Four Clergywomen Walk Into a Chain Restaurant...

Actually, we do that every week. Wednesday mornings, 8 AM, most often an establishment that is locally owned, but every once in a while, a big chain place with a gift shop and really, really good biscuits (which I have not allowed myself, thus far, to order. There's always next week.).

And we talk lectionary. That's what we call ourselves, a lectionary group. Only... mostly, the time we actually spend on the readings and our sermon plans can range anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes of our 60-75 minute total. The rest of the time we would more accurately be known as what they call a "peer supervision" group. Which means we tell stories.

Oh, we keep confidentiality and all that good stuff. We get the seriousness of all that. But we do tell stories. And we laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Not at people. More like, at us.  At how we do or do not live into being the pastors we really would like to be. At how the diet thing is going. At how we did (or did not) nail that prayer, at that particularly delicate moment. We laugh. And that is very good for us. (It also causes the occasional patron to stop by our table on the way out and say, as one woman did yesterday, "Next time I want to be at your table." Her husband shrugged and went out to the gift shop.)

This week, one of our number said, "Hey, I heard this thing. Did you know the Wednesday of Holy Week is called 'Spy Wednesday'"?  (I did, thanks to a Jesuit poet I had the pleasure of knowing and reading in college.) Then we needed to make sure we knew the names of all the days in Holy Week.

"Monday's the day Jesus cleansed the temple," I piped up helpfully.

"So, Pissed-Off Monday?" one of my colleagues suggested.

Icon of Christ the Bridegroom, from the Great Lent, Holy Week, and Pascha Website.

Actually, it's "Great and Holy Monday," according to that fount of knowledge, Wikipedia. But here's the really fascinating thing I've learned in the aftermath of our conversation: In Eastern Orthodox Christianity, the matins (i.e., very early morning) services are the Services of Christ the Bridegroom. Which, given that this week has seen many of us hanging on every word that proceeds from the mouths of nine Supreme Court Justices on the subject of whether there might be room in the constitution for a marriage composed of either two bridegrooms or two brides, is kind of interesting.

And behold, a 9th century hymn of Saint Cassia, an imaginative entering into the story of the sinful woman who anointed Jesus at the end of Luke chapter 7:

O Lord, the woman who had fallen into many sins, sensing Your Divinity, takes upon herself the duty of a myrrh-bearer. With lamentations she brings you myrrh in anticipation of your entombment. "Woe to me!" she cries, "for me night has become a frenzy of licentiousness, a dark and moonless love of sin. Receive the fountain of my tears, O You who gather into clouds the waters of the sea. Incline unto me, unto the sighings of my heart, O You who bowed the heavens by your ineffable condescension. I will wash your immaculate feet with kisses and dry them again with the tresses of my hair; those very feet at whose sound Eve hid herself in fear when she heard You walking in Paradise in the twilight of the day. As for the multitude of my sins and the depths of Your judgments, who can search them out, O Savior of souls, my Savior? Do not disdain me Your handmaiden, O You who are boundless in mercy."

The gospels, of course, are earthy accounts of an earthly ministry (well, 3 out of the 4). Jesus talks about seeds and soil and weddings and sheep and banquets and sweeping up... and about the heat of flames and the digestive system, too. And he touches people and they touch him, and the ways in which they touch him, let us be frank, before they are appalling, are fascinatingly sensuous. Women touch his feet. (Shall we have an excursus on feet in scripture? Perhaps another day...) They bathe them with tears, they kiss them and dry them with their (long, unbound) hair, they pour expensive oils on them. It's all very... bodily.

So if anyone's trying to make an argument that Christ the Bridegroom is purely and simply about a theological and spiritual concept, I call hogwash and say, Jesus was a human who knew all about being human, the good and the bad, the painful and the pleasurable. And even a prayer that purports to be about trying to get away from a 'dark and moonless love of sin' ends up being pretty darned erotic. (Even that phrase... dark and moonless. Heavens.)

So, this week we all got to watch as church and state got all up in one another's faces, and people tried to discern where religious freedom ends and civil rights begin, and whether losing the right to oppress people constitutes being oppressed.

You probably know which side I'm rooting for. I'm even going to suggest I know which side the Bridegroom is rooting for: the side that is for love.

Dinner with the Girls

One down... Four to go.


I don't mean to be flippant. Truth be told, I savored this morning's service. Our attendance is up-- 20% over the past year and a half. I don't know why. The energy is good. I am happy, the people are happy. I am busy, the people are busy.

God shows up.

I was talking to Beloved about the service tonight, as I put together dinner for her and Petra and myself (Petra's home all of Holy Week on Spring Break! Yay Artsy College!). For non-church-goers, I know it all sounds strange and somewhat mysterious. But we have been together long enough, and I have been talking about my work long enough, that Beloved gets the gist of it. She has heard me agonize over my late-in-the-week-sermon-writing process, and then come to a place of peace with the fact that, hey, this is my sermon-writing-process. She has heard me celebrate the good numbers, and then try to back away from depending on numbers to measure success, and she nods with a knowing look.

Bottom line is this: I believe if I keep trusting in God to show up, and I keep showing up (even in my late-in-the-week way), it all comes together. TBTG.

Dinner tonight was a SparkPeople Recipe for something called "Slow-Cooker Salsa Chicken," plus a family recipe of Beloved's involving rice, spinach, lemon and dill seed. The three of us gathered around the table and put on Lena Dunham's HBO show "Girls" (Petra gave us season 1 on DVD, and we didn't want to watch it without her, so now's our chance).

It was all pretty perfect.

Palm Sunday Eve...

He Qi "Triumphant Entry Into Jerusalem" He Qi Gallery

... and, like many pastors, I am writing a sermon. Well, really a sermonette. A meditation.

It is the custom of my congregation to have a cantata on Palm Sunday. (Also the third Sunday in Advent). Sometimes I quietly rail to myself, because... well, I do love preaching. It feels very central to my role and responsibility to the congregation.

But there are many ways to proclaim the Good News... which, by the way, is: God is love. Nothing changes that. (This to some angry commenters who have found this largely inactive blog and still feel the need to say otherwise.) So. God is love. And that is very much a part of the Palm Sunday story, in which a God who is love comes face to face with those who think God is Anger, or God is Smiter, or God is Collaborator, or even God is Gay-Hater. Nope. God is Love.

Nothing changes that.

Tomorrow I will be preaching a tiny sermon/ meditation because, guess what? Our cantata is a little shorter than usual. So I get to preach, which makes me happy.

Do you know what else makes me happy? You.

I keep stepping away from this blog because, some time ago, I lost the joy in writing here because of a response to something I wrote. I think (and hope and pray) that relationship is mended now-- I think it is where it needs to be.

But I keep hearing... through comments to old posts, through Facebook interactions, through the grapevine... that you are there, and you still feel that there is a community here worth gathering again, Still.

So. Once again. I will try to be present here. I will try to reclaim the joy in blogging, the same joy I find in my work, in my love, in my family, in my God, which caused me to start this blog in the first place.

On the eve of the day in which God who is love rides humbly into the holy city and weeps, I say to you: thank you for all you are, for all you bring to this place, and for all your encouragement to tiny sparks of community here and there and everywhere.

I Just Can't Quit You

So. I am, once again, in that coffee shop in my daughter's college town.  I am here to see her in a musical that is probably one of my very favorites, an amazing combination of 19th century German and 21st century US pop/rock. Petra is playing the part of a young woman whose parents abuse her, and singing a heart-rending song along those lines.

It is a long drive from home to here. But, God, I miss the girl, and it is really great to anticipate seeing her (which I shall, as soon as her opening night performance is over. I see the show tomorrow.)

So, multiple times over the past months I have thought, I should just shut down this blog. It has been a source of consternation for me since the revelation that my content here was being read by someone near to me, who was hurt by it. (Read the word "near" and understand that it carries significant complexity.) Since then, I have hesitated to write in a very personal vein, though I certainly shared lots about my dad in my most recent posts (from five months ago. Ahem.)

Anyway, each time I think, yeah, I'm done, it's time to shut this puppy down... a comment comes in. Which astonishes me. People find this blog and they read it and they comment, and then I think, well, perhaps it still serves some kind of purpose.

So, here I am. Still. I have recently had the joy of seeing my church and my ministry welcome in more members of the LGBTQ community, in small and subtle but still somehow significant ways. No one in my church (I think I can say this with a lot of confidence) wants to see the feel of the church changed. No one wants a "gay" church, including me. That may sound self-hating, but all I mean by it is, I want everyone to feel welcome. I know that is complicated and not always easy to achieve, but it is my goal. For LGBTQ folks who hanker after a faith community with all people who are 'in the family,' there are options, including the wonderful and amazing MCC. My church, though, is a place where I hope that LGBTQ people other than I can be made to feel as welcome as... well, as I have felt. Big old lesbian that I am.

Once again, we had a Holy Week and Easter experience that was amazingly wondrous. Once again, on Easter Sunday afternoon, I was so tired I thought I might lay down in the tomb myself, but after a three hour nap awoke to make bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches with my Beloved feeling that, my, we DID that. We DID Holy Week. We were there, from Palms through betrayal and anointing (I preached on Mark 14 on Maundy Thursday) and meal and arrest, the long walk to the cross, and the surrendering, all of it, every pain and every breath. We were there. Our hearts were, at any rate. And Easter Sunday was as joyous and transcendent as I could have hoped, from Sunrise Service to Festive Worship... to nap. God, I love Easter. Goodness is stronger than evil. Indeed.

So, UnCloseted Pastor blog, I will not quit you, not just yet, not now. I will attempt, again, to be present here. Perhaps a post soon on a recent continuing ed experience I found also to be transcendent. Perhaps more on Beloved. But I will still be here, from time to time. Thanks for continuing to show up. I'll try to do the same.

Where You Do Not Wish to Go

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

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

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...

"...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!

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

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

At the other place.

Looking for prayers.

Friday Lent 15: Annunciation

Here it is, right in the middle of a season often associated with wilderness wanderings: life. Promise of birth. Fecundity. The breathless "yes" when sense should say a firm "no."

That's our God for you.

Wednesday Lent 13: Not What I Thought It Would Be

I entered this Lent thinking I would be doing one particular spiritual practice.

Turns out I am engaged in another one entirely.

Asking your prayers for my dad.  He has recently been diagnosed with Parkinson's. Actually, he was diagnosed over a year ago; but he didn't understand the diagnosis at that time. His hearing is extremely poor. Also, there is a dementia/ confusion component to Parkinson's that is kicking in. So... it's not clear what he knew and when he knew it. I only know that when I spoke to him about it this weekend, he seemed utterly stunned, not knowing at all what I was talking about.

I will be traveling to be with him every two to three weeks. My church is wonderfully supportive of this-- I mean, really exceptionally compassionate and helpful. It makes me teary to think of it. Dad needs help with his mail, paying his bills, and with things like having repair people come into the house. He shouldn't be driving, and the more I'm there, the more he can schedule things like doctor's appointments when I can be there.

The next time I go he will be having an echo-cardiogram, because he has an extremely slow heart rate (49) which so far has no medical explanation. They're wondering about congestive heart failure.

Dad is 89. He is feeling at sea, depressed, especially because I am urging him to make some changes, none of which he wants to make. He feels that I have turned on him. This is pretty heartbreaking. I want him to be safe, that's all. If he has a medical emergency I want him to have a system in place that will get him help fast.

My nightmare is that he has a fall or some other episode, and no one knows for days.

So. Asking for prayers, on this blog I said wouldn't have private issues on it. But there is is. Sometimes it's not so easy to separate out the public from the private. Thanks friends.

Tuesday Lent 6: Mulligan!

Do-overs are awesome.

People gave Bill Clinton a hard time for taking all those mulligans. But I say, mulligans for everybody, whether they're the president or not!

That's what Lent is about. Hell, that's what Christianity is about. Mulligans.

The Greek word for sin, used in the Christian Testament, essentially means, a missed shot. You aimed, but your aim was off. It's an especially merciful word because it presumes the best in us was trying to do the right thing, but we missed. In contrast, I suppose, to the Calvinist theology which formed the basis of the tradition of which I am a part, which assumed no such thing. According to Calvin, original sin has utterly defaced the image of God in each of us, so that we are incapable of good action in and of ourselves.

The Christian testament, the very linguistics which make it up, beg to differ. Sin is not always about our total depravity. Sometimes, sin is about our valiant efforts falling short, straying to one side or the other of the mark we intended to hit.

Today's lectionary reading from Hebrews quotes from Psalm 95:

Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says, 
     “Today, if you hear his voice, 
 do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion, 
          as on the day of testing in the wilderness...    ~Hebrews 3:7-8

Hardening our hearts can have something to do with missing the mark. We think we're on the right track, the best track, but we have predisposed ourselves to taking the bend in the road when we ought to (sorry dear readers) have gone straight. Or, as my friend L. says, "gaily forward."

But/ And the good news is: mulligans all around! Today is a new day. This morning is a fresh start, whether you need it with the food you meant to eat or the kindness you intended to convey or the honesty you intended to share or the spiritual discipline you intended to practice.

Thanks. Be. To. God.

Friday Lent 3: 40

I said to a friend recently that one of the things I most value about F@ceb00k is the fact that it has become a kind of news aggregator for me. My friend share things they find interesting, and because they are my friends, often I find those very same things interesting too.

Not Farmville or Mafia Wars.

Other things.

Like this splendid and modest little video, which is startlingly powerful.

Lenten blessings.

On Jonah and "Goodbye Rob Bell"

Image courtesy of Convictions.

In case you missed it, today is Ash Wednesday!

Just kidding. Of course you haven't missed it. Unless... you're reading this from the other side of the world where the day is mostly gone by now.

But I'm going to assume you haven't "missed it." I'm assuming the readers of this blog are all too aware of the dawning season of Lent, and our invitations to its disciplines, which, as the daily lectionary reading from Hebrews (12:1-14) reminds us, "always seem painful rather than pleasant at the time, but later yield the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by [them]."


Can I get an Amen?


In case you missed it, there has also been a fascinating controversy in the blogosphere in reaction (not response) to the advance publicity for Rob Bell's new book, "Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived." (Modest title, don't you think?) In fact, the controversy even made the New York Times.


Just to be clear, I haven't read the book. (It comes out next week.) But from what I understand, in it Bell suggests something that other theologians before him have suggested. He suggests-- and provides scripture evidence to back up his suggestion-- that a loving God whose intention is for everyone's salvation, will, in fact, make that happen. He believes that there is a hell, but most likely, it is empty.


I have no problem with this view.


But, boy, some people sure do, including one seminary friend with whom I went toe to toe on this for about 25 comments on F@ceb00k. Some people have a HUGE problem with the idea that hell is empty. In fact, some people seem downright threatened by it.


Reminds me of Jonah. Today's Hebrew Scriptures lectionary passage is Jonah 3:1- 4:11. Which means, the reluctant prophet preaches repentance to Nineveh, Nineveh gets it and God decides not to punish Nineveh-- in other words, successful prophetic mission accomplished-- and Jonah gets pissed. As in, "I'm going into the desert to sulk," pissed. As in, "I didn't want these people to be saved" pissed.


But this was very displeasing to Jonah, and he became angry. He prayed to the Lord and said, “O Lord! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” And the Lord said, “Is it right for you to be angry?”


Is it right for people to be angry over God's desire to save? My seminary friend appealed to the Christian tradition, orthodox teaching, which tells us there's a hell. I appealed to the "reformed, always reforming" notion of what it means to be faithful day by day. I also appealed to scripture-- though not this passage, which may be more on point than most.


It is always good, in the face of these kinds of controversies, to ask, "Who stands to gain?"


Who stands to gain if there is no hell? Who stands to gain if there is a hell?


To answer the first, we all do, of course. Everyone who is a sinner-- which, it is my understanding, is everyone, period. We all gain, because love wins and salvation is graciously extended to all. (That's the definition of grace, by the way. Unmerited good stuff/ God stuff.)


To answer the second, well, a select few. Who get to be gatekeepers (in their own minds), and to essentially say, "Nanny, nanny, boo boo" to everyone who doesn't do religion their way. 


In the end, it's all about people trying to figure out how God thinks. 


Frankly, Bell had me at "Hello," which is to say, the title: "Love wins."


That's who I believe God is. 


What do you think?

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

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

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

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

Read it here.