A Hard Time Letting Go

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

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

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

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

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?

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.

~ 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!