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.