tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89878941147808136262024-03-21T17:07:31.468-07:00Wonderings about WanderingsMeghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-26727957729657106692011-11-13T14:09:00.000-08:002011-11-15T07:06:15.237-08:00taking over<div>I was with a small congregation in rural Kentucky today. On the way down I passed an unincorporated town whose motto was "preserving the past to protect the future". That could mean any number of things in the south. It is safe to assume the town is not progressive.</div><div> </div><div>The congregation was wonderfully friendly and hospitable, though a few members were clearly concerned about this young woman who appeared before them. They were not used to having a female in the pulpit, let alone one with cute shoes! Afterwards, one gentleman said to me, "Fifteen years ago [someone] told me that women were going to take over the church. Now you've proven him right." Hmmm! Should I be more concerned about it having been 15 years since he has thought about women in ministry, or that he thinks I'm taking over the church? haha!</div>Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-37616359293081763292011-08-09T09:49:00.000-07:002011-08-09T09:55:40.190-07:00Worthy points to ponderI've been reading the mystics again. Here are two quotes that continue to stick with me:
<br />
<br />* "Hope always draws the soul from the beauty that is seen to what is beyond, always kindles the desire for the hidden through what is constantly perceived. Therefore, the ardent lover of beauty, although receiving what is always visible as an image of what he desires, yet longs to be filled with the very stamp of the archetype." -- Gregory of Nyssa
<br />
<br />This speaks directly to my last post's musings. Searching for any number of things to fill the void, the only thing that truly fills is the archetype: The Holy.
<br />
<br />* "Late have I loved you, O Beauty, so ancient and so new, late have I loved you! And behold, you were within me and I was outside, and there I sought for you, and in my deformity I rushed headlong into the well-formed things that you have made. You were with me, and I was not with you. Those outer beauties held me far from you, yet if they had not been in you, they would not have existed at all. You called and cried out to me and broke open my deafness; you shone forth upon me and you scattered my blindness; you breathed fragrance, and I drew in my breath and I now pant for you; I tasted and I hunger and thirst; you touched me, and I burned for your peace." -- St. Augustine of Hippo, Book Ten of his <u>Confessions</u>
<br />
<br />How often we search for that which is already there. "You were with me, and I was not with you." Deep calls to deep...
<br />Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-86373932868084422592011-07-19T20:23:00.000-07:002011-08-09T09:49:40.508-07:00wayfarerI find myself yet again in a time of wandering and wondering. As long as I can remember, something has felt different within me. Something that prevents me from feeling like I'm part of whatever "we" is closeby. Something spurs me on to the next horizon. Something whispers, "not here, not yet". Even as a little girl I do not remember feeling safe or settled or just right.
<br />
<br />This restlessness is planted deep within my soul. On better days, I trust our call (as Christians) is to constantly watch for Christ's presence. To keep one foot in the world, and one foot outside. But there are days when I get tired. I would like a people to call my own. I would like a place to call home.
<br />
<br />
<br />A friend recently told me that, for the first time in her 30+ years, she wakes up each day perfectly content with who she is, where she is, and what she is doing.
<br />
<br />That seems like such a wonderful possibility... But is that settling? Is that who we are called to be? Are we meant to find true peace in this reality, or are we doomed to anxiously await something more? (Check out C. S. Lewis's <u>The Great Divorce</u> if you haven't read it recently!)
<br />
<br />
<br />My feet are tired. My bones are weary. My soul is yearning. Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-49919073549424517712011-05-11T13:23:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:30:54.087-07:00I need a manI can't believe I haven't posted this story yet...<br /><br />A few weeks ago, I visited an octogenarian couple in their home. I took a classic home cookin meal of stewed chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and soggy greenbeans. They welcomed me to sit with them while they ate. Sweet people! Conversation was simple and humble, going from family updates to the weather. The wife, however, was mostly deaf and unable to participate in the banter. In the midst of our polite conversation, the husband suddenly smacked the table and said, "Girl! You are wasting the best years of your life!" Shocked, I said, "---, what do you mean?" To which he replied, "You need to be under the sheets with someone every night! You need to be loving!" Aghast, I turned scarlet while he chuckled and tried to encourage me that I shouldn't stay single. (N.B. This is an absolutely <em>verboten</em> topic with single women. Do not try this at home.) He laughed and laughed, and started to chuckle, too. His deaf wife then leaned in to ask, "What are you laughing about?" Without replaying the whole exchange, --- shortened the conversation and just yelled, "She NEEDS a man!" And she, of course, said, "What?" To which he replied again, "She NEEDS a MAN!!" I decided to leave before the neighbors came over to see who exactly needed a man, and what, exactly, she needed him for.<br /><br />The things I get myself into.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-53667467976137646422011-04-12T13:13:00.000-07:002011-04-12T13:19:54.316-07:00unpluggedI turned off my tv. I unplugged my computers. I disconnected my cable. And life got pretty quiet. I worried that it would be an extreme way of living. I worried that I would feel isolated and out-of-touch. Much to my surprise, the unplugged life is blissful! Listening to NPR at night has been a gentle way of winding down. Although I thought that watching the news or a little tv was a great way of zoning out before bed, comparatively, it was making me more tired. Now I putter (yes, putter) around the house, read, or sit on my patio. My wind slowly unwinds from the day's craziness. It's not a bad way to go. Try it ... I dare ya!Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-90202120623803813522010-12-21T06:58:00.001-08:002010-12-21T07:05:37.871-08:00that look!If only we could remember the look on our faces when we were baptized... (for those of us baptized as infants) Sunday morning's baby came with mouth wide open in happy surprise, and eyes looking up, as if asking, "Where is that wonderful water coming from? How did I get so lucky to get this treat today?!" Radiant inner joy! Of course, there are those who scream at the heavens, and those who simply endure in silence. The theological personalities of each are significant: we revel in the promises of new life; we must be dragged from seductive sin into Christ's holiness; there is much to ponder as we make this journey.<br /><br />I am grateful to celebrate and accompany these moments with our newest members. Grateful, too, for those who made promises on my behalf, and grateful to make promises myself on the behalf of others.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-91364588669104695222010-12-17T11:18:00.001-08:002010-12-17T11:22:28.830-08:00yet againI'm a fan of Christ coming to save all of creation. I'm not so much a fan of all of creation literally sitting at the Communion Table. This week, at their owner's invitation, an old dog was served the broken body of Christ. (The second such occurrence in my career when I have served home communion.) As my mouth fell open, I tried to remember the Psalms of creation clapping its hands, mountains singing, and rivers rejoicing. I believe that God redeemed every rock and tree, every iguana and gnat. But something about their sitting around the Table just doesn't feel right...Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-16174282415576936762010-11-15T09:24:00.000-08:002010-11-15T09:33:53.425-08:00Lifeline alertDelivering home communion recently, I found myself in a circle of older women. Our hostess, whom I will call "Alberta", was mostly deaf with a dead hearing aid battery. As I was breaking the bread (officially "the fracture"), Alberta's phone rang. Set on its loudest possible ring, everyone jumped in their seats then tittered while she searched high and low for the receiver. It quickly became apparent that Lifeline was testing its process. Alberta was instructed through a separate receiver/speaker to press the button around her neck. Unfortunately, she could not hear their instructions. So, holding the bread and wine in each hand, I yelled across the circle for Alberta to "PUSH THE BUTTON". She refused. "THAT'S ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES," she screamed back. "NO!" I said, "PUSH THE BUTTON NOW." The other ladies nervously watched the exchange repeated several times. They were caught in the decorum of respecting the hostess, yet hearing contradicting instructions. Finally, I took Alberta's button and pushed it myself. "We will now contact emergency services. Please stand by for assistance," said Lifeline. "NO!" Alberta screamed. "YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!" Still with bread and wine in hand, I sheepishly tried to explain that Lifeline <strong>had</strong> said to push the button. Everyone was aghast. No one moved. Silence descended. Everyone sent pointed looks in my direction. Then, over Lifeline's speaker, "Alberta, are you ok?" Again, she could not hear them to answer, so I responded for her. They demanded I identify myself, but quickly proceeded to say that it was a real test. We had done the right thing. The ladies all breathed a sigh of relief as Lifeline hung up. Again, silence. And, still holding the Communion elements in hand, I thought about how to possibly reclaim sacred space... so, I simply said, "Jesus Christ, the True Life Line..." Ugh.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-4237653080280469662010-06-10T12:24:00.000-07:002010-06-10T12:25:34.793-07:00for a beloved friend...<strong>Vashti H. Flannagan</strong>, old soul and cantankerous cat, joined the yard triumphant on Thursday, June 10, 2010. Having lived a full life (fuller than we will ever know), she celebrated her twentieth birthday at least twice. Vashti was an active member of the Act Like a Pillow party, the Grow Huge Hairballs club, and the Early Morning Soliloquy Society. She is survived by an adoring sister, Addie, an estranged roommate, Esther, and two overly involved caregivers, Katie and Meg. A private service will be held followed by a savory salmon feast. In lieu of flowers, adopt an old cat from a shelter.<br /><br />The following poem was found in Vashti’s favorite cushion:<br /> There was an old cat named Vashti<br /> Who lived secret lives – definitely!<br /> She talked every day<br /> ‘til in the face, grey,<br /> Wondering why no one heard clearly.<br /><br /> Why didn’t they appreciate<br /> The things she’d sit and contemplate?<br /> Ignoring her voice;<br /> Instead hearing noise.<br /> So she decided she’d vacate.<br /><br /> Adventures awaited afar…<br /> She’d dreamed of being a star<br /> Something dramatic,<br /> Leaning dogmatic,<br /> To tell all the wonders there are.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-85914711849806902442010-05-18T08:37:00.000-07:002010-05-18T08:40:57.931-07:00Poem as prayerI love poetry! Here's a great one I read today...<br /><br />"Song" (by Adrienne Rich)<br />You're wondering if I'm lonely:<br />OK then, yes, I'm lonely<br />as a plane rides lonely and level<br />on its radio beam, aiming<br />across the Rockies<br />for the blue-strung aisles<br />of an airfield on the ocean.<br /><br />You want to ask, am I lonely?<br />Well, of course, lonely<br />as a woman driving across country<br />day after day, leaving behind<br />mile after mile<br />little towns she might have stopped<br />and lived and died in, lonely<br /><br />If I'm lonely<br />it must be the loneliness<br />of waking first, of breathing<br />dawn's first cold breath on the city<br />of being the one awake<br />in a house wrapped in sleep<br /><br />If I'm lonely<br />it's with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore<br />in the last red light of the year<br />that knows what it is, that knows it's neither<br />ice nor mud nor winter light<br />but wood, with a gift for burning.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-58435616929871888292010-05-13T15:50:00.000-07:002010-05-13T15:56:05.605-07:00Is a compliment a compliment?I'm not good at accepting unexpected compliments, compliments that point to an undesirable truth, or back-handed compliments. They're awkward. And while it would be much easier to say, "thank you" and walk away, I feel compelled to interpret them and even argue with the giver. Recent such words have suggested that I might be a great children's minister, my sermons are not from the internet, and I've grown so much (professionally speaking). Each of these is a nice idea, but none of them were in aggreement with my current viewpoint. Each of these seemed to be spoken as a trying-to-point-me-in-a-new-direction kind of way. And if that is the case, are these actually compliments? If the speaker is trying to change someone, is it really a compliment?Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-53176837689340907822010-02-23T07:01:00.001-08:002010-02-23T07:11:47.140-08:00To love or not to love: THAT is the question... whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer...<br /><br />I am wondering if it is possible to un-love someone. It seems that if you <u>truly</u> love someone/thing/people it would be impossible to un-love them. Of course, love changes over time. The love felt for someone may blossom into compassion or concern, but I don't think that it is possible to scoop out the love you once had and throw it away.<br /><br />Considering this from the famous 1 Corin 13 text that states, "Love never ends... [prophecies] will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end..." Paul seems to move to a place that <u>true</u> love (from God) is the one eternal piece we have in the world. This gives me hope; however, I wonder how many people ever experience such <u>true</u> Godly love in their lives. Not many, I'm afraid. Most, if not all, of our relationships are filled with limited love. I realize the disparity between God’s love and our “fast-food-get-it-how-you-like-it” love on earth. It fills us up temporarily, but leaves us longing for more. We are used to being loved poorly, loved conditionally, loved incompletely. We are used to love as a competitive sport and unrequited love. We are used to being rejected when we’ve gained too much weight, or sent away when we’re in a bad mood, or manipulated when we aren’t doing as another hoped.<br /><br />But even in our limited ways, I think that our hearts cling to fragments of love and try to carry them through trials, troubles, and terrors. The most atrocious historical figures had people who loved them. Is this good news? How do you negotiate relationships that change and move away from love? Does that undermine the love you had? Was it ever truly love?Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-90177942493236176952009-09-10T08:31:00.001-07:002009-09-10T08:32:25.860-07:0030 years ago today...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-z379jm6hXwAimmILPzUZMlKXmeu-kYIdfRU4sDppaeEALr8WGNgjotOfL4Ja29W9pebbovlYY3pMgvT5mllkYQXCwBQPrU6JdJDS0qLvAO3TtJEGWqAEOTiBEnFbw3Mqi-xhrGLhaU/s1600-h/my+first+pic.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 270px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379862001633674322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-z379jm6hXwAimmILPzUZMlKXmeu-kYIdfRU4sDppaeEALr8WGNgjotOfL4Ja29W9pebbovlYY3pMgvT5mllkYQXCwBQPrU6JdJDS0qLvAO3TtJEGWqAEOTiBEnFbw3Mqi-xhrGLhaU/s320/my+first+pic.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div>Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-58118810829018076112009-08-31T06:43:00.000-07:002009-08-31T07:15:06.273-07:00rules are/not made to be brokenIt is no longer <span style="font-weight: bold;">cool</span> for clergy to live separate from the world. After several decades of ministers hanging out with folks and trying to make church a friendlier place, church leadership have been absorbed into the world. They have tried to weaken the historical ropes separating laity and clergy. Youth leaders do all they can to get onto students' levels, pastors unbutton their collar, and people try to jazz up the worship space. Though attempting to be helpful, they/we have compromised much; often settling for less-than in hopes that people would grow into the more uncomfortable pieces of Christian life. Initially we might have been accused of false advertising, but now our habits have begun to solidify, leaving us with little ground on which to stand.<br /><br />It is now strange and unusual for clergy (in my tradition) to be hard-nosed about Christian behavior. Recently, I entered the treacherous territory of confirmation expectations. There is no attendance policy (with reward or punishment) for any class or group in the congregation EXCEPT for the confirmation class. Its specific goals and experiences led the teachers to require attendance at all events. (Students are allowed to miss 2 without penalty.) In a culture with traveling sports teams, Sunday games, and other familial busy-ness, we suddenly find ourselves as the bad guys. From the parents' perspective: it is unrealistic for students to come every time, church is not about learning; church is about loving, parents can teach students what they miss in class. And said snidely, of course the pastors would not understand that there is anything worthwhile outside of church.<br /><br />Isn't it my job to encourage members in their discipleship? Isn't it my job to hold God/The Church above other things? Isn't it my job to remind people of the sacrifices (albeit minor) that we can/are called to offer God?<br /><br />I feel caught between this need to be "cool" and understanding, as opposed to encouraging dedication to something bigger. Personally, I wish everyone had more of a desire to separate from the secular. I wish that everyone wanted to spend several weeks in a monastic setting, practicing faith with discipline. Though since I realize that this is an unrealistic hope for the majority of the world, isn't it important for me to maintain it for clergy and other intentional religious folk? There is a though that people pay their ministers/priests/clergy to be the people they want to be. So, as I push a family to put God first, to work for something bigger, to be intentional about being "different" from the rest of the team, I am trying to invite them into this <span style="font-weight: bold;">Other</span> space.<br /><br />Help! What do you think?Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-19214092638039309472009-06-03T08:34:00.000-07:002009-06-03T08:37:41.544-07:00a REAL girlLast night someone told me how they were describing me to another person. In their attempt to downplay my ministerial role, they said, "She's like a <strong>real</strong> person..." "<strong>Like</strong> a real person?," I asked. I am a real person. Seriously. A real girl who happens to be a clergy type. A real girl who loves to shop, loses my temper, and has a potty mouth. I understand what they meant, but seriously?!<br /><br />I'm just sayin'.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-26819413446878361392009-04-22T07:05:00.001-07:002009-04-22T07:24:41.468-07:00The CommunitySome are very lucky to live in the midst of their community, having friends and supporters, encouragers, and challengers around them. Some of us, however, live in the <em>diaspora</em>. We are part of the scattered Community. Always on the lookout for our 'people', life becomes a journey for the sacred. It is desperately hard to get by some days. Knowing that The Community is out there isn't always enough. I'd like a tangible incarnation of my people -- hands to lift a pint, arms to hold, voices to commend, and feet to follow. So on the rare days when I am blessed to be with The Community, I rejoice! I leap and dance and sing and shout, "Alleluia!"<br /><br />There is more to this, but I don't have words yet. This is one of my life's threads. Something that I spend a lot of time pondering. It seems like my call will forever be among the <em>disapora.</em> I hope to be blessed with the opportuity to live in The Community some day.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-14680506844920815932009-03-19T13:47:00.001-07:002009-03-19T14:13:22.648-07:00drive, drive, drive... let it ride!<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxay_7Sd2OlTLifHOgzOI9R_LUYAFQG9ZZFnojdDf7v1ohyXK829cuqcMaWg69MERQa7Fll6U0xYA4C1S8rgeWo-s8yzcmUSyLlGJaU4Wn3gMpdvHMVFXr64MVWh7P7edorZFo51cYiM/s1600-h/crazy+girls.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315003641927971346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 322px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 231px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxay_7Sd2OlTLifHOgzOI9R_LUYAFQG9ZZFnojdDf7v1ohyXK829cuqcMaWg69MERQa7Fll6U0xYA4C1S8rgeWo-s8yzcmUSyLlGJaU4Wn3gMpdvHMVFXr64MVWh7P7edorZFo51cYiM/s320/crazy+girls.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div align="left">Last week I drove across the country with my college roommate. Crazy good times! Though I am not a fan of car time, it was wonderful to spend time with K and see the sights! Here are two of the many stories: </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">To entertain ourselves along the way, we devised a number of stunts that would be done at random. One such stunt was to write K's cell phone number on marshmallows to throw into passing cars. Having driven many hours without finding a suitable recipient, we went to dinner alone at a local pub. Much to our joy, the wait staff was incredibly handsome! So we lovingly passed one of our marshmallows (the extra large kind) to our server, who gave it to another server. And, again, much to our delight, the server called K after work. They went out and partied till the cows came home! Dreams do come true, boys and girls.</div><br /><div align="left">We were excited to hike and explore the vortices in Sedona, Arizona. Apart from the desert dryness, high altitude conditions, and rocky trail, we were prepared for the Great Outdoors. Our first hike was going to be an easy 1-mile out and back. Lovely gentlemen offered us a ride to the trailhead, so we hopped in and took off. As we hiked around a mesa, time seemed to be passing slowly. Hadn't we already been out here for 30 minutes? Was the trail slowing us down? Doesn't the sun seem to be scorching? And then some hikers behind us told us that we were on the wrong trail. We were on the 4-mile trek. Oh well. We would have brought more water, hats, etc. But the scenery was great, so we kept going... and going... and going... until we thought that we were headed the completely wrong direction. We crossed the road and tried to hitchhike back to our car. We: two remotely attractive, well-dressed, young, single women. And no one picked us up. Not a soul. People actually laughed and pointed as they drove up the mountain. Perhaps they thought that we were joking. Then, in my zealousness for flagging down a motorist, I slipped and fell face-down onto the road. With a jeep passing inches from my head. And <strong>still</strong> no one stopped. When we finally arrived at the top, someone actually dared to say, "Aren't you glad you walked?" Seriously?! I wonder what would have happened if I had been wearing my collar?</div></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left">I highly recommend a long, slow trek on rural highways. We saw Americana at its best. Old ladies who taught us life lessons, old men who needed some excitement, Native Americans living simple lives, cute boys in almost every state (New Mexico had a dirth), and strange road signs. Colorado was stunning and Flagstaff, Arizona was a nice surprise. Can't wait to visit again.</div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315007003768859298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21lqcZsInWnPWBJkvFyX62c5WvUIutvqgMrhIJOP3bR9iP_QDgTH6q0Jw151MNvnWUMTgi0NoZbqtmM5j0Bz2OeZBkrUjyD3m2CJxt0t8Gqhv47eBIl6fRezqLNvm_bTd6mzQ8OsSNXw/s320/Sedona+tree.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center"><em>me under a tree on our long walk around the mesa</em></p>Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-52107161279103607712009-02-25T08:24:00.000-08:002009-02-25T08:30:38.674-08:00faux pasAt this week's conversation set in the local pub, we were discussing the discipline of fasting for Lent. Folks chimed in about giving up chocolate, television, and various other things. One man said that he gave up sex for Lent and it made Easter all the more special. Everyone giggled. I said, "Well that does make the Halleluiah better. You can say, 'Christ is risen!' with some excitement." Thinking only about the liturgical refrain of "Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!" <strong>Not</strong> thinking about the connection between risen-ness and sex. Everyone got very quiet with a long awkward pause. Not realizing what I had done, I just went on to the next question. haha! It took me until the next day to figure out the connection. Now I am very embarassed. I've considered apologizing, but think that it may be best to let this dog lie. Oh well.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-10260539047579701752009-01-21T08:24:00.000-08:002009-01-21T08:37:41.968-08:00booted from BINGOAnother funny tale for my collection:<br /><br />Last Saturday I volunteered to help some older folks play BINGO. The coordinator encouraged me to arrive early, bring prizes, and greet people as they arrived. I looked forward to spending the Saturday morning playing and chatting with people. I arrived as instructed and began setting up, but was waylaid by a resident volunteer determined to show me how things were done. Though I was grateful for her wisdom, I felt confident in my instructions. "FINE!" she snapped, "you do it your way," and threw the box at me. At this point my blood pressure began to rise. What was about to happen? Things settled down. Everyone found their seat. After calling a few games, I felt good about the rhythm. People seemed to be in the zone... until... at the end of one round, a woman at the back table yelled, "Mildred, would <strong>you</strong> please <strong>call</strong>?" (Mildred was the woman who initially took offense.) Everyone gasped. Several "well that's rude" exclamations. She must not have liked my style. I chipperly said, "That'd be great. I'd love to play!" I don't know what I did, but apparently it wasn't up to her snuff. Who knew that BINGO was so serious? I guess that BINGO calling isn't really <strong>my</strong> Calling.<br /><br />Why do we excuse older people's behavior? As if life experience suddenly gives permission for thoughtlessness or bad manners. Plenty of older folks are more than gracious, but no one cares to correct bad behavior in the grouches. I understand if it's due to a medical condition; however, I have little tolerance for rudeness from anyone of any age.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-27027895867652579492008-12-26T09:43:00.000-08:002008-12-26T10:02:00.668-08:00life lesson #276Hallowed days, Christmas Eve and Easter are both treasures and booby prizes of ministry. They are the days most hoped for and most feared. This year I wanted to leave town as soon as worship ended, knowing that I would be tired, but glad to get away as soon as the festivities were done.<br /><br />I left the office at lunch, wanting to get a nap, finish packing, and shower before returning to church. As I ate, a torrential downpour began outside. I was glad for the rain and impressed by the volume of water. It occurred to me that I should probably check the basement because of the amount of rain that fell in such a short amount of time. As I went downstairs, I could see the reflection of light in water... a strange sight inside one's house... Much to my dismay, puddles had appeared at the end of rivers flowing from the edges of the basement walls. I grabbed a mop and industriously thought that I still might be able to get the water up with time to take a nap. But the water kept coming. I mopped a little more. The water kept coming. So I left the house to buy a wet vac. 3 hours, 30 gallons, and no nap later, I returned to church. Merry Christmas. Wasn't I in a great mood to sing "Gloria!"?!<br /><br />Life's lesson learned: some messes are bigger than mops.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-72478069518725014892008-12-22T14:41:00.000-08:002008-12-22T14:58:11.275-08:00superstar girlsI will never be one. I do it in my own way, but I will never truly be one. You know, the ones who always look amazing. The ones whose kids are always well-behaved. The ones whose hair is always perfect, whose husband is cute and sweet, and whose house is well decorated. The ones who put the almost unnoticed final touches on things. They are the ones that are still beautiful despite their imperfections. They are the REAL popular girls. The cool kids of adulthood.<br /><br />Today my inadequacies were lifted up in the small form of a beautiful, iridescent orange ribbon. A magazine was left on my desk with an article marked for my perusal. Instead of the post-it that I would have left, instead of a dog-eared page or a smashed-open spine, there was a magical, shimmery, orange ribbon marking the spot. Left in such a casual way that it just happened to be within arm's length when the reader decided to send it my way. But left in such a way that it is clearly an intentional inclusion of loveliness and speciality into the day. It was charming. I loved it.<br /><br />But even as I loved it, I wondered why I didn't choose to add a certain finesse to similar, unimportant things. Then social conditioning around gender caught up to me; I began to ponder my failures as a Southern woman. How did I not learn this? Why isn't this an innate quality?<br /><br />Even though I don't have special scrap ribbons for packages and letters, I try to bring my own <em>je ne sais quoi</em> to life. I cry with friends, am an unabashedly loud singer, ask hard questions, and refuse to accept the <em>status quo</em>. It may not be glamorous, but that's me.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-25225567065123627122008-11-21T09:22:00.000-08:002008-11-21T09:46:39.942-08:00There is a Season"... In an achievement-driven society, life is not a thing of seasons; life is a product to be perfected and perserved. To this mind, it is never possible to simply go on, past the things of the past to the realities of the present. No, those who live by measuring-sticks rather than by the meaning of the present moment are intent on gaining and grasping. Letting go is not virtue to them. Letting go is loss..." -- so sayeth Joan Chittister in <u>There is a Season</u><br /><div></div><br /><div>Her words have stayed on the top of my mind since I read them last week. In her introduction to the famous Ecclesiastes passage about everything having a particular time and season, she unpacks how our understanding of time has limited us in our relationships to self, God, and others. As she encourages us to see time in cycles or seasons, she leads us away from the count-down mentality that we often use. I confess that I often fall victim to the sales pitch of life as product. Constantly trying to improve, become wiser or stronger, more compassionate, more reflective, and on and on, I tend to live as if life were something to be achieved. As if there would be a top 10 at the end of time.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>There is much to be said about her book. Let me commend both it and the artist to you:</div><br /><div>Joan Chittister's <u>There is a Season</u> with artwork by John August Swanson.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://www.johnaugustswanson.com/">http://www.johnaugustswanson.com/</a> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 439px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 562px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.johnaugustswanson.com/ImagesUpload/festival_of_lights_450.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div><br /><div>Swanson's artwork can be purchased through the National Association for Hispanic Elderly at: <a href="http://www.anppm.org/NonProfitStore/">http://www.anppm.org/NonProfitStore/</a></div>Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-19334826964339574702008-11-19T14:18:00.001-08:002008-11-19T15:05:34.120-08:00and while you're at it, bring a doughnut, tooIt's true. There's no hiding it. The pastorate, as a profession, continues to be an Old Boys Club. (And, one could further argue a particular age, marital status, and family system.) I knew what I was getting into. I saw what I was up against. There are plenty of folks to counteract the OBC mentality, but it is not uncommon to attend a gathering and feel strangely out of place. They are often stuck in their conversations about how bad their sermon was and how much time they should have spent preparing. At a recent conference I found myself swimming again in a sea of salt-and-pepper hair, khaki slacks, and penny loafers. The conversation was intended to be about churches are growing. I thought, "maybe these guys are different..." But as I chatted with folks about my work as an Associate Pastor, I was saddened. Several of them sang the refrain, "Well, I could use an Associate." In the same way that you might say, "well, I could use a maid." Or, "That tie would go really well with my suit." This really frustrates me. As if I don't do the same amount of work that they do. As if I don't have the same qualifications. As if I am just a ruffle on their dress. Though they will protest and make penitent gestures, I sincerely doubt that they actually believe I (or other Associates) are their equals. I doubt that many of them would give up their "senior" title. I doubt that many of them would lower their salary to their associate's. I doubt that many of them could stop using "I" language in favor of "we" language.<br /><br />Why do we buy into this hierarchical model? It isn't biblical. I wish that we could drop descriptors in front of "pastor" or use only "co-pastor" language. A verbal change is often needed to move into new space. There is no reason to have titles that maintain broken understandings of self and power. All are one. Sainthood of all believers. Keys to the kingdom. Come on, folks, we can do better!Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-41111722678330426962008-11-05T10:07:00.000-08:002008-11-05T10:29:17.922-08:00a new day!Friends, we are a different country today than we were days or weeks ago. Something has come upon us. And we will soon have a leader who will carry us forward. Someone who has vision for our broken pieces to become something new. And if you missed the incredible speech given by Obama in Chicago on Tuesday night, Nov. 4, here it is. One of the most inspiring orations in recent American history:<br /><br />If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.<br /><br />It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.<br /><br />It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled - Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.<br /><br />It's the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day. It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.<br /><br />I just received a very gracious call from Senator McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and he's fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Governor Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead. I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.<br /><br />I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nation's next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House. And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.<br /><br />To my campaign manager David Plouffe, my chief strategist David Axelrod, and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics - you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.<br /><br />But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to - it belongs to you. I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington - it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.<br /><br />It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.<br /><br />I know you didn't do this just to win an election and I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime - two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor's bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.<br /><br />The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America - I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you - we as a people will get there. There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it's been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years - block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.<br /><br />What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek - it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you. So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers - in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.<br /><br />Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.<br /><br />And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world - our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down - we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security - we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope. For that is the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.<br /><br />This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing - Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old. She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.<br /><br />And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.<br />At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.<br />When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.<br />When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.<br />She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.<br />A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.<br /><br />America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made? This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time - to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth - that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes We Can. Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8987894114780813626.post-63514217786114543532008-10-21T12:58:00.000-07:002008-10-21T13:05:33.694-07:00personal privilegeIt is a pastor's privilege to be with people in some of life's important moments. As easy as it might be for someone to say, "Of course the preacher is there...", it is nothing to take for granted. Over the weekend I was invited to participate in both a funeral and a wedding. It was very touching to bury one woman's spouse of 60 years, then move to blessing the first day of another union. I am slightly overwhelmed at the way a door swings open and arms pull me inside. In one situation, I had never even met the family. In the other, I had only known them briefly. How remarkable that we could sit and cry together. How remarkable that we could laugh and pray together. How remarkable that in this holy moment for both couples, suddenly I (a mostly complete stranger) am suddenly standing with them. I feel as though I must step lightly. I feel as though I should confess before entering the space and praise when leaving. Ministry is a beautiful, messy, intimate, sacred vocation. I wouldn't trade it for anything.Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654184681058225101noreply@blogger.com2