strange worship habits...

Sunday morning I managed to visit another congregation across town. Having heard much about it, I was excited to see what great things they were doing. I confess that I was slightly biased against them. Nevertheless, I knew that they were doing some thing right.

I entered the space and was immediately greeted by folks. They gave me a gift bag (with nice travel mug, magnet, and church information), introduced me to some ladies, and pointed out the differnet information stations around the hall. They even escorted me into their worship space and helped me get situated. I wasn't embarassed to sit by myself, so I plopped down between other young adults and prepared to worship. The music was professional caliber, the congregation was engaged, and the leadership was enthused. Despite the lack of prayer and other congregational participation, I was enjoying myself.

Then, they announced that we would be gathering "around the Lord's table". "Great!," I thought. "This will be neat. I've never had communion in a church like this." Well, folks, let me tell you. For all of the imagery and story telling they gave, there was no table to gather round. There was no scripture read. There was no cup or bread. No breaking or pouring. Instead, ushers came down the aisles and passed baskets down the rows. We reached into the baskets and pulled out PRE-PACKAGED COMMUNION!!! Underneath a layer of plastic, there was a small wafer. The wafer lay on top of another plastic layer that covered the small juice cup. (about a thimble) The outer layer of plastic had the words "This is my body which is broken for you. Take, eat. Do this is remembrance of me." My jaw hit the floor.

Is this communion? If someone packages stale crackers in a factory far, far away, is it the body of Christ? If wine is never poured, if Scripture is never read, is this communion? If no one ever prays, if the community is never gathered (in some way: prayer, music, common words as you pass it to your neighbor), is it communion?

I have been mightily troubled by this aspect of worship. It is calling my theology into question. Am I becoming one of those uptight Presbyterians? What do you think?

encounters

A few artisans have found their way into my life recently. Though many would take them to be country bumpkins, they have amazing stories and incredible art. One such man is a painter who has long silver hair (in a pony tail), wears wife beaters, and boots. He used to be a drag racer, but decided to start painting because "it seemed like something he should try." His paintings are incredible Andrew Wyeth styled works. Without any professional training, he offers his uninhibited gift to folks. http://www.hrlovellgallery.com/

Another gentleman fell into my path who also used to race cars. (He holds some title in California... what's the connection between car racing and art??) George takes old horseshoes and fires them into different shapes, words, and figures. Marvelous treasures! His workshop is a collection of every manly tool and machine available. He decided that in his retirement he would do something different with his days.

I found these folks in one of Tennessee's tiniest towns. A town that was going to be the state capital, but Nashville came along and stole the show. Rural America has much to offer. Support your locally owned businesses, your independent craftsfolk, and those isolated restaurants on the forgotten highways!

two rants

OK, so I have two rants:

1) Are doctor's offices and other busy people allowed to follow different social rules because of their position? I recently visited an office to meet the doctor before coming under her care. I called ahead of time to tell the office what I wanted. They promised me that I could have 10 minutes or so with the doctor. I arrived for my introduction and was kept waiting for over 45 minutes, then finally left without ever seeing her. Apparently, the doctor was tied up with another patient. I completely understand this. My frustration comes in that after I left the office without meeting the physician, no one has called to apologise or invite me back. If I ever missed an appointment or was running so late, I would call to apologise or reschedule. It strikes me as incredibly rude for them to just ignore the situation. I'm not trying to be this important person worthy of royal treatment; I only want respectful care from someone who will be seeing me naked. I don't want a doctor who doesn't have time to meet me. Am I being too high-maintenance?

2) The Olympics should not be a competition for the most medals. I think that medal counts (by country) are obnoxious. Isn't this the one athletic opportunity when folks can come together and celebrate? Of course there are winners and losers, but must we be so competitive as to need to know how MUCH better we are than others? We romanticise the Olympics as some grand event when the world unites. Commercials singing of world peace, showing competing athletes holding hands, and singing songs. That is ridiculous! They are only united in that they are playing games in the same city. I wish that there was some game or competition when people from different countries played on the same team... Americans next to Chinese next to Ghaneans, competing against another international team. Does this exist?

tales from the town

It has taken me a few months to get myself settled in here. Time has been absorbed by moving, packing, painting, building, etc. But I am finally getting myself grounded enough to resume normal activities. The house and neighborhood are lovely. I frequently see deer, turkey, rabbits, owls, and other fun creatures parading through the yard. Addie loves it!

Here are a few fun tales from folks I've met around town:

A contract service person was working at the church one day. As he wandered around my office, he commented on pictures of my spousal-equivalent. The gentleman said, "He looks nice. Is he a minister?" To which I replied, "No, but he is nice. So, just out of curiosity, do I look like a minister?" (I never should have asked.) And the guy said, "Welllll... no! (ensue laughing)" Thus ended our conversation. Not my favorite person.

I purchased my lawnmower from a guy named "Louie". Seriously. I walked into his shop on the last day that it was open. Seriously. He told me that if I ever had any problems that I could call him. Seriously. So I call Louie and he calls me "Girl". Seriously.

Folks in the congregation here think that I am a teenager. A few can't call my sermon a "sermon", but call it my "comments". Everyone continues to be surprised that God can call a young woman into serious ministry. C'est la vie. My burden to bear for the next few years.

how much can you stand?

Sometimes I wonder how much I can deal with. The current leaving of one congregation for another is testing my patience and endurance. Certain relationships that have been unhealthy in their day-to-day life are flagrantly out-of-bounds in these stressful times. Of course anger is not a sin, though I firmly believe that violence is wrong... still, there are moments when I would really love to punch someone in the nose! Is this sin calling my name?

How much can you take?
How much are we supposed to take?

A bully on the playground always pushes you down. At what point do you react? How do you react? A 90 year old in assisted living listens to people patronise him every day. At what point is it all right to get cranky? At what point can you demand an alternative?

I don't like being the one who always stands up. I get tired of being the pushy one or the loud one. But I have zero toleranace for injustice and immaturity. At what point am I justified to stand up? Why do we have to take a certain amount before it's OK to defend or call out?

Best Valentine's Day Ever...

(and least sexiest)

Having spent the week delivering soup to my flu-infected spousal equivalent, I was not surprised when I awoke on Valentine's Day with a sore throat. The illness was disappointing considering all of the expectations for a first V Day with one's partner. Instead of roses, there was a bouquet of Kleenex. Instead of chocolate, there were boxes of Airborne. Instead of a sexy red dress, flannel pajamas were the evening's fashion. In spite of the outward signs, we insisted on trying to make something happened. And so it commenced.

Upon arrival at my somewhat sicker boyfriend's place, we gazed into each other's watery eyes and said lovingly, "let's not go out." The evening thus declined into a dreary sitcom. We coughed and sneezed on each other, ate a $5 take-out pizza, watched "Who Killed the Electric Car" (excellent, by the way), and discussed what vitamins would triumph over this version of the plague.

The first Valentine's Day is supposed to be a romantic climax. There are legends of apartments drizzled in rose petals, pots of chocolate fondue, and loving words spoken through the night. While I never expected the moon, I certainly wouldn't have minded a bit of Parisian romance. Instead, we were saddled with a heavy dose of reality. It wasn't terrible. We had a good time laughing at each other and remarking on our pathetic state. Our Valetine's Day was not a Hallmark facade of pink hearts and candy, but was a humble mark of care and devotion. Perhaps that in itself is sexy...

solo journeys

Haiti was heavenly, as always. I am so grateful for the opportunity to travel, see friends, and learn more. The chance to be with others in a cross-cultural setting raises my awareness of what I consider "normal", necessary, and comfortable. Those moments when I think, "EEKkk! Get me out of here!" Then I wonder what's at the root of this. Generally, it is my own ignorance about a particular way-of-being. Energy is quickly drained when surrounded by lots of new.

Part of me relishes the opportunity to travel and reflect alone, yet part of me is grateful for travel companions. It is good to compare impressions. At home, most of my time is spent surrounded by people, so moments of solitude are sought-after. Time in Haiti is a chance to step away from the constant chatter, to savor quietness and revel in my own reflections.

These things being said, it is interesting to me that, while still single, I struggle with the dance between the need for space and the need for intimacy. After 28 years of mostly alone-ness, being in a relationship takes quite a bit of humility and flexibility. And, though I complain of not having enough time to myself, I am actually tired of being alone. I am worn down by years of figuring it out by myself. I am jealous of those who can make team decisions. I am frustrated by my lack of competency in certain areas of life... places where one's partner might fill in the gaps... It is impossible to coordinate the many details of life alone. No one person can be an expert in car repairs, finances, house repairs, cleaning, decorating, cooking, and childcare. (Let it be said here that it is ridiculous to jump into relationship to meet only those fears/needs. I do not advocate unhealthy, codependent pairings that promote clinging, whining, and/or desperation.)

As I stand on the brink of another "new" thing, I wonder where the road will lead. Will this be yet another chance for me to prove how great I am at adapting? Will this be yet another chance to see how quickly friends can be found? Honestly, I'm exhausted considering it. Going to Haiti by myself is far less unnerving than the uprooting that stands before me.

I'll keep you posted.