After watching last week's news stories about the gunman in Colorado, I was completely flabbergasted. The response of the church in Colorado Springs may be born out of trauma, but their justification of violence is inexcusable. "The Holy Spirit was with me," the security guard said. "My hand was steady. I didn't shake at all." At some point, God guiding this woman through an incredibly difficult situation became God pointing the gun at another person. The pastor continues to argue for armed security guards in churches. And everyone seems OK with it.
For millenia (and maybe forever), people have used God to justify violence. Old Testament scriptures ring with battles in God's name. The Crusades took on a life of their own as "Christians" paid their way into heaven by fighting for "Christ" in the Holy Land. World War II saw contemporary Christians participate directly and indirectly in the slaughter and genocide of millions. So this isn't a new thing - this idea of using God to aim the gun. History books are full of people apologizing for the wrongs their ancestors did. Haven't we learned? What's it going to take?
It may be naive to hope for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s hopes, to pray like Gandhi, to serve like Dorothy Day. At some point humanity must stand up and hold itself accountable. It is irresponsible to hold the "why didn't we see/know" until 20 or 30 years have passed. It is shameful to never be able to see ourselves as the guilty or unjust.
I don't know what I would do if a gunman walked into my congregation. I don't know how I would respond if I had been there. But I don't think that it is acceptable to praise God for the murder accomplished. The act and justification are both sin. Taking someone's life does not please God; they were part of God's "good" creation originally, too. Let's call it as it is: badness, violence, ugliness, brokenness, sin. This is not a blessing. We shoudn't be congratulating each other. This is the world gone wrong.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
beginnings
Let's start at the very beginning. (It's a very good place to start.) Life is in a snarl. All of the traffic lanes are jammed. Some decisions must be made in the imminent future. So I tend to be a verbal processor. With myspace on its way out and my need for blogging being unfulfilled, this will become my sacred space. I'm naming it and claiming it. Here we go!
life from myspace
holy moments -- Aug. 29, 2007
Good morning, campers!
The past two weeks have been rather hectic around here. Still, I had to share recent snapshots:
Saturday afternoon I visited a woman dying of cancer. As we sat and talked, it was apparent that she was not here for much longer. I shared what was happening in worship on Sunday, then asked if she had any wisdom to share with the congregation. She said, "Tell them to have faith that God is with them whether they are well or suffering." So I asked her if she was suffering and she said no. Before I left, I prayed with and for her. She was very peaceful. When I finished the prayer she did not move. I thought that she was asleep or bored or... But then she started praying for me. Wonderful. A woman for whom I thought I would care decided to care for me. Though she had little strength, she was unwilling to only receive. God bless her. She died yesterday.
And, another holy moment (though in a completely different vein)... I am going home this weekend and for the first time ever, taking someone with me. That's right. I'm almost 30 and have never taken anyone home. So I'm probably more nervous about this than I ever am about preaching or sitting with the dying. Ya'll pray for me :)
Finally, if you have never heard Suzzy and Maggie Roche, you need to check them out. Their album, Zero Church, is amazing! It's my new playing-all-the-time CD.
Peace!
Thursday, August 02, 2007
a clergys secret
I'll confess without much discomfiture that I am addicted to Victoria's Secret. Because my presence is so highly valued in their stores, the company rewards me with freebies. This week I went to a funeral close to the mall. I decided to stop in and claim my rewards. Although I was wearing my collar, I decided it wasn't a big deal. I boldly walked into my opiate. As I stood there, perusing the possibilities, a girl walked up to me and asked me where the restroom was located. She thought that I worked there! Remember now that I was wearing my collar. WHO DOES THIS?? Not that I was offended that she asked, but I was quite perplexed. Have religious signs become so distant from contemporary culture that people do not recognize them? If anything, I think that people would expect me to be on the other side of the mall from V's Secret. Of course, that's another issue. People can't imagine women as ministers. Women who wear cute clothes under the robe. Women who like cute lingerie. I must be in a different unvierse.
Monday, July 09, 2007
naked biking and other adventures Current mood: hot
So I walked out my front door early yesterday morning to head to the office. Final edits were required on my sermon. I was surprised to find riding down my sidewalk a naked man on his bicycle. He was so happy! Just enjoying a peaceful ride early in the morning. What a sight: head bobbing from side to side (as if he was humming to himself), cheeks flapping in the wind, cheerily riding down the way. It's not everyday one sees such things.
Similarly, my family and I biked down the Virginia Creeper trail while I was at home last month. (We did it fully clothed, though.) It was a blast riding from White Top Mtn down to Damascus, VA. They shuttle you up to the top and then you wind around the mountain, flying through valleys and over streams. It was a beautiful way to begin the day. I was also able to hike Lookout Mtn (fully clothed) in Montreat, NC. That, too, was marvelous. Something I would never have been able to do when I was younger.
Now I'm back in Florida. Life is fairly still right now. Here are some other soundbytes, though: a professional photographer telling me to stand on Main St. in my skirt, the same photographer asking me to say "precious" instead of "cheese", watching "The Good Shepherd", hearing a sermon on adultery with ridiculous sexist generalizations, conversation about office hierarchies, and the possibility of healthy relationships...
Take a nap. Enjoy the summer.
Friday, May 11, 2007
bad bar banter
After a few horrendous encounters, I couldn't contain myself. Here are two terrible conversations:
1) Drinking beer. Happy. Gentleman sits down. We nod. Basic banter begins. We each share a bit about what we do. Discussion of busy days. He literally pulls out his Blackberry and begins telling me exactly how busy he is, what each appointment is, and why he is so tired. Is this a competition? Bad form.
2) Drinking wine. Happy. Gentleman sits down. We nod. Basic banter begins. We talk about the area. He asks if I live alone. Red flags begin to rise on the horizon. He asks if I would like to have someone with whom to cuddle. He states that he is a wanderer, has no place to live, and is looking for a quiet place to record his new CD. He doesn't drink, but wants to know if I'm OK if he smokes pot. Would I want to hang around and talk some more or (with a shrug of the shoulder) do something? (sigh) What makes him think that 2 minutes into a conversation with a stranger he would find a new roommate, a dealer, or a ----buddy? Bad form.
Boys, this is not how to do it. I can help you, though, if you don't understand where these two cads went wrong.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
grief
This past weekend several teenagers from my youth group were involved in a serious car wreck. One of them died. While I will frequently complain about teenagers not being my favorite age group, I must say that, walking with them through these past days, they have taught me a lot.
Friday evening after the accident occurred, they started gathering at our church. Filling up our library, courtyard, and spilling into the parking lot, they gathered to cry, rage, and question. Several of the guys who try so hard to be tough were caught up by their emotions. I overheard one say, "Man up, dude! Pull it together!" to which I replied, "This is not the time to 'man up.' This IS the time to cry." And as the hours passed, they allowed themselves to consider the reality a little more.
Saturday night was their prom.
Newspaper reporters have haunted them.
They returned to school on Monday. Monday night they were supposed to have their final youth group meeting before summer. Our leader decided to make the time a memorial service. So, slowly, they filled our church's halls again. Trickling in. Sitting down. And this time they really cried. They laid down on the floor and sobbed. They held each other. Hours were spent, mixed with raucous laughter and hearbreaking wails. While my initial inclination was to rush to comfort, I decided that this was the right place for them to cry. Probably few other places in life allow them to fully embrace their pain and then express it. Healthy (but painful) expressions of grief. So I stood in the back and watched and cried and was moved.
Our church received a gift when the students came here to grieve. Of any church in the community, they trusted us with their experience. When adults tend to "man up" and find socially acceptable expressions of grief, these students were willing to be messy. They accepted their inner cries. They accepted others' tears. If only we could all just let ourselves lay down on the floor, prostrate, and weep for hours. Perhaps we would be healthier.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
anointed?
We look for signs in the world around us to confirm or deny significance. These signs usually come as surprises...
Friday evening I was watering my garden, pondering the possibility of chairing a committee. (yes, ever so Presbyterian) I noticed some crazy people down the street pointing up into a tree, figuring that they had found a bird's nest. As I kept watering, they moved closer and closer to my yard. I saw that they were pointing at an actual bird squawking in the sky. One who appeared to be stalked by a local osprey. The people were raising their hands in the air - as if to put a spell on it or summon it groundward. Forget the fact that all local air conditioners were running and a bird would not hear from that far away (or so I scoffed). The bird was a pet who had been on the lam for a few hours. It landed in a tree closeby, but refused to come down to their outstretched fingers. When suddenly, the bird took flight again and began circling over my roof, I felt a unique weight upon my head... The people yelled, "Don't move!" So I made like a fountain - with my hose running in my arm - and held the bird on my head until the owners removed it. I'm not sure why it chose me after hours of freedom with owners chasing after it. Perhaps I am emitting unknown Franciscan signals.
What does this mean? Is it a sign that I am The Beloved? Do I well please? Have I been Chosen?
Happy Holy Days
Monday, March 19, 2007
more firsts
News, newness, and newborns:
My car has continued having "issues". Not so fun. My encounter with Ginger, the towing lady, was only a beginning. She encouraged me to visit a particular car shop, so I made an appointment to take in my chariot. I was having a lovely chat with the gentleman in the shop (from Kentucky -- one of my people). Anyway, we were talking about the mountains, the oppressive heat in Florida, the strangeness of Volkswagens, when his eyes suddenly widened and he bolted out the door saying, "Wait just one second!" I began to panic thinking that something serious had happened to my car or that the building was on fire, so I stepped outside to see the commotion... where I found him flipping hamburgers on a little grill sitting outside the garage. He said, "my burgers were burnin'" (with an accent that only a mountaineer could love). Then, "I hope this doesn't scare you." To which I replied, "No. Honestly, it just instills more faith in your capabilities." hahaha! He and Ginger are a wonderful addition to my community.
Last week I ate dinner in the kitchen at Emeril's Orlando restaurant. Amazing! Perhaps the best food adventure I have ever had - and that's saying something. Food beyond compare, samples of dishes, conversations with the chefs, and a wonderful memory.
I also did my first baptism last week. Yay! A new cousin was formally brought into the fold on Sunday. It was really precious to hold her in my arms and say the special words. A few tears fell, but I made it through. Marvelous!
Monday, February 05, 2007
tell the pastor, "bye-bye"
Good Lord! I never thought it would happen. Yesterday I served communion at a retirement facility wherein one woman BROUGHT HER POODLE! The dog was quite obedient throughout the service, though was perturbed that I did not offer her the body of Christ. After the service finished, the woman rolled up to me (with poodle on lap) and said that her dog had a great trick. "Tell the pastor bye-bye," she said, at which point the dog sat up on its hind legs and waved its front legs. I have never been more astounded in worship (perhaps only challenged by the short skirt episode mentioned previously). The things we see...
Monday, January 29, 2007
Ginger, a.k.a. "Old Scratch" Current mood: better
The last few days have not been my favorite here on earth. Not so nice to me. C'est la vie. In the midst of unpleasantness, however, a jewel of a woman emerged. (Notice the word "jewel"...) A few days of car trouble seemed to have passed when I emerged to a completely dead car on Friday morning. Dang it! So I called the chain store (which had tried to fix my car) and gave them an earful. They promised to tow it, but said that I would need to set up the details. I called a number asking for "Ginger". She was pleasant on the phone. I assumed that she was the operator and would be sending some gruff old-timer out to push and pull my car around. When the truck pulled into my garage about 45 min. later, I was slightly shocked to discover Ginger standing there. Just over 5 feet tall, completely dull-colored hair (not even salt and pepper), tiny in her quilted, plaid overcoat that came down to her knees, and somehow graceful in the blue monkey suit with rips in both knees. Ginger said, "Now go sit in your baby's driver's seat... that's it, now step away from your chariot... ok, now don't watch your baby being loaded up." Ever caring and even (might I say it) pastoral. Certainly beating all expectations of a tow truck driver, a woman driving a tow truck, and a woman named "Ginger". One might have expected her to be named "Doll Face" or "Betty". I said, "Ginger, I'm a pastor at this church and am really proud of women who go out and do their own thing. Good on ya! Can I take you for a beer?" to which she replied, "Weelll, I don't drink beer. Never developed a taste for it.... but you can take me for a margarita!" So let it be known that Ginger and I have a date for margaritas. Ginger, one of few people in my new town that may truly identify with me, must be a God-send.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
finally (it happened to me) Current mood: good
Word to my people. I am finally ordained. When I say finally, I mean that after years of schooling, years of crying, years of tantrums and guessing what the hell I'm doing, it all came to fruition in the human recognition of God's previous act of my ordination. What happened long ago has finally been recognized by humanity. Thanks be to God.
It was wonderful to be in Tennessee - and the mountains - for a few days. The topography there is what I think of as "home". Safe and secure in the bosom of the Blue Ridge Smokey Mountains. Who wouldn't want to live there?
Now I'm back in Florida with significant more job security than last week. Single women in ministry unite.
Monday, December 18, 2006
my first potholder
People in congregations are nice. They all want to share their stuff with you. (and when I say "you", I mean me) I've gotten some wonderful painted wine glasses, dripping with mangos, bananas, and grape leaves. I have beautiful brass lamps that haven't been polished in years. I got someone's dresser that was still filled full of old Christmas cards and gift receipts. Then, to top it all off, this morning I found my first potholder giftwrapped and waiting for me. It's in red, white, and blue yard. The tag says that it's in memory of 9/11. If you know me, you know how much I already love it. Really, too kind.
This being said, I really do love my people. Generous hearts and willing to offer themselves. I'm glad to be spending my first Christmas here.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
funny stories, chapter 2 Current mood: busy
Whew! Worship. So this morning I had the helm of the ship to myself. Lots going on since it is now Advent. Candles to light, offerings to take, scripture, scripture, and more scripture. After preaching, I sat down for someone else to make a presentation and began to think about the upcoming offering segment. Suddenly, it became quite clear to me that there were no offering plates sitting in 'the usual place'. I started "psst"-ing the organist. I mouthed, "WHERE ARE THE PLATES?" With no plates to be found, I tried to stall. I talked about why we give an offering, what it goes to, how we should give. And I could see the ushers in the back making the "draw it out" hand gesture. But there was no more to be said. So the organist began the offertory, I took off my shoes, and ran down the aisle to try and scrounge some baskets together for an offering. (sigh) After the service I had more comments about my barefootedness and sense of humor, than I did about the worship service itself. Oh well. The service must go on...
Sunday, November 19, 2006
funny chapters in life's stories Current mood: chipper
The first weeks of a soon-to-be ordained person have proven adventuresome. I constantly meet folks whose names I immediately forget, but who will graciously remind me the next time we talk. I have been called out of my house in my pajamas by a member VERY concerned about my garden. I have been to hospitals, funeral homes, and several ultimate frisbee competitions at the High School. Folks are, of course, unsure about how to handle this young female minister. Lots have called me "the little girl over there" and "the young pastor". Good grief. Amongst these firsts are a few noteworthy tales:
My first Sunday in worship I was passively listening to the children's sermon. Suddenly, the question, "on a scale of 1-10, what do you think about Meg?" rings clearly through the microphone. Aghast, I gratefully hear one girl sing, "TEN!" Phew. Then, the male scripture reader gets up to read the Old Testament. He says to the congregation, "When they asked that question after I arrived, the kids only gave me an 8." And then from the back row, a voice chirps in, "That's because you don't wear short skirts." Much laughter. My jaw hit the floor. It took me a good 15 minutes to recover. And, for the record, my skirt came at least to my knees.
In another worship setting, I went to a local mid-week service. The minister there introduced himself to me before the service. Picture a friendly, warm, humble, Hobbit-like man. I was reluctant about announcing my identity as another pastor, but he dragged the information out of me. As the sermon began later in the service, he stopped things and said, "Today we are blessed to have a special visitor . She is the Assoc. Pastor up the street at ---. Her name is... Peg McFadden." Now this, of course, is not my name. I can't help myself -- I shouted out, "Nonono, it's Meg ---." Everyone chuckled. The minister searched around for a pen to write down the correction. Then he said, "Now that's a nice Scottish name." (sigh from me) "Actually," I said, "it's Irish." People laugh some more. Move forward in the service to communion. He presented me with the bread and said, "This is the body of Christ broken for you, PEG." hahaha. I just chuckled and said, "MEG." Oh well. Like the character on SNL who got everything wrong, but in a similar sound. Peg McFadden - it has a nice ring.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Anderson Cooper, I love you Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
Anderson Cooper is my latest infatuation. The gun-metal gray hair, persistent questions, and willingness to offer raw reporting has drawn me in. While we grew up together -- from our days with Channel One in high school, to his current tenure at CNN we (or should I say I) have not been so aware of the others existence. Sure, I remember him as the serious one on Channel One. Sure, he was never the cutest or the best dressed. Sure, he doesnt know that I was one of thousands watching him, but these things dont matter. The point is this: our time has come.Anderson can count himself on a short list of other folk who have been at the center of my world: Billy Jonas (www.billyjonas.com), India Arie (www.indiaarie.com), and ABBA (who doesnt love a little Dancing Queen). Of course, my other people are all musicians, but thats what makes Anderson special. He speaks truth with a unique rhythmic pulse. Anderson defies the status quo of air-brushed reporters with bleached teeth who speak of poverty and revolutions from the comfort of their Gucci suit. Mr. Cooper has been there, seen it, and felt the addiction of cross-cultural experiences. "You run toward what everyone else is running from... all you want to do is get it, feel it, be in it... Coming home [means] coming down... I'd come back and couldn't speak the language."The realization of my infatuation is spawned by reading his new book, Dispatches from the Edge (see previous quotes). From the introduction I was captivated that he was speaking my language. Someone else who feels a call into territories unseen and forbidden. Someone else who willingly flies into places where he can forget and be forgotten. We are part of the same tribe. Only, he doesnt know yetSo Anderson, we should meet. I have wanderlust, like yourself. I travel to places and think that I belong. I often wonder if I will call any place home. I look for the reality that lies beneath the superficial markers. And if we did meet, I would tell you stories of my time in Haiti and show you pictures of my people there. I would take you down the road to the Carter Fold (www.carterfamilyfold.org) where popcorn is 50¢ a bag, and old men hang up their canes as they get on the dance floor. I would introduce you to George who has lived on the streets of Atlanta for so long that now he becomes anxious if pushed to live indoors.I dont have a posh family heritage like Mr. Coopers Vanderbilt mother. I have never lived in any real estate worth a significant amount. Im just a coal miners daughter (or something along those lines). I like cheese grits and houses on hills where you cant see your neighbors lights. I love going to the opera, but am more comfortable in my flip-flops than high heels. Give me a chance, Anderson. We could be the best of friends.If you havent read Anderson Coopers new book, you should. If you havent seen his show, Anderson Cooper 360, you should. He seems a good guy. I think I like him.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
What's this about?
Suddenly I find myself ending at the beginning. Surrounded by brilliance and ignorance. Possibilities and dead ends. Friends finding new paths and family treading old waters. The universe spiraling in its habitual chaotic whirl with new patterns breaking in. Assertion and submission. Hope and desolation.
It is the end of the summer. After living in any number of houses over the course of the past 12 weeks, I am exactly where I began the summer: in a remote house on the edge of Atlanta, staring at a lake, listening for a Call. But things are different now. My roommate (who was with me in May/June) got married last weekend. Churches who were tops on my list have now faded into the twilight. The summer's journeys with adolescents are now memories. And instead of leaving this house for life in other friends' houses, I am returning to Tennessee... humbly, hopeful, without resignation, but more full of contentment. The world seems different.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
another religious sighting
Seen today on a street corner: small collection of people carrying signs and wearing sandwich boards. Because it looked like a protest, I drew closer hoping to be enlightened about Atlanta's intriguing issues. Instead, "Hell is hot. Turn or burn." and "Jesus saves. It's not too late." and various other fun slogans. These things raise my ire. Folks standing on a street corner without any love or concern for their neighbors. Surely they don't think that anyone will get out of their car, walk over, and shake their hand out of thanksgiving for finally hearing the Truth.
In other news, I continue interviewing. This week I have voluntarily accepted further unemployment and poverty. Thanks be to God for crazy Calls.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
haunted by God Current mood: desolate Category: desolate Religion and Philosophy
"All my life I have been haunted by God." - a Dostoevsky character
Today this rings true in the bottom of my soul.
I think, however, that I might argue whether it is "haunted" or "hunted". Both suggest an activeness in God. Both disregard the receiver's desire. Both occur regardless of the receiver's attempts to thwart. What's this about? Grace? or is God just a stubborn old woman?
Monday, June 26, 2006
street preacher - or crazy person? Current mood: anticipatory Category: anticipatory Religion and Philosophy
Yesterday I saw a sight that I both feared and admired. Classic conundrum. Driving down a Decatur street I passed a man on the sidewalk who was defiantly shaking his fist at traffic. He had a small amplifying mic in his hand (much like a PreSchool multi-colored toy). The mic was sitting on the top of a stroller, and in which was a small toddler. The man, the mic, the stroller, and the baby on a corner surrounded by simmering SUVs. While the man's ire was clearly directed at people going by (phrases like, "get your life right", and "living a lie"), the man continued to turn to his only captive audience: the baby. Was he calling the baby out in front of Atlanta? Showing the baby what s/he might become if they didn't get themselves straight pre-potty training? Or was the man just glad to have one person listen to his every word? The man interspersed his infantile addresses with gestures to the street. He would wipe his face of sweat and take his hat off intermittently. But eventually, the man would return to the stroller's contents.
I suppose that all preachers might fear this picture. It brings up the relevance of preaching, the significance of the congregation, the legitimacy of Call. Ultimately, are our congregations modified street corners? Is anyone REALLY listening out there? Are congregants only bodies s/trapped in churches, waiting for freedom? (N.B. I do believe that congregants listen, but this experience voiced my fear.)
This being said, I'm preaching on Sunday. Please, please, let it be a time of integrity.
Good morning, campers!
The past two weeks have been rather hectic around here. Still, I had to share recent snapshots:
Saturday afternoon I visited a woman dying of cancer. As we sat and talked, it was apparent that she was not here for much longer. I shared what was happening in worship on Sunday, then asked if she had any wisdom to share with the congregation. She said, "Tell them to have faith that God is with them whether they are well or suffering." So I asked her if she was suffering and she said no. Before I left, I prayed with and for her. She was very peaceful. When I finished the prayer she did not move. I thought that she was asleep or bored or... But then she started praying for me. Wonderful. A woman for whom I thought I would care decided to care for me. Though she had little strength, she was unwilling to only receive. God bless her. She died yesterday.
And, another holy moment (though in a completely different vein)... I am going home this weekend and for the first time ever, taking someone with me. That's right. I'm almost 30 and have never taken anyone home. So I'm probably more nervous about this than I ever am about preaching or sitting with the dying. Ya'll pray for me :)
Finally, if you have never heard Suzzy and Maggie Roche, you need to check them out. Their album, Zero Church, is amazing! It's my new playing-all-the-time CD.
Peace!
Thursday, August 02, 2007
a clergys secret
I'll confess without much discomfiture that I am addicted to Victoria's Secret. Because my presence is so highly valued in their stores, the company rewards me with freebies. This week I went to a funeral close to the mall. I decided to stop in and claim my rewards. Although I was wearing my collar, I decided it wasn't a big deal. I boldly walked into my opiate. As I stood there, perusing the possibilities, a girl walked up to me and asked me where the restroom was located. She thought that I worked there! Remember now that I was wearing my collar. WHO DOES THIS?? Not that I was offended that she asked, but I was quite perplexed. Have religious signs become so distant from contemporary culture that people do not recognize them? If anything, I think that people would expect me to be on the other side of the mall from V's Secret. Of course, that's another issue. People can't imagine women as ministers. Women who wear cute clothes under the robe. Women who like cute lingerie. I must be in a different unvierse.
Monday, July 09, 2007
naked biking and other adventures Current mood: hot
So I walked out my front door early yesterday morning to head to the office. Final edits were required on my sermon. I was surprised to find riding down my sidewalk a naked man on his bicycle. He was so happy! Just enjoying a peaceful ride early in the morning. What a sight: head bobbing from side to side (as if he was humming to himself), cheeks flapping in the wind, cheerily riding down the way. It's not everyday one sees such things.
Similarly, my family and I biked down the Virginia Creeper trail while I was at home last month. (We did it fully clothed, though.) It was a blast riding from White Top Mtn down to Damascus, VA. They shuttle you up to the top and then you wind around the mountain, flying through valleys and over streams. It was a beautiful way to begin the day. I was also able to hike Lookout Mtn (fully clothed) in Montreat, NC. That, too, was marvelous. Something I would never have been able to do when I was younger.
Now I'm back in Florida. Life is fairly still right now. Here are some other soundbytes, though: a professional photographer telling me to stand on Main St. in my skirt, the same photographer asking me to say "precious" instead of "cheese", watching "The Good Shepherd", hearing a sermon on adultery with ridiculous sexist generalizations, conversation about office hierarchies, and the possibility of healthy relationships...
Take a nap. Enjoy the summer.
Friday, May 11, 2007
bad bar banter
After a few horrendous encounters, I couldn't contain myself. Here are two terrible conversations:
1) Drinking beer. Happy. Gentleman sits down. We nod. Basic banter begins. We each share a bit about what we do. Discussion of busy days. He literally pulls out his Blackberry and begins telling me exactly how busy he is, what each appointment is, and why he is so tired. Is this a competition? Bad form.
2) Drinking wine. Happy. Gentleman sits down. We nod. Basic banter begins. We talk about the area. He asks if I live alone. Red flags begin to rise on the horizon. He asks if I would like to have someone with whom to cuddle. He states that he is a wanderer, has no place to live, and is looking for a quiet place to record his new CD. He doesn't drink, but wants to know if I'm OK if he smokes pot. Would I want to hang around and talk some more or (with a shrug of the shoulder) do something? (sigh) What makes him think that 2 minutes into a conversation with a stranger he would find a new roommate, a dealer, or a ----buddy? Bad form.
Boys, this is not how to do it. I can help you, though, if you don't understand where these two cads went wrong.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
grief
This past weekend several teenagers from my youth group were involved in a serious car wreck. One of them died. While I will frequently complain about teenagers not being my favorite age group, I must say that, walking with them through these past days, they have taught me a lot.
Friday evening after the accident occurred, they started gathering at our church. Filling up our library, courtyard, and spilling into the parking lot, they gathered to cry, rage, and question. Several of the guys who try so hard to be tough were caught up by their emotions. I overheard one say, "Man up, dude! Pull it together!" to which I replied, "This is not the time to 'man up.' This IS the time to cry." And as the hours passed, they allowed themselves to consider the reality a little more.
Saturday night was their prom.
Newspaper reporters have haunted them.
They returned to school on Monday. Monday night they were supposed to have their final youth group meeting before summer. Our leader decided to make the time a memorial service. So, slowly, they filled our church's halls again. Trickling in. Sitting down. And this time they really cried. They laid down on the floor and sobbed. They held each other. Hours were spent, mixed with raucous laughter and hearbreaking wails. While my initial inclination was to rush to comfort, I decided that this was the right place for them to cry. Probably few other places in life allow them to fully embrace their pain and then express it. Healthy (but painful) expressions of grief. So I stood in the back and watched and cried and was moved.
Our church received a gift when the students came here to grieve. Of any church in the community, they trusted us with their experience. When adults tend to "man up" and find socially acceptable expressions of grief, these students were willing to be messy. They accepted their inner cries. They accepted others' tears. If only we could all just let ourselves lay down on the floor, prostrate, and weep for hours. Perhaps we would be healthier.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
anointed?
We look for signs in the world around us to confirm or deny significance. These signs usually come as surprises...
Friday evening I was watering my garden, pondering the possibility of chairing a committee. (yes, ever so Presbyterian) I noticed some crazy people down the street pointing up into a tree, figuring that they had found a bird's nest. As I kept watering, they moved closer and closer to my yard. I saw that they were pointing at an actual bird squawking in the sky. One who appeared to be stalked by a local osprey. The people were raising their hands in the air - as if to put a spell on it or summon it groundward. Forget the fact that all local air conditioners were running and a bird would not hear from that far away (or so I scoffed). The bird was a pet who had been on the lam for a few hours. It landed in a tree closeby, but refused to come down to their outstretched fingers. When suddenly, the bird took flight again and began circling over my roof, I felt a unique weight upon my head... The people yelled, "Don't move!" So I made like a fountain - with my hose running in my arm - and held the bird on my head until the owners removed it. I'm not sure why it chose me after hours of freedom with owners chasing after it. Perhaps I am emitting unknown Franciscan signals.
What does this mean? Is it a sign that I am The Beloved? Do I well please? Have I been Chosen?
Happy Holy Days
Monday, March 19, 2007
more firsts
News, newness, and newborns:
My car has continued having "issues". Not so fun. My encounter with Ginger, the towing lady, was only a beginning. She encouraged me to visit a particular car shop, so I made an appointment to take in my chariot. I was having a lovely chat with the gentleman in the shop (from Kentucky -- one of my people). Anyway, we were talking about the mountains, the oppressive heat in Florida, the strangeness of Volkswagens, when his eyes suddenly widened and he bolted out the door saying, "Wait just one second!" I began to panic thinking that something serious had happened to my car or that the building was on fire, so I stepped outside to see the commotion... where I found him flipping hamburgers on a little grill sitting outside the garage. He said, "my burgers were burnin'" (with an accent that only a mountaineer could love). Then, "I hope this doesn't scare you." To which I replied, "No. Honestly, it just instills more faith in your capabilities." hahaha! He and Ginger are a wonderful addition to my community.
Last week I ate dinner in the kitchen at Emeril's Orlando restaurant. Amazing! Perhaps the best food adventure I have ever had - and that's saying something. Food beyond compare, samples of dishes, conversations with the chefs, and a wonderful memory.
I also did my first baptism last week. Yay! A new cousin was formally brought into the fold on Sunday. It was really precious to hold her in my arms and say the special words. A few tears fell, but I made it through. Marvelous!
Monday, February 05, 2007
tell the pastor, "bye-bye"
Good Lord! I never thought it would happen. Yesterday I served communion at a retirement facility wherein one woman BROUGHT HER POODLE! The dog was quite obedient throughout the service, though was perturbed that I did not offer her the body of Christ. After the service finished, the woman rolled up to me (with poodle on lap) and said that her dog had a great trick. "Tell the pastor bye-bye," she said, at which point the dog sat up on its hind legs and waved its front legs. I have never been more astounded in worship (perhaps only challenged by the short skirt episode mentioned previously). The things we see...
Monday, January 29, 2007
Ginger, a.k.a. "Old Scratch" Current mood: better
The last few days have not been my favorite here on earth. Not so nice to me. C'est la vie. In the midst of unpleasantness, however, a jewel of a woman emerged. (Notice the word "jewel"...) A few days of car trouble seemed to have passed when I emerged to a completely dead car on Friday morning. Dang it! So I called the chain store (which had tried to fix my car) and gave them an earful. They promised to tow it, but said that I would need to set up the details. I called a number asking for "Ginger". She was pleasant on the phone. I assumed that she was the operator and would be sending some gruff old-timer out to push and pull my car around. When the truck pulled into my garage about 45 min. later, I was slightly shocked to discover Ginger standing there. Just over 5 feet tall, completely dull-colored hair (not even salt and pepper), tiny in her quilted, plaid overcoat that came down to her knees, and somehow graceful in the blue monkey suit with rips in both knees. Ginger said, "Now go sit in your baby's driver's seat... that's it, now step away from your chariot... ok, now don't watch your baby being loaded up." Ever caring and even (might I say it) pastoral. Certainly beating all expectations of a tow truck driver, a woman driving a tow truck, and a woman named "Ginger". One might have expected her to be named "Doll Face" or "Betty". I said, "Ginger, I'm a pastor at this church and am really proud of women who go out and do their own thing. Good on ya! Can I take you for a beer?" to which she replied, "Weelll, I don't drink beer. Never developed a taste for it.... but you can take me for a margarita!" So let it be known that Ginger and I have a date for margaritas. Ginger, one of few people in my new town that may truly identify with me, must be a God-send.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
finally (it happened to me) Current mood: good
Word to my people. I am finally ordained. When I say finally, I mean that after years of schooling, years of crying, years of tantrums and guessing what the hell I'm doing, it all came to fruition in the human recognition of God's previous act of my ordination. What happened long ago has finally been recognized by humanity. Thanks be to God.
It was wonderful to be in Tennessee - and the mountains - for a few days. The topography there is what I think of as "home". Safe and secure in the bosom of the Blue Ridge Smokey Mountains. Who wouldn't want to live there?
Now I'm back in Florida with significant more job security than last week. Single women in ministry unite.
Monday, December 18, 2006
my first potholder
People in congregations are nice. They all want to share their stuff with you. (and when I say "you", I mean me) I've gotten some wonderful painted wine glasses, dripping with mangos, bananas, and grape leaves. I have beautiful brass lamps that haven't been polished in years. I got someone's dresser that was still filled full of old Christmas cards and gift receipts. Then, to top it all off, this morning I found my first potholder giftwrapped and waiting for me. It's in red, white, and blue yard. The tag says that it's in memory of 9/11. If you know me, you know how much I already love it. Really, too kind.
This being said, I really do love my people. Generous hearts and willing to offer themselves. I'm glad to be spending my first Christmas here.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
funny stories, chapter 2 Current mood: busy
Whew! Worship. So this morning I had the helm of the ship to myself. Lots going on since it is now Advent. Candles to light, offerings to take, scripture, scripture, and more scripture. After preaching, I sat down for someone else to make a presentation and began to think about the upcoming offering segment. Suddenly, it became quite clear to me that there were no offering plates sitting in 'the usual place'. I started "psst"-ing the organist. I mouthed, "WHERE ARE THE PLATES?" With no plates to be found, I tried to stall. I talked about why we give an offering, what it goes to, how we should give. And I could see the ushers in the back making the "draw it out" hand gesture. But there was no more to be said. So the organist began the offertory, I took off my shoes, and ran down the aisle to try and scrounge some baskets together for an offering. (sigh) After the service I had more comments about my barefootedness and sense of humor, than I did about the worship service itself. Oh well. The service must go on...
Sunday, November 19, 2006
funny chapters in life's stories Current mood: chipper
The first weeks of a soon-to-be ordained person have proven adventuresome. I constantly meet folks whose names I immediately forget, but who will graciously remind me the next time we talk. I have been called out of my house in my pajamas by a member VERY concerned about my garden. I have been to hospitals, funeral homes, and several ultimate frisbee competitions at the High School. Folks are, of course, unsure about how to handle this young female minister. Lots have called me "the little girl over there" and "the young pastor". Good grief. Amongst these firsts are a few noteworthy tales:
My first Sunday in worship I was passively listening to the children's sermon. Suddenly, the question, "on a scale of 1-10, what do you think about Meg?" rings clearly through the microphone. Aghast, I gratefully hear one girl sing, "TEN!" Phew. Then, the male scripture reader gets up to read the Old Testament. He says to the congregation, "When they asked that question after I arrived, the kids only gave me an 8." And then from the back row, a voice chirps in, "That's because you don't wear short skirts." Much laughter. My jaw hit the floor. It took me a good 15 minutes to recover. And, for the record, my skirt came at least to my knees.
In another worship setting, I went to a local mid-week service. The minister there introduced himself to me before the service. Picture a friendly, warm, humble, Hobbit-like man. I was reluctant about announcing my identity as another pastor, but he dragged the information out of me. As the sermon began later in the service, he stopped things and said, "Today we are blessed to have a special visitor . She is the Assoc. Pastor up the street at ---. Her name is... Peg McFadden." Now this, of course, is not my name. I can't help myself -- I shouted out, "Nonono, it's Meg ---." Everyone chuckled. The minister searched around for a pen to write down the correction. Then he said, "Now that's a nice Scottish name." (sigh from me) "Actually," I said, "it's Irish." People laugh some more. Move forward in the service to communion. He presented me with the bread and said, "This is the body of Christ broken for you, PEG." hahaha. I just chuckled and said, "MEG." Oh well. Like the character on SNL who got everything wrong, but in a similar sound. Peg McFadden - it has a nice ring.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Anderson Cooper, I love you Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
Anderson Cooper is my latest infatuation. The gun-metal gray hair, persistent questions, and willingness to offer raw reporting has drawn me in. While we grew up together -- from our days with Channel One in high school, to his current tenure at CNN we (or should I say I) have not been so aware of the others existence. Sure, I remember him as the serious one on Channel One. Sure, he was never the cutest or the best dressed. Sure, he doesnt know that I was one of thousands watching him, but these things dont matter. The point is this: our time has come.Anderson can count himself on a short list of other folk who have been at the center of my world: Billy Jonas (www.billyjonas.com), India Arie (www.indiaarie.com), and ABBA (who doesnt love a little Dancing Queen). Of course, my other people are all musicians, but thats what makes Anderson special. He speaks truth with a unique rhythmic pulse. Anderson defies the status quo of air-brushed reporters with bleached teeth who speak of poverty and revolutions from the comfort of their Gucci suit. Mr. Cooper has been there, seen it, and felt the addiction of cross-cultural experiences. "You run toward what everyone else is running from... all you want to do is get it, feel it, be in it... Coming home [means] coming down... I'd come back and couldn't speak the language."The realization of my infatuation is spawned by reading his new book, Dispatches from the Edge (see previous quotes). From the introduction I was captivated that he was speaking my language. Someone else who feels a call into territories unseen and forbidden. Someone else who willingly flies into places where he can forget and be forgotten. We are part of the same tribe. Only, he doesnt know yetSo Anderson, we should meet. I have wanderlust, like yourself. I travel to places and think that I belong. I often wonder if I will call any place home. I look for the reality that lies beneath the superficial markers. And if we did meet, I would tell you stories of my time in Haiti and show you pictures of my people there. I would take you down the road to the Carter Fold (www.carterfamilyfold.org) where popcorn is 50¢ a bag, and old men hang up their canes as they get on the dance floor. I would introduce you to George who has lived on the streets of Atlanta for so long that now he becomes anxious if pushed to live indoors.I dont have a posh family heritage like Mr. Coopers Vanderbilt mother. I have never lived in any real estate worth a significant amount. Im just a coal miners daughter (or something along those lines). I like cheese grits and houses on hills where you cant see your neighbors lights. I love going to the opera, but am more comfortable in my flip-flops than high heels. Give me a chance, Anderson. We could be the best of friends.If you havent read Anderson Coopers new book, you should. If you havent seen his show, Anderson Cooper 360, you should. He seems a good guy. I think I like him.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
What's this about?
Suddenly I find myself ending at the beginning. Surrounded by brilliance and ignorance. Possibilities and dead ends. Friends finding new paths and family treading old waters. The universe spiraling in its habitual chaotic whirl with new patterns breaking in. Assertion and submission. Hope and desolation.
It is the end of the summer. After living in any number of houses over the course of the past 12 weeks, I am exactly where I began the summer: in a remote house on the edge of Atlanta, staring at a lake, listening for a Call. But things are different now. My roommate (who was with me in May/June) got married last weekend. Churches who were tops on my list have now faded into the twilight. The summer's journeys with adolescents are now memories. And instead of leaving this house for life in other friends' houses, I am returning to Tennessee... humbly, hopeful, without resignation, but more full of contentment. The world seems different.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
another religious sighting
Seen today on a street corner: small collection of people carrying signs and wearing sandwich boards. Because it looked like a protest, I drew closer hoping to be enlightened about Atlanta's intriguing issues. Instead, "Hell is hot. Turn or burn." and "Jesus saves. It's not too late." and various other fun slogans. These things raise my ire. Folks standing on a street corner without any love or concern for their neighbors. Surely they don't think that anyone will get out of their car, walk over, and shake their hand out of thanksgiving for finally hearing the Truth.
In other news, I continue interviewing. This week I have voluntarily accepted further unemployment and poverty. Thanks be to God for crazy Calls.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
haunted by God Current mood: desolate Category: desolate Religion and Philosophy
"All my life I have been haunted by God." - a Dostoevsky character
Today this rings true in the bottom of my soul.
I think, however, that I might argue whether it is "haunted" or "hunted". Both suggest an activeness in God. Both disregard the receiver's desire. Both occur regardless of the receiver's attempts to thwart. What's this about? Grace? or is God just a stubborn old woman?
Monday, June 26, 2006
street preacher - or crazy person? Current mood: anticipatory Category: anticipatory Religion and Philosophy
Yesterday I saw a sight that I both feared and admired. Classic conundrum. Driving down a Decatur street I passed a man on the sidewalk who was defiantly shaking his fist at traffic. He had a small amplifying mic in his hand (much like a PreSchool multi-colored toy). The mic was sitting on the top of a stroller, and in which was a small toddler. The man, the mic, the stroller, and the baby on a corner surrounded by simmering SUVs. While the man's ire was clearly directed at people going by (phrases like, "get your life right", and "living a lie"), the man continued to turn to his only captive audience: the baby. Was he calling the baby out in front of Atlanta? Showing the baby what s/he might become if they didn't get themselves straight pre-potty training? Or was the man just glad to have one person listen to his every word? The man interspersed his infantile addresses with gestures to the street. He would wipe his face of sweat and take his hat off intermittently. But eventually, the man would return to the stroller's contents.
I suppose that all preachers might fear this picture. It brings up the relevance of preaching, the significance of the congregation, the legitimacy of Call. Ultimately, are our congregations modified street corners? Is anyone REALLY listening out there? Are congregants only bodies s/trapped in churches, waiting for freedom? (N.B. I do believe that congregants listen, but this experience voiced my fear.)
This being said, I'm preaching on Sunday. Please, please, let it be a time of integrity.
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