RevGalBlogPals are invited to muse and dream over five questions each Friday. Here are the ones for today:
1. Are you a hoarder or a minimalist?
Mostly a minimalist. I like to collect art, napkins, and bowls, but that's about it. We have a lot of stuff now, and one of my secret fantasies is to send my wonderful husband away for a week and rent a dumpster.
2. Name one important object ( could be an heirloom) that you will never part with.
I don't think I have any, but my wedding ring would be among the last to go.
3. What is the oldest item in your closet? Does it still fit???
This year I got rid of a dress I've had since high school -- red chiffon spaghetti strap -- that I'd converted to a cocktail dress at some point. It fit, but it was time to go. Oldest now? Probably one of my hats.
4.Yard sales- love 'em or hate 'em ?
Oh God kill me now. Hate them. One set of people emptying their garage into other people's garages and dickering over pennies to do it. Ugh.
5. Name a recycling habit you really want to get into.
We're pretty good about recycling, but I know we waste water waiting for it to warm up. I'd like to start catching it and using it, or getting instant water heaters.
My car is 1995 or 6 and has nearly 200k miles, but gets >32 mpg. The next one will need to do better than that. I should start recycling my own energy on the bike path that connects our house to campus.
And, I'd like to see our church's buildings outfitted with solar. We have crazy roof space, and we're in the Santa Clara valley (CA). There's got to be a way! Oh, and recycle gray water! So many possibilities!!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Grace (over the long haul)
I used to not like Anne Lamott. One of us was too whiny. But we've both matured and fallen in love with Jesus, so I'm reading Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith just now, between the required stuff and Harry Potter #6. At this point in our lives I read myself in her. Or into her, which may be what all excellent writers achieve in their readers. I've never fought alcohol or drugs, but have raised great armies against binge eating and bulimia since I was a child. Read into that whatever you like. When Lamott writes about body image and soul holes and Safeway's apple fritters, I feel her pain. The two sides of my battle are health, strength, and slimness, vs. disappearing into the safety of fat or simply not being seen, and avoiding the piercing bodily attention of the worst of men. The battle has been pretty quiet for a while, and this year I've been consciously eating healthfully and intentionally, the way normal people do. I've lost some weight, and look and feel better. Or did, for a while.
A couple of months ago, right after our puppy arrived, my wonderful husband went on a men's weekend with guys from his men's group. They were going out of town, so he was hitching a ride with another guy. That guy came to pick him up, and came into our kitchen where puppy and I were sitting.
I had met this guy once before, when they met at our house. Maybe one other time at a big event. I'm not sure I'd recognize him on the street today. The first time we met, he was a little overexuberant with the hug and kiss; I chalked it up to personal style.
So he came in. My husband went up to get his stuff, and I took puppy to a tree outside our kitchen to pee and the guy follows me out. He makes friendly conversation about the puppy, and then comes to where I am and leans in close.
If you've ever had a new puppy, you know that the rituals of housebreaking are rigorous and precise. You want the puppy to learn to pee in one spot, outside, every time you take him there. So as this guy leans in, I am impaled on a cypress tree. Suddenly he starts massaging my shoulders, firmly, as he leans in to speak to me.
One of the things you may not know about me is that my boundaries are pretty high. I have layers of armor that serve me well, and though I've worked hard to make it more permeable, there's still quite a bit there naturally. (When I was younger and less healthy, people would cross the street in order not to walk past me, the dark heat was so intense. I kid you not.) No one casually touches me; it just doesn't happen.
This guy, this stranger, slimed right through the holes in the armor and handled me. I thought: I've got to keep puppy safe. I felt: waves of revulsion and bile course through me. I acted: by stepping away as far as I could without disturbing the peeing ritual. Words sticking in my throat. Husband came out, guy looked friendly, and off they went.
Me? I spent the evening in front of the tv with puppy and cat, staving off both nausea and shame. A month later I told my husband, and he confronted the guy, and wound up leaving the small group they shared.
So it's two months later. I think I've mentioned before here that this was a hard summer -- not busy, but a lot of emotional stuff in our church community. I've been tired, and kicking myself for being tired. Yesterday I spent an hour on the phone with a clear borderline personality, and then another 15 minutes standing on line next to a chatty old man who kept touching my arm (and talking about how he could sure use a wife like me). And the waves came over me, and the shame.
In her essay "The Last Story of Spring", Lamott tells how her dog goes missing in the woods on a mountain near a crevass, and the fear and grief that overcomes her. A friend happens along, and wants to help. Lamott writes, "My enchanted woods had turned into the dark forests of fairy tales. But looking at Amanda out of the corners of my eyes, I remembered what happens in fairy tales: The helper always appears in a form that doesn't look very helpful, yet that's who's going to get you out of the woods."
Sometimes I realize later that I've been in the woods and hadn't seen the darkness fall.
Husband comes home from work yesterday, and I tell him I just want to have a quiet evening and be close. No sooner does he put his arm around me than I start weeping, my body shuddering. It doesn't stop all night. I put words to the stuff I can, and watch Frasier during the rest. Husband is attentive, gentle, quiet, and protective. By the end of the evening, I'm cried out, and safe from my own wars.
"Telling helped a little. It felt as if maybe the worst was over. 'But why didn't my faith protect me?' I asked one friend. 'It did... You found your way out of danger -- and disgust -- through humility, and even confession -- to the love of safe people. Now you are safe again" Lamott writes in "The Muddling Glory of God".
Sometimes grace is simply the truth, leaking out in all its pain and sorrow and grief, then flowing to someone who can catch it up for you.
Sometimes Jesus is the blanket that someone gently covers you with in love.
May your truth and blankets come.
A couple of months ago, right after our puppy arrived, my wonderful husband went on a men's weekend with guys from his men's group. They were going out of town, so he was hitching a ride with another guy. That guy came to pick him up, and came into our kitchen where puppy and I were sitting.
I had met this guy once before, when they met at our house. Maybe one other time at a big event. I'm not sure I'd recognize him on the street today. The first time we met, he was a little overexuberant with the hug and kiss; I chalked it up to personal style.
So he came in. My husband went up to get his stuff, and I took puppy to a tree outside our kitchen to pee and the guy follows me out. He makes friendly conversation about the puppy, and then comes to where I am and leans in close.
If you've ever had a new puppy, you know that the rituals of housebreaking are rigorous and precise. You want the puppy to learn to pee in one spot, outside, every time you take him there. So as this guy leans in, I am impaled on a cypress tree. Suddenly he starts massaging my shoulders, firmly, as he leans in to speak to me.
One of the things you may not know about me is that my boundaries are pretty high. I have layers of armor that serve me well, and though I've worked hard to make it more permeable, there's still quite a bit there naturally. (When I was younger and less healthy, people would cross the street in order not to walk past me, the dark heat was so intense. I kid you not.) No one casually touches me; it just doesn't happen.
This guy, this stranger, slimed right through the holes in the armor and handled me. I thought: I've got to keep puppy safe. I felt: waves of revulsion and bile course through me. I acted: by stepping away as far as I could without disturbing the peeing ritual. Words sticking in my throat. Husband came out, guy looked friendly, and off they went.
Me? I spent the evening in front of the tv with puppy and cat, staving off both nausea and shame. A month later I told my husband, and he confronted the guy, and wound up leaving the small group they shared.
So it's two months later. I think I've mentioned before here that this was a hard summer -- not busy, but a lot of emotional stuff in our church community. I've been tired, and kicking myself for being tired. Yesterday I spent an hour on the phone with a clear borderline personality, and then another 15 minutes standing on line next to a chatty old man who kept touching my arm (and talking about how he could sure use a wife like me). And the waves came over me, and the shame.
In her essay "The Last Story of Spring", Lamott tells how her dog goes missing in the woods on a mountain near a crevass, and the fear and grief that overcomes her. A friend happens along, and wants to help. Lamott writes, "My enchanted woods had turned into the dark forests of fairy tales. But looking at Amanda out of the corners of my eyes, I remembered what happens in fairy tales: The helper always appears in a form that doesn't look very helpful, yet that's who's going to get you out of the woods."
Sometimes I realize later that I've been in the woods and hadn't seen the darkness fall.
Husband comes home from work yesterday, and I tell him I just want to have a quiet evening and be close. No sooner does he put his arm around me than I start weeping, my body shuddering. It doesn't stop all night. I put words to the stuff I can, and watch Frasier during the rest. Husband is attentive, gentle, quiet, and protective. By the end of the evening, I'm cried out, and safe from my own wars.
"Telling helped a little. It felt as if maybe the worst was over. 'But why didn't my faith protect me?' I asked one friend. 'It did... You found your way out of danger -- and disgust -- through humility, and even confession -- to the love of safe people. Now you are safe again" Lamott writes in "The Muddling Glory of God".
Sometimes grace is simply the truth, leaking out in all its pain and sorrow and grief, then flowing to someone who can catch it up for you.
Sometimes Jesus is the blanket that someone gently covers you with in love.
May your truth and blankets come.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Slug
Each morning, my computer calendar shows these activities before 8 a.m.: prayer & blog.
Each morning, my life shows these activities before 8 a.m.: get up twice to take puppy out, take puppy downstairs, make coffee, separate puppy and cat, feed puppy and cat, clean up after puppy and cat, glance at news to make sure we're not the only survivors of nuclear holocaust, greet husband, wash dishes, remove puppy from chewing on cookbooks, drink coffee, meditate on devotional, not fall asleep while doing morning prayers.
Sometimes email manages to get in there. And I often manage extended prayer after 8, when the husband is gone, the puppy is sleeping in his crate and the cat is bored with taunting him.
Blogging? Not so much. Meditation? Walking? (both of which were on my not-computerized calendar) Hah! I feel like a slug. Slug 4 Jesus.
Housebreaking puppy is a longterm investment of energy; I get that. But there's been a lot going on in my spiritual life and in our community, and I haven't really had time to reflect on it, or to see God reflecting in it.
Squishy invertibrate herbivore, leaving a trail.
The order of things must change: someone's been pouring salt on my relationship with the Holy One.
Each morning, my life shows these activities before 8 a.m.: get up twice to take puppy out, take puppy downstairs, make coffee, separate puppy and cat, feed puppy and cat, clean up after puppy and cat, glance at news to make sure we're not the only survivors of nuclear holocaust, greet husband, wash dishes, remove puppy from chewing on cookbooks, drink coffee, meditate on devotional, not fall asleep while doing morning prayers.
Sometimes email manages to get in there. And I often manage extended prayer after 8, when the husband is gone, the puppy is sleeping in his crate and the cat is bored with taunting him.
Blogging? Not so much. Meditation? Walking? (both of which were on my not-computerized calendar) Hah! I feel like a slug. Slug 4 Jesus.
Housebreaking puppy is a longterm investment of energy; I get that. But there's been a lot going on in my spiritual life and in our community, and I haven't really had time to reflect on it, or to see God reflecting in it.
Squishy invertibrate herbivore, leaving a trail.
The order of things must change: someone's been pouring salt on my relationship with the Holy One.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
New Book Group
I am so excited! Starting October, I'll be facilitating an ongoing Christian spirituality book group at Barnes & Noble. 2nd/4th Wednesdays, 6 p.m., if you're local. I choose the books; they sell them and advertise. Which means I'll have to read more (such a shame!). As my wonderful husband put it, this is right up my alley -- I can use all those degrees and years teaching for Good.I also have a lead on a cafe that would like to host a book study (or Bible study -- not sure yet which) on Monday evenings. Will call on that one today. Either way would be good, since God will be the One doing most of the work!
Oh, the first book will be The Secret Message of Jesus. It is an extraordinarily accessible look at the kingdom vision of Jesus -- you don't have to be a disciple to get it. I'm thinking about Velvet Elvis or something like that next -- suggestions, anyone?
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Carried by the Spirit
God is so very good, and when we try to listen, God tries to guide us.
After the vandalism, we decided to do a little good in the neighborhood -- clean our sign, but then go out into the streets and ask if anyone needed any little chores done. About 15 people showed up (out of maybe 75 in Worship, usually) and did just that. But they weren't alone: 2 newspapers and 3 tv stations were there too. They were followed through the neighborhood (which was a little disruptive to the task) as they went on their mission of love. (I wasn't there -- was facilitating a meeting in San Francisco.)
Neighbors were shocked by the vandalism, concerned for their own safety, and deeply supportive of us. In fact, the vast majority of feedback and media we've received has been positive. People are generally horrified that anyone desecrates a church, period. Most have responded to folks choosing to do good in response to evil with pleasure and gratitude. Our local Councilman, Evan Low, has been both encouraging and helpful, asking a whole lot of his contacts (and local residents!) to donate to repairing the sign. We got a call from the Anti-Defamation League and an Art Institute teacher offered his class if we needed any design work done. That's just a taste of the love we've gotten back.
It hasn't been all positive, of course. I received one email asking for our justification of welcoming everyone, including lgbt people, which I responded to in good faith. I (and everyone else with an email link on our website) received one email from an anonymous person (who, based on his/her address, works here) simply listing the standard "clobber" Scriptures with an unkind note. Fortunately, no-one has yet said, "Yay! Desecration!"
But all that, though gratifying, isn't the point. Here's the point: the Holy Spirit inspired our folks to do as Jesus taught -- to love our enemies, and return good for evil. Any day we do what Jesus taught us to do is a good day for me.
Above the fray and fatigue, the Spirit has been carrying me this week. God is so very good.
After the vandalism, we decided to do a little good in the neighborhood -- clean our sign, but then go out into the streets and ask if anyone needed any little chores done. About 15 people showed up (out of maybe 75 in Worship, usually) and did just that. But they weren't alone: 2 newspapers and 3 tv stations were there too. They were followed through the neighborhood (which was a little disruptive to the task) as they went on their mission of love. (I wasn't there -- was facilitating a meeting in San Francisco.)
Neighbors were shocked by the vandalism, concerned for their own safety, and deeply supportive of us. In fact, the vast majority of feedback and media we've received has been positive. People are generally horrified that anyone desecrates a church, period. Most have responded to folks choosing to do good in response to evil with pleasure and gratitude. Our local Councilman, Evan Low, has been both encouraging and helpful, asking a whole lot of his contacts (and local residents!) to donate to repairing the sign. We got a call from the Anti-Defamation League and an Art Institute teacher offered his class if we needed any design work done. That's just a taste of the love we've gotten back.
It hasn't been all positive, of course. I received one email asking for our justification of welcoming everyone, including lgbt people, which I responded to in good faith. I (and everyone else with an email link on our website) received one email from an anonymous person (who, based on his/her address, works here) simply listing the standard "clobber" Scriptures with an unkind note. Fortunately, no-one has yet said, "Yay! Desecration!"
But all that, though gratifying, isn't the point. Here's the point: the Holy Spirit inspired our folks to do as Jesus taught -- to love our enemies, and return good for evil. Any day we do what Jesus taught us to do is a good day for me.
Above the fray and fatigue, the Spirit has been carrying me this week. God is so very good.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Responding to hate
Last Saturday night, the main sign on our church campus was defaced. The perpetrators left a clear message by spray painting "Fags to Hell, God Rules". They also painted out the rainbow fish that proclaim that our church community is welcoming to all, including lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people.
Hate is always distressing and painful. It creates fear, and builds walls. Hate is Evil itself, which is always working to generate the same hatred in us. That is its purpose.
As Jesus-followers, we know the truth: God is love. God loves and cares for each and every one of us as if we were God's only child, God calls us to be people of love, not people of hate. That is our purpose.
Jesus taught us, "Do not repay anyone evil for evil ... Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." So yesterday, when the church gathered after Worship to figure out how to respond, we decided to share some love in the community.
Tonight participants will bring cleaning and gardening supplies to campus. While we clean up our sign, we will go out into our neighborhood and offer to clean and garden for our neighbors. And then, prayer, celebration, and pizza in the twilight!
We hoisted a rainbow flag yesterday below the US flag on our flagpole. And we're adding a new sign to our main one: "God loves you. We do too". We will also be providing window signs with that same message to anyone who wants them.
I don’t know how many people will participate with this short notice. But whether it’s 1 or 100, we see this act of hate against us and lgbt people as a God-given opportunity to show our community the love we've found in Christ.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Emergent in picture form
It's hard to talk about why 1st century and 21st century are similar times for faith and our concept of knowledge without using words like "postmodern". As a result, those who are trying to talk about and live a new/old kind of faith take a beating. And, since most of them/us are younger (20s/30s), they're/we're a prime target for farts young and old.
So pictures are good, esp. when they draw on cultural icons, like the motivational posters. Check these out, at Emerging Grace.
Roving
Karl Rove cannot leave quickly enough for me. I understand that he's leaving his post to spend times with his family (after spending umpteen years with George) and to write his memoirs. Perhaps publishers can entice the rest of the Gang of Bush with book deals, since family hasn't worked so far as motivation. Theirs, or yours, or mine.
(Note: the opinions expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of my church community. But they might.)
(Note: the opinions expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of my church community. But they might.)
Ice cream outreach
Tonight members of our church family are taking an ice cream social to a men's shelter near us. We've been doing Christmas projects for them for years, and a couple of years ago added human contact to the outreach (imagine!). This is our first mid-year, no-reason-at-all event.
I'm praying people attend, both our people and the men. We sometimes forget how important contact and small talk are, particularly when you are or feel isolated from the world around you. Whether we're talking about elders, those who are physically or mentally ill, foster kids, homeless folks, or just people going through a rough time, Jesus works through our face-to-face love. And when our kids go, it's such a blessing. So many of the men have children they never see -- they are delighted by the little ones trying to strike up conversation, or asking impertinent and innocent questions.
May Jesus be in our midst, gently reaching out through us and our hot fudge.
I'm praying people attend, both our people and the men. We sometimes forget how important contact and small talk are, particularly when you are or feel isolated from the world around you. Whether we're talking about elders, those who are physically or mentally ill, foster kids, homeless folks, or just people going through a rough time, Jesus works through our face-to-face love. And when our kids go, it's such a blessing. So many of the men have children they never see -- they are delighted by the little ones trying to strike up conversation, or asking impertinent and innocent questions.
May Jesus be in our midst, gently reaching out through us and our hot fudge.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Constant prayer
The Bible just isn't a long list or a recipe book.
The Apostle Paul advises the first church at Thessalonika to "pray unceasingly". Jesus tells his disciples that if they abide in Him, He will abide in them. Some translators use remain instead of abide, but the key point is that sense of Christ's taking up residence in us, some merging of our heart/mind and His (as His was merged with God's)
If prayer is the soul's intimate connection/dialogue with God, then there is some connection between our need to pray unceasingly (abiding in Him) and Jesus' abiding in us.
But it's not in the Bible. At least I can't find it. No direct connection between any specific activity and Jesus' (or the Spirit's) taking up residence in us and vice versa. Some western Christians will say that we "receive the Spirit" through some specific act of God's doing -- baptism, Jesus' breathing on his disciples. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about (comm)union, mind and soul, through constant prayer (or in constant prayer). And there's no question that's a stream of sensibility in there. But no single aha! line to point to.
The eastern churches (eg. the Orthodox) take it for granted, this sense of (comm)union in prayer. Besides scripture, they have always depended on the revelation of the early fathers and mothers, who tended to "mystical" description, rather than the west's "rational" argument.
I believe it with all my heart, this possible (comm)union with Christ, through/in constant prayer. And I'm preaching on it Sunday, which Scripture is making more difficult by the minute.
The Apostle Paul advises the first church at Thessalonika to "pray unceasingly". Jesus tells his disciples that if they abide in Him, He will abide in them. Some translators use remain instead of abide, but the key point is that sense of Christ's taking up residence in us, some merging of our heart/mind and His (as His was merged with God's)
If prayer is the soul's intimate connection/dialogue with God, then there is some connection between our need to pray unceasingly (abiding in Him) and Jesus' abiding in us.
But it's not in the Bible. At least I can't find it. No direct connection between any specific activity and Jesus' (or the Spirit's) taking up residence in us and vice versa. Some western Christians will say that we "receive the Spirit" through some specific act of God's doing -- baptism, Jesus' breathing on his disciples. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about (comm)union, mind and soul, through constant prayer (or in constant prayer). And there's no question that's a stream of sensibility in there. But no single aha! line to point to.
The eastern churches (eg. the Orthodox) take it for granted, this sense of (comm)union in prayer. Besides scripture, they have always depended on the revelation of the early fathers and mothers, who tended to "mystical" description, rather than the west's "rational" argument.
I believe it with all my heart, this possible (comm)union with Christ, through/in constant prayer. And I'm preaching on it Sunday, which Scripture is making more difficult by the minute.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Tanq
Our new French Bulldog pup arrived today at 11:30 a.m. He's about 15 weeks old.Meet Tanq.
Why "Tanq"? Because my wonderful husband wanted an English Bulldog (50 lbs, 5" from the ground) and to name him "Tank". The Frenchie was a compromise, as is the name ("q" is more French. Get it? We almost called him "Freedom"...)
This is an older photo, from his puppy home in Oklahoma. I'll get a new one up when we have one. Then, we'll get back to business around here.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Dreaming with the RevGalBlogPals
The RevGalBlogPals ring plays "Friday Five". You can view other fantastic femfaithbloggers' answers on their blogs, which link here and in my sidebar.
1. Share a moment/ time of real encouragement in your journey of faith
I was originally rejected for ordination. The Barnabas responsible for pleading my case to the committee had met with me just once (to talk about himself) and hadn't read my ordination paper. So when they asked what my Christology was, he said, "I don't know." I got the word, and knew it was all over -- that I was out. My grief was horrible.
Hearing the news, my mentor pastor was irate, and went back to the committee with tongue of fire. They reviewed my materials and, early in the morning before the event, approved me. I arrived, in casual street clothes, to watch everyone else and was told I would be getting ordained.
Sitting on the dais, I felt completely inadequate and terrified. My right leg was bouncing uncontrollably, with my then-fiance's hand on it, trying to steady me. He leaned in and told me I could leave, but that God had brought me there and would guide me on. I felt a rush of the Spirit, and went out to take my vows. Still terrified, still crying, but grateful.
God, in the heart and words and body of my mentor pastor and my now-husband kept me going that week.
2. Do you have a current vision / dream for your work/ family/ministry?
Personal dreaming is sort of new for me, and I'm not very good at it. But my vision for my spiritual life and work (which are pretty much one thing) is a tribe of committed disciples, closely living whole together in love of Jesus, loving in his world. I shoulda been a monk.
3. Money is no object and so you will.....
Sounds cliche: prayer. Not the extended kneeling and beseeching, but the steady surrender to and embrace of God. Husband is a very very big help.
And, honestly: good wine. Often French.
5. How important are your roots?
Don't really have any (other than growing up in CA), so have had to create them and discover tendrils of possibility in the soil. It helps to know that, at base, I am the daughter of God. That's roots enough for me right now.
1. Share a moment/ time of real encouragement in your journey of faith
I was originally rejected for ordination. The Barnabas responsible for pleading my case to the committee had met with me just once (to talk about himself) and hadn't read my ordination paper. So when they asked what my Christology was, he said, "I don't know." I got the word, and knew it was all over -- that I was out. My grief was horrible.
Hearing the news, my mentor pastor was irate, and went back to the committee with tongue of fire. They reviewed my materials and, early in the morning before the event, approved me. I arrived, in casual street clothes, to watch everyone else and was told I would be getting ordained.
Sitting on the dais, I felt completely inadequate and terrified. My right leg was bouncing uncontrollably, with my then-fiance's hand on it, trying to steady me. He leaned in and told me I could leave, but that God had brought me there and would guide me on. I felt a rush of the Spirit, and went out to take my vows. Still terrified, still crying, but grateful.
God, in the heart and words and body of my mentor pastor and my now-husband kept me going that week.
2. Do you have a current vision / dream for your work/ family/ministry?
Personal dreaming is sort of new for me, and I'm not very good at it. But my vision for my spiritual life and work (which are pretty much one thing) is a tribe of committed disciples, closely living whole together in love of Jesus, loving in his world. I shoulda been a monk.
3. Money is no object and so you will.....
- Buy land and house in the South for my husband and start a retreat for pastors and others. Sports bar included.
- Finally replace my car.
- Get more dogs and cats.
- Give a lot to kids without stable home lives.
- Travel.
Sounds cliche: prayer. Not the extended kneeling and beseeching, but the steady surrender to and embrace of God. Husband is a very very big help.
And, honestly: good wine. Often French.
5. How important are your roots?
Don't really have any (other than growing up in CA), so have had to create them and discover tendrils of possibility in the soil. It helps to know that, at base, I am the daughter of God. That's roots enough for me right now.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
More woofing
We now have an agreement with a seller for a little boy French bulldog to come to live with us. He will be traveling by van (because he can't be shipped by plane due to summer heat). If that doesn't work for some reason, I am going to fly to Tulsa after Aug. 16 (when the flights drop).
Have to say this: I'll believe it when he's in my hands. And even more after our terrific vet, Karen Blount, checks him out.
Blogger isn't letting me post pictures today, but I'll get one on as soon as I can!
Have to say this: I'll believe it when he's in my hands. And even more after our terrific vet, Karen Blount, checks him out.
Blogger isn't letting me post pictures today, but I'll get one on as soon as I can!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Woof, woof
I haven't written in a while because a) I'm obsessed with dogs, and b) a couple of conflicts have kept my few other synapses firing.
The conflicts were inevitable: when a community moves from being "we'll accept anything you do as long as no one ever has to address it" to "following Jesus means taking responsibility for your actions and we will hold you accountable", there are bound to be conflicts. We have also moved from "pastors are saints who must never err (but eventually fall from grace in a big way)" to "pastors and leaders are all models for Christian living, including modeling confession and reconciliation". It's a recipe for eventual pissiness. And, I pray, eventual health, grace, and faithfulness.
But the other thing is really what's been keeping me from blogging. I am ready for a dog. After our very beloved boxer, Mo, died two years ago, I just couldn't think about it. Plus, my longterm friend Kenya the black torty cat died a couple of months later, in my lap. Then, since we're trying to adopt a human baby, I thought that getting a new dog at the same time we were getting a new baby was a recipe for exhaustion, if not disaster. But the baby isn't hurrying, so I'm getting a dog.
Now the big decisions have been 1) boxer or french bulldog; 2) rescue or puppy; 3) how much we are willing to pay at the outset. Of course, that's gotten us into summer -- when no one can ship flat-faced dogs. But I'll tell you what: we will have a dog by mid-August. The baby is in God's hands.
The conflicts were inevitable: when a community moves from being "we'll accept anything you do as long as no one ever has to address it" to "following Jesus means taking responsibility for your actions and we will hold you accountable", there are bound to be conflicts. We have also moved from "pastors are saints who must never err (but eventually fall from grace in a big way)" to "pastors and leaders are all models for Christian living, including modeling confession and reconciliation". It's a recipe for eventual pissiness. And, I pray, eventual health, grace, and faithfulness.
But the other thing is really what's been keeping me from blogging. I am ready for a dog. After our very beloved boxer, Mo, died two years ago, I just couldn't think about it. Plus, my longterm friend Kenya the black torty cat died a couple of months later, in my lap. Then, since we're trying to adopt a human baby, I thought that getting a new dog at the same time we were getting a new baby was a recipe for exhaustion, if not disaster. But the baby isn't hurrying, so I'm getting a dog.
Now the big decisions have been 1) boxer or french bulldog; 2) rescue or puppy; 3) how much we are willing to pay at the outset. Of course, that's gotten us into summer -- when no one can ship flat-faced dogs. But I'll tell you what: we will have a dog by mid-August. The baby is in God's hands.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Ravenous, drawn to/by God
Friday 8:53 a.m.
When I signed up for this retreat, it was after a significant amount of searching for a Christian meditation retreat. To no avail. So East-West at a Catholic retreat center was as close as I could get. I signed up with trepidation, and deep hunger. I was ravenous.
As the months passed, I was both looking forward to it and repelled by the thought of it: looking forward to the open time, fearful of the openness of the time.
Looking back, I feel God compelling me, drawing me here this week. Choosing the books I brought, selecting the place, guiding both my practice and my willingness to claim what I needed. I came here to jump start my meditation practice, but God gave me the view from 45,000 feet. The momentary clear apprehension of the vision that my husband has been pressuring me to write down. I know it needs to come down to 30,000 feet, and I need to make the effort to write -- really write -- but I am utterly grateful for the crack in the sky.
God draws me, draws us. Pulls us toward God, and creates us in line, shadow, form and gesture as we come closer.
When I signed up for this retreat, it was after a significant amount of searching for a Christian meditation retreat. To no avail. So East-West at a Catholic retreat center was as close as I could get. I signed up with trepidation, and deep hunger. I was ravenous.
As the months passed, I was both looking forward to it and repelled by the thought of it: looking forward to the open time, fearful of the openness of the time.
Looking back, I feel God compelling me, drawing me here this week. Choosing the books I brought, selecting the place, guiding both my practice and my willingness to claim what I needed. I came here to jump start my meditation practice, but God gave me the view from 45,000 feet. The momentary clear apprehension of the vision that my husband has been pressuring me to write down. I know it needs to come down to 30,000 feet, and I need to make the effort to write -- really write -- but I am utterly grateful for the crack in the sky.
God draws me, draws us. Pulls us toward God, and creates us in line, shadow, form and gesture as we come closer.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The real story
I may be the only person I know who can turn a meditation intensive into a competitive sport.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Matthew 6?
Okay, so maybe I'm missing the point of this whole contemplative thing, but I just don't feel as dour as some of us look.
Noon (or When the sun is at its apex)
Wednesday 4 p.m.
1. Since last night's meditation, I have been very happy. That kind of lightness in your chest, soft smile, world-is-good happy. I really love this -- and can see why people get addicted. (Or maybe it's the fact that people make food for me?)
2. Dallas Willard's The Spirit of the Disciplines is one of the most important books I've ever read. It's not easygoing (at least not in the old issue; the reissue may be easier), because Willard is a philosopher by training and profession. The first 60% or so is theology, history, and social commentary, with a deep explanation of the Apostle Paul. Reading it is a bit like shucking oysters. And then: pearls. Why the spiritual disciplines matter, and why we cannot progress as followers of Jesus -- no, as reflections of Christ -- without them.
3. I left Christianity somewhere around middle school, when I became politically aware (I read The Autobiography of Malcolm X in 5th grade, so sometime after that). But I loved Jesus. Loved Jesus. I remember watching Jesus Christ Superstar in Rochester, NY, with my best friend from sixth grade who had moved there, and being frozen in my seat at the end. Weeping. They pretty much had to drag me out of the theater.
Sometime later, and I can't say when, I developed a big moving lump in my sternum. You know that place where your trachea meets your heart? Where breath and blood merge? For decades I've been trying to open it, to describe what's inside. It's the reason I traveled, the reason for MBZC, the reason I studied ethics (and 3rd-world women's studies; and went to divinity school), the reason for attempting communal living and voluntary simplicity, the reason for a lot of political action, the reason I kept sneaking into churches when no one was there, the reason I went ahead and was ordained even though my whole body was shaking and my not-yet husband had to act like a horse whisperer to keep me on the dais.
Over the years, I've tried to describe its contents in poetry, through my philosophy teaching, through nonfiction writings, through speeches, through living. I've tried in sermons, in small groups, in blogs. I've cried and yelled in frustration trying to describe it to my very patient husband. Soon after I started pastoring my church, I gathered a group of people from the church and tried to inscribe it instead, by trying to start another "worship service" that wasn't really a worship service that now I'd call an "emergent church", sort of. Each time, I've failed. The philosopher training (and my general leanings toward both high emotion and high abstraction) has blocked me. The lump itself is the way we are to actually daily live; its contents are kingdomvision.
4) The first time I read Brian McLaren, I felt something in that same spot -- between breath and blood. Right now I'm reading his newer (not newest) book, The Secret Message of Jesus, in preparation for leading a small group study of it in the fall. For a long time now, he's been grappling with that thing between breath and blood too. Thanks to God, McLaren, unlike Dallas Willard, and to a much lesser degree me, was trained in English, and so is having some success at describing it in concrete terms, in the language of poetry and pavement. I am envious, and very grateful.
5) Gratitude = happiness. See #1, above.
6) The post title? At noon, there is no shadow. Only light.
1. Since last night's meditation, I have been very happy. That kind of lightness in your chest, soft smile, world-is-good happy. I really love this -- and can see why people get addicted. (Or maybe it's the fact that people make food for me?)
2. Dallas Willard's The Spirit of the Disciplines is one of the most important books I've ever read. It's not easygoing (at least not in the old issue; the reissue may be easier), because Willard is a philosopher by training and profession. The first 60% or so is theology, history, and social commentary, with a deep explanation of the Apostle Paul. Reading it is a bit like shucking oysters. And then: pearls. Why the spiritual disciplines matter, and why we cannot progress as followers of Jesus -- no, as reflections of Christ -- without them.
3. I left Christianity somewhere around middle school, when I became politically aware (I read The Autobiography of Malcolm X in 5th grade, so sometime after that). But I loved Jesus. Loved Jesus. I remember watching Jesus Christ Superstar in Rochester, NY, with my best friend from sixth grade who had moved there, and being frozen in my seat at the end. Weeping. They pretty much had to drag me out of the theater.
Sometime later, and I can't say when, I developed a big moving lump in my sternum. You know that place where your trachea meets your heart? Where breath and blood merge? For decades I've been trying to open it, to describe what's inside. It's the reason I traveled, the reason for MBZC, the reason I studied ethics (and 3rd-world women's studies; and went to divinity school), the reason for attempting communal living and voluntary simplicity, the reason for a lot of political action, the reason I kept sneaking into churches when no one was there, the reason I went ahead and was ordained even though my whole body was shaking and my not-yet husband had to act like a horse whisperer to keep me on the dais.
Over the years, I've tried to describe its contents in poetry, through my philosophy teaching, through nonfiction writings, through speeches, through living. I've tried in sermons, in small groups, in blogs. I've cried and yelled in frustration trying to describe it to my very patient husband. Soon after I started pastoring my church, I gathered a group of people from the church and tried to inscribe it instead, by trying to start another "worship service" that wasn't really a worship service that now I'd call an "emergent church", sort of. Each time, I've failed. The philosopher training (and my general leanings toward both high emotion and high abstraction) has blocked me. The lump itself is the way we are to actually daily live; its contents are kingdomvision.
4) The first time I read Brian McLaren, I felt something in that same spot -- between breath and blood. Right now I'm reading his newer (not newest) book, The Secret Message of Jesus, in preparation for leading a small group study of it in the fall. For a long time now, he's been grappling with that thing between breath and blood too. Thanks to God, McLaren, unlike Dallas Willard, and to a much lesser degree me, was trained in English, and so is having some success at describing it in concrete terms, in the language of poetry and pavement. I am envious, and very grateful.
5) Gratitude = happiness. See #1, above.
6) The post title? At noon, there is no shadow. Only light.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
God in the corners
Tuesday, 12:36 p.m.
I failed to mention that yesterday's teaching ("dharma talk", I would have called it a long time ago) was on ego. He didn't say "ego", but that's what it was about. How if we're going to be fully in union with God, our self we hang on to so tightly will have to go. Standard stuff, but on the first day of serious meditation, it hit home. My self is before me.
Yesterday afternoon was just what the Holy Physician ordered. Scripture study, Dallas Willard, praying the hours, and a solid hike-y walk along trails that one Jim Hand, SJ, built. And the labyrinth, which is modeled on Chartres, and is, therefore, large. Landscaping-wise I get pleasure from the way they made it; spiritually it's an outside version of what I'm doing 9 times a day inside.
Today we celebrated the Eucharist. I think I've mentioned here before that, though we've made a lot of changes in our community over the last 4-1/2 years, the one thing I've been scared to change is the once-monthly eucharist. So it was truly grace to have it today. I'm reading Leviticus right now, which made the imagery of the Lord's table so meaningful -- so clearly tied to ancient Jewish theology and law. It's the first time I've really been able to accept the atonement theory as having important base. I've known it, but today I felt it.
Anyway, during meditation itself I had mad monkey-mind. Brain would not settle down, and I kept getting caught up in it. I redesigned the landscaping for our home backyard so we could save money in the re-do. Couldn't really attribute that to God; more likely it's the loud shout of our bank account. But later, though the monkey kept running, God got in a few words. God gave me our next sermon series, both the title and the content: "Holy Scripts: Six Sacred Prayers".
Amazing what God can do in a very little cramped space.
Rhythms
Monday, 6:45 p.m.
As much as I like unstructured time, as much as I appreciate the openness of pastoral ministry, I am convicted about the value of daily, weekly, seasonal, and annual spiritual rhythms. And I do mean for every practicing Christian (of course, I'm not sure there is such a thing as a non-practicing Christian, but that's another blog entry). Israel lived by them. Jesus lived by them. Paul lived by them. A whole lot of the saints lived by them. That's pretty good company.
I truly believe that capitalism, particularly, but western development, generally, has become the rhythm and reason of our lives. One tiny example: the coffee break was replaced by coffee in offices. One rhythm broken. So we expect to operate 24/7/52, with everything adjusting to make that happen. But the liturgical (and seasonal) year is nuanced, to use Phyllis Tickle's word. The energy of the day itself has peaks and valleys: nighttime is naturally quieter than day; dawn than dusk. The psalmist writes of praising God seven times daily, hence the prayer observation of the hours. Fasting and prayer prepared Jesus for both the temptations and his arrest. "Efficiency" experts now advise not mutlitasking, and specifically not to do email first thing, or let it interrupt other activities. Rhythm matters.
The key question is "what, and how?"
It's almost 7. I promised myself that this week I would not write after 7, leaving the rest of the evening to meditation, prayer, and reading. And rest.
Monday, June 25, 2007
We serve a mighty God
I am so full of joy. I happened to pass a computer with internet access, and discovered via email that one of our (very beloved by me) men had suffered a stroke. When I called his home, I spoke to his son and found out that the magic after-stroke drug had been given to him, and he's much much better!
And, to top it off, the leaders for the retreat have given me permission to take afternoons to study, read, and write. I don't know if God had anything to do with their answer, but I know God got me to ask.
We serve a mighty, and very thoughtful, God.
And, to top it off, the leaders for the retreat have given me permission to take afternoons to study, read, and write. I don't know if God had anything to do with their answer, but I know God got me to ask.
We serve a mighty, and very thoughtful, God.
Blogging silence
Sunday, 5:40 p.m.
The silence begins in 20 minutes. Or in an hour and 20 minutes, I'm not sure.
I have come to Mercy Center (http://www.mercy-center.org) for a five-day intensive East-West meditation retreat. Apparently it's a silent retreat. There are multiple rooms and patios where one can eat in silence, although I suspect that a group of people eating in a room probably aren't all that silent. Maybe that's why there are a bunch of room options in which to be silent while one eats: so there are never so many people chewing, chomping, snorting, swallowing, and clattering that it breaks the silence.
I figure blogging breaks the silence too, in spirit if not in volume. Probably no more than the five books, one magazine, and the Bible on my student-sized desk would, assuming I can maintain silence while reading them. If I'm cogitating, eating the words, does that break silence?
There is no actual silence. Even with my window shut, I can hear the rush of the wind in the trees and against the building. My window faces west, so I'm getting the evening ocean wind -- that shocking stupendous wind that I adore. If my window were open, it would howl into my cell like a train rushing by. Like the Holy Spirit rushing through that room so many years ago.
Sunday, 9:15 p.m.
I was right: reading and writing break silence. So does looking people in the eye or acknowledging them in any way. Maybe that explains the sketchy cell phone reception, rather than Mercy's placement in the hills.
Monday, 9:01 a.m.
After 2 meditation sessions (each is 25 minutes sitting, 5 minutes walking, times 3), I can honestly say it is much easier than when I was young. My brain still skyrockets around, but now it's more like the synapses are randomly firing than that my self is following some downward spiral. Progress?
Here's what I'm grappling with today: I didn't sign up for a sesshin (all day meditation for a longer period of time), not knowingly. What I signed up for, what I crave, is meditation morning and evening, and praying the hours and scripture study and long walks, visioning at 30,000 feet. Last night, my wonderful husband encouraged me to do what I want -- to stay but not go to the meditation practices, to come home and continue my retreat, to check into a hotel -- whatever will be useful to me right now. This kind of thing is one of the reasons I adore him: he both challenges me and supports my actual needs.
That's not the grappling. The grappling is whether God has something for me to learn from keeping the schedule I've been handed. Whether God wants me to learn a "new" kind of silence, so that there's less of me and more of God. I've already been slapped with the need to overcome disdain, as I practiced what I would say if I pulled out of the structured retreat. God made it very clear, in a very humbling way, that I may choose to do something different, but I don't need to justify my choice, especially not by criticizing what we're doing. (The internal patter goes like, "Hey, I did this for real at MBZC, in very strict Rinzai Zen practice, for two years. And I got the robes to prove it -- don't need to do it with a bunch of western posers." You see why God would not be pleased.)
The rest of the grappling is this: we have a number of isolated one-hour periods of free time throughout the day. What would happen if I just shut up and did the practice and actually utilized those spaces for the stuff I came here to do, instead of wasting them telling myself I don't have the time to do what I came here to do and trying to figure out how to gracefully get out of it?
If God is teaching me 1) stop criticizing in order to justify; 2) shut up; and 3) just do something, that will be a productive week, all by itself.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Picking up your ball and leaving the game
I am convinced that one of the disasters of the Boomer church was an utter dearth of stated expectations, discipline, and accountability. There is no Boomer-based organization I've ever belonged to in which the members actually felt they needed to a) make commitments, b) live up to them, c) confess when they've messed up and make amends, and d) work out conflicts and problems directly.
The same goes for the church. We've asked for nothing, required nothing, and been pissed when we got nothing. If someone misses an obligation, we pat them on the head and say "there, there, of course you had other things to do!" We tell them that following Jesus is easy, and we don't ever talk about devotion to Jesus -- that God must come first. Or, for that matter, that when they join a community they are choosing to take on commitments to that community.
But the part that's getting me today is that way too many people think that the way to resolve conflict is to pick up your ball and leave the game. Tremendously mature. Shockingly useful. And then they wonder why they hate going home, their kids are a mess (or simply don't think church and God matter, since their parents act like they don't), and no one ever tells them the truth about anything.
We've been lax in accountability ourselves. We've talked about it, but we haven't enforced it. Those days are over. Right now. And if people don't have the spine to actually work through relationships (with help, with prayer), they're just going to have to find another game to play in. A pick-up game, where if no one shows up it's simply cancelled.
The same goes for the church. We've asked for nothing, required nothing, and been pissed when we got nothing. If someone misses an obligation, we pat them on the head and say "there, there, of course you had other things to do!" We tell them that following Jesus is easy, and we don't ever talk about devotion to Jesus -- that God must come first. Or, for that matter, that when they join a community they are choosing to take on commitments to that community.
But the part that's getting me today is that way too many people think that the way to resolve conflict is to pick up your ball and leave the game. Tremendously mature. Shockingly useful. And then they wonder why they hate going home, their kids are a mess (or simply don't think church and God matter, since their parents act like they don't), and no one ever tells them the truth about anything.
We've been lax in accountability ourselves. We've talked about it, but we haven't enforced it. Those days are over. Right now. And if people don't have the spine to actually work through relationships (with help, with prayer), they're just going to have to find another game to play in. A pick-up game, where if no one shows up it's simply cancelled.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Transition and conflict
I truly honestly deeply believe that a church in transition (Good transition! Spirit-led transition!) will experience conflict, even if all the people have been well trained to "be nice".
I also truly honestly deeply believe that a church transitioning from
will experience conflict, as the low bar habits of neglectful membership (and forget about discipleship!) crash into the high expectations of actual community and purpose.
And I believe this is normal and part of the journey.
Can't say I'm loving it, though.
I also truly honestly deeply believe that a church transitioning from
once-a-week-maybe-and-then-you're-done, to
faith lived out 24/7 in your real life and high expectations for leaders to actually be spiritual leaders and think about what they are modeling to newer people and kids
will experience conflict, as the low bar habits of neglectful membership (and forget about discipleship!) crash into the high expectations of actual community and purpose.
And I believe this is normal and part of the journey.
Can't say I'm loving it, though.
Friday, June 08, 2007
"It's the stem cells. I hear their cries."
(with thanks to Garry Trudeau for the title)
So our President said he's going to veto the stem cell research bill, because "If this bill were to become law, American taxpayers would for the first time in our history be compelled to support the deliberate destruction of human embryos. Crossing that line would be a grave mistake. For that reason, I will veto the bill passed today.''
Really?
So American taxpayers can be compelled to support the deliberate destruction of thousands of full-term-or-grown Iraqis, along with the "accidental" destruction of thousands of Americans, but cells are a problem?
"Right to life", my patootie.
So our President said he's going to veto the stem cell research bill, because "If this bill were to become law, American taxpayers would for the first time in our history be compelled to support the deliberate destruction of human embryos. Crossing that line would be a grave mistake. For that reason, I will veto the bill passed today.''
Really?
So American taxpayers can be compelled to support the deliberate destruction of thousands of full-term-or-grown Iraqis, along with the "accidental" destruction of thousands of Americans, but cells are a problem?
"Right to life", my patootie.
Friday Five Getaway Edition
The RevGalBlogPals post five questions every Friday for the ring to play with. This week it's all about getting away, so I had to post!
My ideal getaway island would include coffee and drinks brought to me. Emerald water, high 70s, slight breeze. Soft sand. Very few people. Very quiet.
1) What book(s) will you bring? Fiction. Chick fiction. Anne Tyler, probably. Or Candace Bushnell, if I were really tired.... might manage Kathleen Norris or Anne Lamott, but don't count on it. Definitely Esquire and Vanity Fair.
2) What music accompanies you? Well, since I'd have to download or rip to get what I want, probably what's already on the Zen, which is mostly gospel. But some Jimmy Buffett, Otis Redding, hmmm... Concrete Blonde, Edie Brickell, Etta James, maybe. Definitely some sax.
3) What essentials of everyday living must you take (as in the health and beauty aids aisle variety)? 45 spf Sunscreen . Waterproof mascara. Sarong. My favorite tinted Lorac lip balm. My sleep mask. Oh! and foot cream for after the pedicure.
4) What technological gadgets if any, will you take with you or do you leave it all behind? If I take my laptop I'll work. I'd take the Zen, and cell only if I were playing hooky.
5) What culinary delights will you partake in while there? Whatever is local, fresh, and vegetarian. Green papaya salad is always good. French champagne and rose and sparkling water.
What makes for a perfect day on vacation for you? Waking up without the alarm. Making coffee. Going for a long walk, either with praise music playing in my ears or a good friend/husband. Coming back to coffee, newspaper or book. Reading outside. Cooking a very leisurely dinner, or letting people bring it to me. Hot tub and pedicure. Skydiving or something else fun if it's day 3 or 4. Great conversation. And private time with my husband...
My ideal getaway island would include coffee and drinks brought to me. Emerald water, high 70s, slight breeze. Soft sand. Very few people. Very quiet.
1) What book(s) will you bring? Fiction. Chick fiction. Anne Tyler, probably. Or Candace Bushnell, if I were really tired.... might manage Kathleen Norris or Anne Lamott, but don't count on it. Definitely Esquire and Vanity Fair.
2) What music accompanies you? Well, since I'd have to download or rip to get what I want, probably what's already on the Zen, which is mostly gospel. But some Jimmy Buffett, Otis Redding, hmmm... Concrete Blonde, Edie Brickell, Etta James, maybe. Definitely some sax.
3) What essentials of everyday living must you take (as in the health and beauty aids aisle variety)? 45 spf Sunscreen . Waterproof mascara. Sarong. My favorite tinted Lorac lip balm. My sleep mask. Oh! and foot cream for after the pedicure.
4) What technological gadgets if any, will you take with you or do you leave it all behind? If I take my laptop I'll work. I'd take the Zen, and cell only if I were playing hooky.
5) What culinary delights will you partake in while there? Whatever is local, fresh, and vegetarian. Green papaya salad is always good. French champagne and rose and sparkling water.
What makes for a perfect day on vacation for you? Waking up without the alarm. Making coffee. Going for a long walk, either with praise music playing in my ears or a good friend/husband. Coming back to coffee, newspaper or book. Reading outside. Cooking a very leisurely dinner, or letting people bring it to me. Hot tub and pedicure. Skydiving or something else fun if it's day 3 or 4. Great conversation. And private time with my husband...
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Learning from chagrin
Yesterday one of God's children called me. I wasn't in the office, but got the message by email. I called her back to see what she wanted. After pleasantries, there was a long silence. Then it went like this:
Me: You called me?
God's child: Yes.
Me: What can I help you with?
God's child: Well, I'm out of (physical) rehab and I wanted to be put on the prayer chain. I called the office; you were gone last week?
Me: I was gone the first half of the week, and I'm finally caught up (laughing).
God's child: Oh (not laughing, realizing I'd been back a number of days).
Me: Did I neglect you? Do you feel neglected?
God's child: Yes. Yes I do.
Me: I'm so sorry. When we spoke two weeks ago you said you were doing fine, and since I didn't hear from you I figured everything was okay.
God's child: Well, every other minister I've had just called.
Me: (deeply chagrined and chastened) I'm really so very sorry. I'll call later this week. I'll make myself a pest.
God's child: (laughing a tiny little bit) That would be fine. If you can find us between doctors' appointments!
That was yesterday afternoon. I cannot stop thinking about it, and my internal dialog runs from shame to justification to realization-about-everyone-else-I've-neglected to figuring out why I don't call easily. No pastor has ever called me, so I've no models of that. I grew up with privacy: no dropping in, don't ask to be invited, etc. And I do have a fear that I'll call and be rejected. Then there's the "I have other work to do, other people who are actually dying to visit, sermons to write, budgets to produce, scripture to read" stuff.
Bottom line: She is a child of God, and I am her sister in Christ. I should have called sooner. Period. Especially since I'm trying to teach everyone else in our church to do just that.
So, Child of God, if you're reading this, thanks for the chastening. I'll talk with you tomorrow.
Me: You called me?
God's child: Yes.
Me: What can I help you with?
God's child: Well, I'm out of (physical) rehab and I wanted to be put on the prayer chain. I called the office; you were gone last week?
Me: I was gone the first half of the week, and I'm finally caught up (laughing).
God's child: Oh (not laughing, realizing I'd been back a number of days).
Me: Did I neglect you? Do you feel neglected?
God's child: Yes. Yes I do.
Me: I'm so sorry. When we spoke two weeks ago you said you were doing fine, and since I didn't hear from you I figured everything was okay.
God's child: Well, every other minister I've had just called.
Me: (deeply chagrined and chastened) I'm really so very sorry. I'll call later this week. I'll make myself a pest.
God's child: (laughing a tiny little bit) That would be fine. If you can find us between doctors' appointments!
That was yesterday afternoon. I cannot stop thinking about it, and my internal dialog runs from shame to justification to realization-about-everyone-else-I've-neglected to figuring out why I don't call easily. No pastor has ever called me, so I've no models of that. I grew up with privacy: no dropping in, don't ask to be invited, etc. And I do have a fear that I'll call and be rejected. Then there's the "I have other work to do, other people who are actually dying to visit, sermons to write, budgets to produce, scripture to read" stuff.
Bottom line: She is a child of God, and I am her sister in Christ. I should have called sooner. Period. Especially since I'm trying to teach everyone else in our church to do just that.
So, Child of God, if you're reading this, thanks for the chastening. I'll talk with you tomorrow.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Coalition and cleanliness
Read an article today in Christian Century (see link above) reporting that Rick Warren (purpose-driven pastor of Saddleback Church, among other achievements) is being criticized by the Christian Accountability Network, among others, for failing to publicly reprimand media giant Rupert Murdoch (Fox TV, et nauseum) for his holdings of porn channels. The attack is based on Warren's claim that he is Murdoch's pastor.
The article quotes Warren as saying: "I don't have to agree with 100 percent of what another person does in order to work with them on the 20 percent that we do agree on." Murdoch was credited with donating $2m to Warren's PEACE plan almost immediately, and one of his publishing companies puts out some of Warren's books.
There are lots of good reasons to like and dislike Rick Warren, and even more reason to dislike Rupert Murdoch. But Warren is the only major evangelical I've seen come out very strongly against poverty, corruption, illiteracy, and other ills abroad and at home. If Murdoch is helping him do that, good for him.
As a Christian, publicly calling someone out is one's last resort. (See Mt. 18 for our dispute process). If Warren is indeed Murdoch's pastor, the last thing he should be doing is publicly disciplining or reprimanding him. Ecclesiastically and practically, it's the wrong thing to do.
There is also a tone to the criticism that leans toward levitical purity: Rick Warren should walk through the streets shouting "unclean" until he chides (and, presumably rejects the money of) Murdoch. How Jesus-like.
I pray we continue to find ways to work together when we can, and find others to work with when we can't. The kingdom is just too important.
(A small BTW -- the Christian Accountability Network was "founded in early 2007 to provide balanced Biblical accountability to America’s prominent pastors and teachers regarding their teaching and life." This is, apparently, its first foray into ethical discernment and teaching, though founder Rosebrough seems to live out loud in many places in the blogosphere. He has now achieved some of the notoriety he clearly desires.)
The article quotes Warren as saying: "I don't have to agree with 100 percent of what another person does in order to work with them on the 20 percent that we do agree on." Murdoch was credited with donating $2m to Warren's PEACE plan almost immediately, and one of his publishing companies puts out some of Warren's books.
There are lots of good reasons to like and dislike Rick Warren, and even more reason to dislike Rupert Murdoch. But Warren is the only major evangelical I've seen come out very strongly against poverty, corruption, illiteracy, and other ills abroad and at home. If Murdoch is helping him do that, good for him.
As a Christian, publicly calling someone out is one's last resort. (See Mt. 18 for our dispute process). If Warren is indeed Murdoch's pastor, the last thing he should be doing is publicly disciplining or reprimanding him. Ecclesiastically and practically, it's the wrong thing to do.
There is also a tone to the criticism that leans toward levitical purity: Rick Warren should walk through the streets shouting "unclean" until he chides (and, presumably rejects the money of) Murdoch. How Jesus-like.
I pray we continue to find ways to work together when we can, and find others to work with when we can't. The kingdom is just too important.
(A small BTW -- the Christian Accountability Network was "founded in early 2007 to provide balanced Biblical accountability to America’s prominent pastors and teachers regarding their teaching and life." This is, apparently, its first foray into ethical discernment and teaching, though founder Rosebrough seems to live out loud in many places in the blogosphere. He has now achieved some of the notoriety he clearly desires.)
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Word cloud
The Mollinator used this cool widget in her blog. It's a word cloud from the good people at Snapshirts. It looked for the words of this blog and made them pretty. As long as no one ever does this with the monologue in my head, I'm good.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Drenched faith
One more thing: in his nooma Trees (which I saw last night as the devotional for our 2s & 3s potluck), Rob Bell describes the world as "drenched in God" (I think that's right -- I'll correct it later if it's not).
I love that description. I know that the basis for my goofy foolish hope, even in the face of horrific abuse and anti-christ politics, is that from time to time I am awash, drenched, in the presence of God, right here, right now.
So, Rob, I'm stealing it. Drenched in God. Drenchedfaith. Let it rain.
I love that description. I know that the basis for my goofy foolish hope, even in the face of horrific abuse and anti-christ politics, is that from time to time I am awash, drenched, in the presence of God, right here, right now.
So, Rob, I'm stealing it. Drenched in God. Drenchedfaith. Let it rain.
Africa emerging
Last night I dreamed about Rwanda. It wasn't a dream about Rwanda; it was a dream about passing a car wreck on 280 north just above Saratoga Ave. But as we were passing the multi-car wreck, someone whispered "Rwanda". Like a ghostly movie narrator.
Africa isn't a regular dream topic for me. I'm more of a water girl. A few weeks ago my husband and I did discuss a trip to Rwanda to visit the gorillas, but I haven't thought about it since then.
This morning, I received the new Emergent/C in my inbox, and there was Brian McLaren writing about his trip to Africa. Evocative.
I don't like to think I can make a connection between a dreamed car wreck, a whispered name, and a blog posting. But I do like to think the the Holy Spirit can.
Africa isn't a regular dream topic for me. I'm more of a water girl. A few weeks ago my husband and I did discuss a trip to Rwanda to visit the gorillas, but I haven't thought about it since then.
This morning, I received the new Emergent/C in my inbox, and there was Brian McLaren writing about his trip to Africa. Evocative.
I don't like to think I can make a connection between a dreamed car wreck, a whispered name, and a blog posting. But I do like to think the the Holy Spirit can.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Blogging the meeting
I would have written sooner but the internet provider that Asilomar uses died mid-download yesterday. The good part about that is that I spent my time outside and at the beach and with the folks.
It's wonderful to be here with people who are excitedly figuring out how to follow Jesus -- for whom that's a living question. Yesterday we got into discernment/discussion about what it means for us right now in Silicon Valley to be church with each other. Our church family is economically very diverse; historically that has been left unremarked upon. I know that reticence comes from a fear of moneytalk coupled with pride/embarrassment on the part of both the struggling and the secure. But that means that those who are actively struggling "can't" talk about it (and get help and support) and those who could pitch in don't know.
The fear-of-moneytalk also serves as a community divider: it reinforces the sense of isolation, of nuclearfamily-ism, that pervades our culture. And that is acute in our area, where working 70 hours a week is a point of pride (for techies) and of need (for laborers), and the housing median is over $800k. If any society needed a counter-culture, it's ours.
If we had any guts, we'd choose to reconstruct our relationships: we'd invest in co-housing, rear our kids together, create shared child care -- we'd be sub-urban monastics. Minimally, our people would assume that we would take care of each other, openly, rather than wait for a whispered secret to inspire.
Anyway, so last night we were talking about finding a way to offer health insurance to those in our congregation who can't afford it. I'm thinking about investing in a CSA as a church. It's not Acts 2, but it's a start.
It's wonderful to be here with people who are excitedly figuring out how to follow Jesus -- for whom that's a living question. Yesterday we got into discernment/discussion about what it means for us right now in Silicon Valley to be church with each other. Our church family is economically very diverse; historically that has been left unremarked upon. I know that reticence comes from a fear of moneytalk coupled with pride/embarrassment on the part of both the struggling and the secure. But that means that those who are actively struggling "can't" talk about it (and get help and support) and those who could pitch in don't know.
The fear-of-moneytalk also serves as a community divider: it reinforces the sense of isolation, of nuclearfamily-ism, that pervades our culture. And that is acute in our area, where working 70 hours a week is a point of pride (for techies) and of need (for laborers), and the housing median is over $800k. If any society needed a counter-culture, it's ours.
If we had any guts, we'd choose to reconstruct our relationships: we'd invest in co-housing, rear our kids together, create shared child care -- we'd be sub-urban monastics. Minimally, our people would assume that we would take care of each other, openly, rather than wait for a whispered secret to inspire.
Anyway, so last night we were talking about finding a way to offer health insurance to those in our congregation who can't afford it. I'm thinking about investing in a CSA as a church. It's not Acts 2, but it's a start.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Vacation to vocation
My wonderful husband and I spent the last few days in Las Vegas with his mother. It was her first time there in 35 years, so we were the "experts". We enjoy Vegas because a) no planning is required to purchase an air/hotel package (and vacation=no planning), b) people will bring you food if you want them to, and c) we can take very long walks or sit by the pool and "b" will still apply. We weren't sure how she would like it (she's a pretty refined and academically-cultural person) and so were nervous going into it. We planned a trip to Quark's Bar (a piece of the huge Star Trek Adventure) as a silliness midway, and because we'd never been. Turns out that was her favorite part: Klingons and Ferengis with her lunch.
Vegas is a funny place for pastors to go: it's like a retailer visiting its major supplier. But it's also this incredible cross-section of humanity: all classes, all races, all ages, many countries. People in saris and shorts and sarongs. Between napping and walking, I remember how similar we all are -- how much we're all looking for hope. And sometimes even tiny conversations in elevators or cabs turn to where my own hope lies.
Today I head to the annual meeting of our local UCC churches, known as "asilomar" because that's where it's been held for a long time. There too no planning is required, food is made for you, and I can take very long walks. But it's not vacation, because I am representing my church and have some duties. I love being with the folks from our church, and am a fan of God's ocean (especially when it's foggy, which it often is there), but I often feel more like a follower of Jesus in Vegas than at Asilomar. In the meetings (not at the beach or with our folks) I feel like a piece of a certain kind of machinery (a very loose machine, of course), rather than of the living body of Christ. I know it's about me -- it's not annual meeting's "fault" -- but the contrast is striking. There I am a paid professional church leader and have to work at following Jesus; on vacation I am a follower among God's people.
Vocation can be found in vacation: in Sin City I remember my source. This time at annual meeting, may Jesus yank me out of profession and back into the joy of discipleship and fellowship.
Vegas is a funny place for pastors to go: it's like a retailer visiting its major supplier. But it's also this incredible cross-section of humanity: all classes, all races, all ages, many countries. People in saris and shorts and sarongs. Between napping and walking, I remember how similar we all are -- how much we're all looking for hope. And sometimes even tiny conversations in elevators or cabs turn to where my own hope lies.
Today I head to the annual meeting of our local UCC churches, known as "asilomar" because that's where it's been held for a long time. There too no planning is required, food is made for you, and I can take very long walks. But it's not vacation, because I am representing my church and have some duties. I love being with the folks from our church, and am a fan of God's ocean (especially when it's foggy, which it often is there), but I often feel more like a follower of Jesus in Vegas than at Asilomar. In the meetings (not at the beach or with our folks) I feel like a piece of a certain kind of machinery (a very loose machine, of course), rather than of the living body of Christ. I know it's about me -- it's not annual meeting's "fault" -- but the contrast is striking. There I am a paid professional church leader and have to work at following Jesus; on vacation I am a follower among God's people.
Vocation can be found in vacation: in Sin City I remember my source. This time at annual meeting, may Jesus yank me out of profession and back into the joy of discipleship and fellowship.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Thanking the God of the Irish
Today, Northern Ireland instituted a united, independent government. I cannot express how happy and hopeful this makes me.
It's been nearly four hundred years since the British colonized Ulster in the north, seizing Irish land.
It's been over two hundred years since the Kingdom of Ireland was overtaken by Great Britain, and brought entirely under British rule.
It's been nearly a hundred years since the Irish Protestant minority rejected home rule -- the rule of Ireland by Irish -- and 93 years since the country was cut into two, with 26 counties in the Republic, and 6 counties under British rule.
It's been 91 years since the uprising on Easter Monday, when rebels in the southern Republic fought for reunification under Irish home rule.
It's been nearly forty years since the worst of the Troubles began. And it's been 26 years since Bobby Sands was elected to Parliament, and died in a hunger strike in the Maze prison.
Over the years, the Irish Republican Army has earned and born the brunt of the blame for violence, the media ignoring the Ulster Volunteer Force and other terrorists of British-Irish descent. Over the years, Christian religion has born the brunt of the blame for the troubles, the hatred, and the separation, though religion was just the tangible marker of the results of colonialism and discrimination.
I give great thanks today that, after hundreds of years of pain and sorrow, there is hope in Northern Ireland. And I give great thanks that there is hope for other post-colonial countries, including my own, and for all those we continue to colonize and fight in name of the modern nation-state.
26+6 might not ever equal 1. But it might finally = 2.
It's been nearly four hundred years since the British colonized Ulster in the north, seizing Irish land.
It's been over two hundred years since the Kingdom of Ireland was overtaken by Great Britain, and brought entirely under British rule.
It's been nearly a hundred years since the Irish Protestant minority rejected home rule -- the rule of Ireland by Irish -- and 93 years since the country was cut into two, with 26 counties in the Republic, and 6 counties under British rule.
It's been 91 years since the uprising on Easter Monday, when rebels in the southern Republic fought for reunification under Irish home rule.
It's been nearly forty years since the worst of the Troubles began. And it's been 26 years since Bobby Sands was elected to Parliament, and died in a hunger strike in the Maze prison.
Over the years, the Irish Republican Army has earned and born the brunt of the blame for violence, the media ignoring the Ulster Volunteer Force and other terrorists of British-Irish descent. Over the years, Christian religion has born the brunt of the blame for the troubles, the hatred, and the separation, though religion was just the tangible marker of the results of colonialism and discrimination.
I give great thanks today that, after hundreds of years of pain and sorrow, there is hope in Northern Ireland. And I give great thanks that there is hope for other post-colonial countries, including my own, and for all those we continue to colonize and fight in name of the modern nation-state.
26+6 might not ever equal 1. But it might finally = 2.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Misspent achieving
Sally Morgenthaler's post over at the Gifted for Leadership blog reminds me that in June I'm taking a weeklong prayer-and-meditation retreat at Mercy Center. It's an "east-west" retreat. I'm hoping that the east part will revive my body memory of years of zen meditation (rinzai school, thank you very much), and the west part will center me in Jesus.
It should be noted that the last time I did this kind of thing was a week-long sesshin (zen meditation retreat, heavy on the meditation) on a mountain. I spent much of the time throwing up from the stress; I'm hoping that body memory isn't revived.
I'm also hoping that a week of spiritual bootcamp will help me build a stronger meditation and prayer practice. Or build one at all. I remember having a meditation practice, doing yoga regularly, writing consistently in my journal. Somewhere along the line, as Sally points out, the job overtook the discipleship. I've written about this before in this blog, and it's still sometimes true. It is fully my fault: any job and its correlating activity is easier for me than quiet sitting in the presence of God (and in the presence of all my yammering "shoulda woulda coulda" voices).
But that's the baseline -- sitting in the presence of God. Not just because the sitting trains us for the standing and the doing, but because the sitting is, in itself, good. Because God talks to us in the silence when we finally run out of words.
I figure that spending five days on semi-silent retreat will exhaust the words, or at least give God some elbow room between them.
It should be noted that the last time I did this kind of thing was a week-long sesshin (zen meditation retreat, heavy on the meditation) on a mountain. I spent much of the time throwing up from the stress; I'm hoping that body memory isn't revived.
I'm also hoping that a week of spiritual bootcamp will help me build a stronger meditation and prayer practice. Or build one at all. I remember having a meditation practice, doing yoga regularly, writing consistently in my journal. Somewhere along the line, as Sally points out, the job overtook the discipleship. I've written about this before in this blog, and it's still sometimes true. It is fully my fault: any job and its correlating activity is easier for me than quiet sitting in the presence of God (and in the presence of all my yammering "shoulda woulda coulda" voices).
But that's the baseline -- sitting in the presence of God. Not just because the sitting trains us for the standing and the doing, but because the sitting is, in itself, good. Because God talks to us in the silence when we finally run out of words.
I figure that spending five days on semi-silent retreat will exhaust the words, or at least give God some elbow room between them.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
(A)washed in the blood
As grieving for the 33 Va. Tech dead continued (I hope we are grieving for all 33), over 170 people were killed in bombings in Baghdad. A witness described one of the bomb sites -- a food market -- as "a swimming pool of blood".
We are awash in the blood of our brothers and sisters. And we have always been.
Predictably, psychobabble water wings work to keep some afloat. Others rest on geopolitical innertubes or instantly inflatable punditry.
Others of us stand stock still, unable to swim, unable to move for all the wasted life and spent hope.
We, who only days ago celebrated new life, who sing of being "washed in the blood of the Lamb", we who follow Jesus must keep moving.
We must join our voices with other of God's children in songs of lament and pain.
We must continue to walk with God, be we Christian or Jewish or Muslim or some other variety of Godfearers.
We must keep our hearts open to hearing the word of hope, the promise of restoration and resurrection, in this life. It won't be a pithy word, that whispered hope from God, or an explanation ripped from the DSM-IV or the Pentagon's playbook. And it probably won't be a blueprinted plan that explains once and for all why we kill each other so easily. That word of hope may simply be the echo of God's broken heart and eternal faithfulness, calling us to mourn, and do better.
We are awash in the blood of our brothers and sisters. And we have always been.
Predictably, psychobabble water wings work to keep some afloat. Others rest on geopolitical innertubes or instantly inflatable punditry.
Others of us stand stock still, unable to swim, unable to move for all the wasted life and spent hope.
We, who only days ago celebrated new life, who sing of being "washed in the blood of the Lamb", we who follow Jesus must keep moving.
We must join our voices with other of God's children in songs of lament and pain.
We must continue to walk with God, be we Christian or Jewish or Muslim or some other variety of Godfearers.
We must keep our hearts open to hearing the word of hope, the promise of restoration and resurrection, in this life. It won't be a pithy word, that whispered hope from God, or an explanation ripped from the DSM-IV or the Pentagon's playbook. And it probably won't be a blueprinted plan that explains once and for all why we kill each other so easily. That word of hope may simply be the echo of God's broken heart and eternal faithfulness, calling us to mourn, and do better.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Civility
I'm praying that the Imus runoff (or the Richards runoff, or the Gibson runoff, or the fill-in-offensive-person's-name-here runoff) flows both upstream and down. The language of common discourse has become way too common: we are increasingly and disturbingly uncivil to each other. Point to rap singers calling women "ho's" if you will, but right alongside that has been politicians naming critics as "treasonous". Sitcoms are nearly universally based on unkindness; Fox News is legendarily vicious and distorted. Aggressive driving is the norm, as is driving while under the influence of phone (and having "private" conversations in public places, impolite to both the conversant and the bystanders). My liberal friends think nothing of trashing the right wing as "intolerant" or "inflexible" while they smugly hold their positions and sneer. And back the other way as well.
I'm all for honesty and frankness, and have no nostalgia for the falsehood of the 50s facade. But we have fouled our own homes, and wonder aloud when we emerge from the muck, stinking.
"First take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." I've caught myself thinking and speaking unkindly about strangers who have done me no wrong, other than crossing my path on a busy day. May God wash me, and us, and make us humble with each other.
Friday, March 30, 2007
At Onement
The "why" of Jesus' death on the Cross is very frequently answered with a theory about atonement, and specifically, substitutionary atonement. Those are big theological words for the simple idea that humankind sinned mightily and had not made things right with God, but Jesus took all that sin upon himself and made things right with God. Because he was God and sinless, his sacrifice was immense enough to be enough for all of us. "Jesus paid the price" is the song and story. It's not the only reason based in Scripture, but it is a powerful one, made clear in Isaiah (before Christ) and the letter of Paul to the Hebrews (after Christ), and supported by references to Jesus as the lamb (that is, the best creature to sacrifice on the ancient altars).
I've never been a big fan of this theory. I have lots of reasons, some of them pure gut reactions to Jesus' having paid my debt. But it always comes down to this: substitutionary atonement lets us too far off the hook. From Deuteronomy onward, God makes it quite clear that though physical sacrifices are good, they're not the point. And they are not enough. God demands our whole heart, soul, mind and strength. God asserts God's ownership of everything. God requires justice, mercy, and humility toward others and toward God's creation. No priest can made those sacrifices on our behalf, because those sacrifices are of our entire being, and no priest has that to give.
Even the Eternal High Priest. It's not like a monetary debt, where a friend can pay for another friend, because there is no single coin of the realm. Jesus does not own our heart, soul, mind and strength to give unless we have given them to Him (which then means no substitution is present, if Jesus is God). God demands each one of us, singularly and wholly.
When I gaze at the Cross, and at the Covenant in blood and flesh that preceded it, I am reminded that the meaning of atonement is, literally, at-one-ment. To be at one with. Communion. Our word "reconciliation" is close, but lacks metaphysical precision. When we pay our debts, we are at one with our debtor. When we give our whole selves to God, as Jesus could not help but do, we are at one with God.
The Cross reminds us that at-one-ment with God will bring pain. It will bring death and vulnerability. To be open to God and to let in the pain (and joy!) of the world is hard. The road to God leads through the Cross, certainly, but also through crosses of our own and the crosses of the world.
Loving reconciliation with God and with the creation -- true shalom -- is risky business. It will mean loss. To be at one with God is to be at odds with that which is not-God. But the joy of it, the wholeness of it, the eternity of it, is what we gain.
Resurrection is the gain.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Do we measure up?
Jesus was clear: those who enter the Kingdom are those who cared for others. "Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me." (Matthew 25:34-36)
2,000 years later, in this "Christian" society, we measure gross national product, rather than poverty relief. We count battles won, rather than prisoners reformed. We idolize those with loud voices or fast feet, rather than the steady comforters of the lost and broken. As churches we count members and tithes, and not lives resurrected. How far we remain from the Kingdom!
Poet T.S. Eliot offers us this Lenten reflection:
When the Stranger says:"What is the meaning of this city?"Do you huddle close together because you love each other?What will you answer? "We all dwell togetherto make money from each other"? or "This is community"?O my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger,Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.O weariness of those who turn from GodTo the grandeur of your mind and the glory of your actionTo arts and inventions and daring enterprises,To schemes of human greatness thoroughly discredited,Binding the earth and the water to your service,Exploiting the seas and developing the mountains,Dividing the stars into common and preferred,Engaged in developing the perfect refrigerator,Engaged in working out a rational morality,Engaged in printing as many books as possible,Plotting of happiness and flinging empty bottles,Turning from your vacancy to fevered enthusiasmFor nation or race or what you call humanity;Though you forget your way to the Temple,There is one who remembers the way to your door:Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.You shall not deny the Stranger.
As we approach the Cross, let us pray for our own redemption, the conversion of our hearts and lives.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Body prayer
Many goods came out of the Protestant Reformation: focus on Scripture, community and individual access to God, the strengthening of science. But one of the great losses of the Reformation was acknowledgement and awareness of our bodies. The more we allowed that all people had minds and souls, the less we saw that those minds and souls were attached to bodies, and that those bodies are as much a part of God's design as the mind and soul. So spiritual practices that were body-focused fell away, or were specifically condemned as "papist" or "pagan". We lost fasting, though it is Biblical. We lost prostration and kneeling before the altar, those our ancestors in faith practiced it. We lost icons and beads, though using one's eyes and hands to pray moves one's heart to contemplation.
Where our bodies are involved, our hearts will follow. Perhaps it is time for Prostestant Christians to reclaim ancient body practices. Thanks to the Pentecostals, many of us now raise our hands in praise during singing. Some traditions retained kneeling as an expression of humility, and so some of us fall to our knees in prayer. Others used the sign of the cross when baptizing on the forehead. From an Anglo-Catholic church my husband and I attended, I learned to bow at the name of Jesus Christ spoken during Worship. That bow, that inclination of my head and body toward my Lord, reminds me that I am His servant.
Using one's body to make the sign of the cross can be traced back to at least the third century. Using your hand to mark out head, heart, and shoulders in a single (or triple) large cross embraces your whole person. Your body becomes the Cross; your head and heart -- mind and soul -- are made part of your body, and your body part of the Body of Christ. With the sign, you say to yourself, "Christ is my Lord. I belong to Christ. I am Christ's body in this world."
What more fitting tribute to the God-in-flesh than to be his body in the world? Far better to be owned by him body mind and soul, than to commit the body to the ground even in life, and to wait for the mind and soul to follow.
" Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body." (I Corinthians 6:19-20)
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