lately.

... has blogging died?

Yesterday morning I received a phone call from Lovely Conservative Colleague.

Surely his salvation is at hand for those who fear him, that his glory may dwell in our land. (Psalm 85)

Backwards Stars of Christmas Eve

2009-12-24T13:07:00.000-08:00

Working backwards from the present....

* Sitting in my living room with Petra and Larry as they share music... Larry's home!

* The tree is modest (read: not tall) and lovely. Only our favorite ornaments.

* A pot of Grandmom's (i.e., my mom's) spaghetti sauce with meatballs is simmering merrily on the stove. I will spare you Larry's expressions of ecstasy when he walked in the house from late Christmas shopping.

* Four dense, lovely dark-batter fruitcakes sit "aging" on the table, each of them filled with dried apricots, pineapple, cranberries, raisins and dates and soaked with Hennessy cognac. These are for Grandpop (and Beloved, and a colleague at church).

* Speaking of church, my meditation/ sermon's done, printed, waiting for me in my office. The deacons called with a question about Communion set-up, so that's done. Christmas presents for staff have been dispersed.

* My staff gave me a beautiful stole for Christmas!

* All the presents for Beloved, Larry and Petra are wrapped. A significant item for Larry arrived today (after the people at the Brown place told me it was lost, so. Yay!).

* I listened to the Ceremony of Lessons and Carols this morning as I drove to church. "Once in Royal David's City" never fails to bring tears to my eyes, especially at the lyrics, "And our eyes at last shall see him...." Larry sang the soprano solo for that about 15 years ago.

* Beloved is still staying with us (it's been over a week now) while her home is disrupted by structural repairs. It's lovely to have her.

And tonight.... we celebrate the birth of God's love among us.

A blessed Christmas to you my friends!

Longest Night

2009-12-21T09:30:00.000-08:00

The Advent season has carried me away into the land of too much to do, too little time to do it. Blah Blah Blah.

I have posted both the service for the Longest Night and the Meditation from it here, at the other blog. Just, you know, to show you I'm doing something.

Advent 3 Sunday II: Rejoice?

2009-12-13T06:23:00.000-08:00

~ Philippians 4:4-7

This was the epistle provided by the Revised Common Lectionary for today, the third Sunday in Advent. It is a gorgeous word for this Sunday, whose watchword is supposed to be Joy. But I find I am more in tune with this passage, from a book by Gertrud Mueller Nelson:

It is Advent and, along with nature, we are a people waiting. Far out of the south, the winter light comes thin and milky. The days grow shorter and colder and the nights long. Try as we may, we cannot fully dismiss the fundamental feelings that lie deep at our roots, a mixture of feelings dark and sweet. Will the sun, the source of our life, ever return? Has the great light abandoned us? We are anxious from the separation and feel an obscure guilt. We know there are vague disharmonies that keep us at odds. But our longing for union is passionate. This year we want our Christmas to be different.

"A mixture of feelings dark and sweet" is a more accurate assessment of my disposition these days. "An obscure guilt." A sense of unease.

This is ironic, because on December 1 I passed a significant marker: that day marked 90 days since my regional denominational body had given the OK to my continuing as pastor of my church. My denomination has a 90 day statute of limitations on certain kinds of judicial actions. Essentially, if someone in my denomination wanted to prevent me from remaining in this position, they had to file a case within those 90 days. No one did.

So this is a kind of victory. I expected to breathe a big sigh of relief after that date had passed. I did, sort of. But not really. Unease.

I have been listening to this fantastic new disc of Christmas music... that's not accurate, actually. Some of the music is themed to the religious observance attached to the birth of Christ. But much of it is about winter, and the cold, and estrangement, loneliness.

I awakened the other night at about 4 am, with this music running through my mind. Dark and sweet.

O my deir hert, young Jesus sweit, Prepare thy creddil in my spreit, And I sall rock thee in my hert And never mair from thee depart.

But I sall praise thee evermore With sangis sweit unto thy gloir; The knees of my heart sall I bow, And sing that richt Balulalow!

The knees of my heart sall I bow, And sing that richt Balulalow........

Advent 3 Sunday: Joy!

2009-12-13T04:58:00.000-08:00

Advent 2 Wednesday: Nova

2009-12-09T19:51:00.000-08:00

Good news: "Hail" is made from "Eve"...

Nova, nova, Ave fit ex Eva.
Gabriel of high degree,
He came down from Trinity,
From Nazareth to Galilee.
Nova, nova.

Nova, nova, Ave fit ex Eva.
I met a maiden in a place,
I kneeled down afore her face
And said, "Hail Mary, full of grace!"
Nova, nova.

Nova, nova, Ave fit ex Eva.
When the maiden heard tell of this
She was full sore abashed y-wis
And weened that she had done amiss.
Nova, nova.

Nova, nova, Ave fit ex Eva.
Then said the Angel, "Dread not thou,
For ye be conceived with great virtue,
Whose name shall be called Jesu".
Nova, nova.

Nova, nova, Ave fit ex Eva.
"It is not yet six weeks agone
Sin Elizabeth conceived John
As it was prophesied beforn."
Nova, nova.

Nova, nova, Ave fit ex Eva.
Then said the maiden, "Verily,
I am your servant right truly,
Ecce, ancilla Domini!"
Nova, nova.

Advent 2 Tuesday: Scenes from an Advent * edited

2009-12-08T04:29:00.000-08:00

Beloved's home is torn apart.

There is a structural issue with her building, about a hundred year old structure, an apartment building, which houses her business on the ground level and has 6 beautiful apartments above. Beloved lives in an apartment directly over the business.

The structural issue was discovered early in the summer/ late spring. It has taken all this time (more than six months) to go from discovery to plans being drawn up by a contractor in conjunction with an engineer, to getting the city on board with a grant to assist with the cost. They have recently taken the front off the building, directly affecting Beloved's living space. What was an airy, spacious loft-style apartment is now closed in with a temporary wall, insulated but allowing no light in.

That's the first thing.

We are still struggling to get out of the economic downturn. Beloved's business is feeling it.

That's the second thing.

Beloved recently got a hateful, anonymous phone message, targeting her for her sexuality. The person who left it had clearly been in her place of business, as he described in detail items that can be seen there. It used language I cannot repeat, it was so vile and frightening. The moron who left it, however, did not block his phone number, so Beloved was able to give it to the police-- who proceeded to tell her how hard these things are to prove, and that she essentially shouldn't expect them to be able to charge anyone.

The day after she reported it to the police, her car was covered in nasty graffiti-- written in the snow, mercifully.

That's the third thing.

My Beloved, little darling atheist she is, would cringe at this request. So I make it on my behalf, not hers. Would you pray for her, friends? Just that she would feel some comfort and assurance in the midst of what is, at the moment, a dark and stressful season? We don't have to tell her about it. Thanks a bunch.

Not One, but Two!

2009-12-07T07:06:00.000-08:00

Sermons, that is. Here, and here.

Peace to you.

Advent 2 Sunday

2009-12-06T19:03:00.001-08:00

Advent 1 Thursday: Scenes from an Advent

2009-12-03T15:06:00.001-08:00

It is dark outside, in the cozy way it is dark early these days. I am standing at the stove, stirring three pounds of ground turkey in a sizzling pot for chili. Petra is sitting on the living room couch, earbuds engaged, watching/ reading/ surfing something or other on her laptop.

As I stir the turkey, mixing in the chopped onions and peppers, I am crying. Quietly. If Petra were to catch me crying I would be mortified.

I am crying because Petra has told me, in no uncertain terms, that she will not do something with me. What it is, is not important. It was a mother-daughter bonding thing, in days of yore. It is something we enjoyed together quite a lot, once upon a time. I have just spent about 10 minutes cajoling, mock-threatening, whining to get her to agree to do it with me. But she is resolved. Petra the 17 year old will not do what Petra the 16 year old would, or the 15 year old. She is done, with that particular mother-daughter bonding activity. She is not interested.

I am crushed. Crushed beyond all reason, quite frankly. As I stir and cry I frantically ask myself what on earth it is that is so devastating to me about this. And the answer is so simple. She is growing up, which means, by definition, that she is growing away. It is all so developmentally appropriate. It is what is supposed to happen to young adults. They differentiate, they individuate. They become who they are, in some measure, by clarifying who they are not. Who Petra is not, today, is someone who wants to do that thing with her mom any more. She doesn't want to do it any more. She did, but now she doesn't.

And that is a loss for me, such a loss it has me crying over the chili. Such a loss, such a blow, it has me contemplating revenge, such as.... being cold. Refusing to watch "Glee" with her. Making her walk to school.

I blow my nose, and pull myself together. I will do this thing I enjoy by myself, or with a friend. Maybe with Beloved. I will recognize that Petra has the right not to do something she won't find enjoyable now (even though she did before). I will rejoice and be glad that I have this amazing daughter, this beautiful and accomplished young woman with a mind of her own who does not feel enslaved or trapped by her mother's feelings. I will be grateful for the adult being born in the child. I will buck up, for heaven's sake. As I throw the beans into the pot Petra comes into the kitchen, and she lays her head on the back of my neck.

Mom, will you still love me even though I don't want to do that?

I spin around and give her a fierce hug. Of course, I will. I give her a big smack on the top of her head. Of course I will love you, forever and always no matter what. I'm sorry I gave you even a moment's doubt about that. And we both laugh. Good, she says. Frankly, I was a little worried. And we laugh again.

Birth is hard.

Advent 1 Wednesday: Advent In My Ear

2009-12-03T04:51:00.000-08:00

This is what I'm listening to. I love its harshness. I rejected a version by another group I really like because it was too sweet. This is not a sweet song. The "O" antiphons, on which this is based, arise from fierce longing.

Fierce longing.