House Hunting

I'm off for a few days of finding a place to live in my new digs.

I want to get to know the area before I buy, so I will be looking for a rental. Actually, places like Craigslist makes the advance work so much easier. Many offerings include pictures, which help enormously. So I have 5 good prospects lined up. I have made checklists, which also streamline the task of choosing. It all boils down to a set of trade-offs, though, which makes the 'gut feeling' as important as anything else.

Since I'm laptop free at the moment, I will not be posting from afar.

Rebuilding the Gulf Coast

I really admire my brother and his social justice involvement with his church, a Baptist church in a small city in North Carolina. He has been president of this congregation recently.

This church is very active in the community and in places far away from home. The first Saturday of each month, groups from the church are assigned to a home by an area social services agency. They do home repairs and yard work if necessary. This is just one example of many projects that they undertake. Further afield, my brother and his wife took a youth group to Alaska to help rebuild a church, and for two years my brother (once without and once with his wife) went to Belize to help build homes in a village there. In all of these trips, they stayed in local facilities and lived as the villagers lived, very spartan by our standards.

Last week, my brother was one of three church members who did some advance work in Pearlington, Mississippi, a town that suffered much damage from Hurricane Katrina. They were engaged in the work of rebuilding, but were also looking at the suitability of bringing church youth down in the summer to do more work.

My brother said,

We had a good trip. Pearlington is in bad shape, but some progress is being made. We helped put up sheet rock at a house. The water had gotten up about six feet on the second floor of the house. The accommodations were the worst part. We did OK, but the facilities in Belize were better. Only portable toilets and cots in a former library were available. It was in the 90’s while we were there, and the bugs were out. It will be a challenge taking our church youth there this summer.

Evidently, they were bit pretty badly by insects – probably the dreaded no-see-ums. They should be gone by summer, replaced by the mosquitoes. Pick your poison. At any rate, I’ve seen the pictures and heard their stories about Belize, where it was evident that they were definitely not living in posh accommodations. It is shocking to know that, all these months post-Katrina, people of good will who are helping to rebuild (and my guess is that there aren’t many folks other than volunteers who help the poorer people) need to stay in Third World conditions.

An outrageous postscript: I read in today’s New York Times (editorial entitled, The Wrong Priorities) that Tom Delay is attempting to attach a rider to an emergency spending bill for Iraq and hurricane recovery that would, for a price tag of some $700 million, relocate a rail line that has already been reconstructed post-Katrina. Why? Because it would benefit the casinos and coastal developers. The editorial reminds us that the infamous pork of the Alaskan Bridge to Nowhere only cost a paltry $223 million. Does Congress have no shame?

I just get sputtering mad when I read this stuff.

Wonder

I woke up to an unusual sound -- the sound of rain pouring down, hammering the hard dry earth. We are in the midst of extreme drought where I live, and the sound of rain drumming on my balcony rain is a welcome relief. It was raining so hard that most of the birds, so numerous this time of year, were silent -- except for one lone woodpecker in a tree right outside my window.

Yesterday the dead tree behind my apartment was taken down -- I'm grateful, for it was a danger in the heavy winds and strong thunderstorms that we often experience here (well, we haven't had too many thunderstorms lately). But this tree was the habitat of a family of woodpeckers -- the tiny baby woodpeckers were so precious. These little black and white birds not much bigger than a finger would peck away all day long. So the sound of the woodpecker this morning was especially welcome: I hope that his family has found a new home.

The rain stopped shortly after waking and the woods are again filled with birdsong. Since trees are fully leafed out, I cannot see many of the birds anymore. I enjoyed watching the many species that travel through these parts on their way south or north this winter/ We have a whole parade of bird migrations through here -- warblers, finches, swallows, you name it. The songs are always changing, though we have our 'regulars' too.

As the rain recently stopped, one of the wonders of this morning is the deep wet green of the world outside my window. It is such a deep green that it penetrates my soul with a strange mix of sensations: an abiding peace tinged with melancholy and a sense of gratitude for its holy mystery. There are no words for this green. It is changing as the sun is attempting to shine through the now-thinning clouds.

A really amazing source of wonder appeared in my mailbox this morning pointing me to this website:

http://micro.magnet.fsu.edu/primer/java/scienceopticsu/powersof10/index.html

There I found successive pictures that took me from the vast reaches of space to the inner workings of the subatomic universe of electrons and protons inside an oak leaf. These pictures give me new appreciation for this day, this world, this universe. I am jarred out of my complacent approach to this day unfolding before me as I think about the mind-boggling layers upon layers of complexity that enable me -- or that baby woodpecker -- to survive and even thrive each second, each hour, each year.

All this wonder, including a pot of satisfying green tea -- and I haven't even been up two hours yet! May you find an abundance of wonder in this day too.

Honing a Holy Skill

Medical students taking humanities courses? Hanging out in art museums? Sounds like this would be a fun break from the grind of biochemistry, physiology, and all those other left-brain courses that are necessary to know something about the ‘human machine’ and what makes it sick or well. An article featured in Monday’s New York Times --

http://tinyurl.com/f8bxw

-- talked about how some medical schools are now requiring such a course to hone prospective doctors’ observational skills:

“…at least one study, published in The Journal of the American Medical Association in 2001, has found that looking at painting and sculpture can improve medical students' observational abilities… With heightened observational skills physicians can often ask the questions necessary to make correct diagnoses without relying too much on costly blood tests and X-rays."

Several medical schools are incorporating courses like these into their curriculum, though not all of the courses feature art appreciation as the humanities focus. The inspiration behind the course at Mt. Sinai School of Medicine is Rebecca Hirschwerk, an art educator, who developed the idea for the course while her husband was a resident at Mount Sinai. She began to think about how, in listening and poring over charts, doctors sometimes had little time actually to look at their patients, especially under the pressures of today's managed medical care. "I can't think of many places outside art where you can be in a moment, and just look, for as long as you can take it," she said.

So these courses take the medical students away from the organ system, the body part that is aching, the partitioning off of the disease from the rest of the human being, which, in my mind, is the tragedy of medicine today. It helps them to step back, hopefully, and see with new eyes that a human being is before them, a being that has feelings, a history, a life, burdens and triumphs [a soul!], and needs expertise that will affect the whole person.

The art of observation is underrated in our hurry/busy lives. Multi-tasking becomes a way of life, which means that we don’t do any of the tasks with our full power of focus. And I have to admit that I can go through hours of the day with my primary preoccupation being on things totally unrelated to what I’m doing/seeing/sensing. Which means that I pass through large chunks of time without taking in the wholeness of my experience, the wholeness (or even a sizeable partiality) of the pageant that unfolds around me, a pageant that includes me if I were awake enough to take it all in.

I think back to a class I took in my graduate school of social work many years ago where we were asked to go to a public place and find someone to observe over time, recording their every movement. Every movement --and what patterns we might find. I remember being totally intimidated by that exercise. I went to a restaurant with my notebook and looked around the room for someone I could observe without being obvious. I found a woman who was several tables away – I could not hear the conversation, and I could only see part of the backside of the man she was sitting with. But I began recording, and I could tell that a drama was unfolding at that table – she showed evidence of being upset and anxious, and whatever they were talking about was important and difficult. The tension built over about a half an hour, then a high moment of catharsis, then the tension evaporated considerably – I could almost ‘feel’ it across the room. Something major cleared in that time, and I was a witness to a powerful human drama, one of billions that play out each day, and it felt holy. It changed me!

Meditation helps me focus more, allowing me greater access to a power of observation that is more inclusive. Writing does too. As does communing with nature. Isn’t this what spiritual discipline, spiritual practice is all about? To increase our availability to the holy moments – or wholly moments – that can crowd our days if we pay attention with more carefully honed skills of observation?

Maybe I’ll go to an art museum on my day off…

Amazing Children

A real joy for me this Easter Sunday – in addition to the deep theological message of transformation and grace through resurrection – was that of children being a huge part of my day.

Our worship was intergenerational this morning. One mother sat up front with her (I’m guessing) 18 month old daughter in her lap. And this toddler was holding onto a fancy little purse in the shape of a tiny Easter basket with velvet ribbons throughout. I smiled to myself and thought about the little purses and white gloves (and hats!!!) that I always carried/wore on Easter Sunday. And her brother, probably 5, was dressed in a purple dress shirt with a pink/purple plaid tie. His first ‘dress up’ Easter. What a treat!

A fairly new member of the church told the children’s story. She did a great job of inviting the participation of the children, who were mostly young (OK, they’re all young – I’m thinking that the oldest child who came forward to sit on the rug was probably 7). During the story, one of the children sat there very calmly and deliberately picking her nose -- visible to me, the choir, and probably another 20 members. In another lifetime, I would have been horrified. Instead of horror, I had to stifle giggles every time she flicked a booger onto the rug.

After church I was invited to share dinner with four families from the congregation: the host couple and their two children, both married with children of their own. This couple’s daughters grew up in the congregation. Another couple, longtime close friends of the host couple (are you with me?) whose daughters are now living in Manhattan, rounded out the group. One of the host’s daughters has a four month old baby. Being around infants is always sacred. I got in touch with my Inner Grandmother, a persona that will remain barren, probably, for a few more years anyhow.

The two other children who were present were 5 and 7. Between dinner and dessert, they set out to find their Easter goodies, which were hidden around the house and yard. They were given clues on how to find these treasures like they were on a scavenger hunt. The treasures were things like bubble machines, finger paints (that their Mother conveniently tried to leave behind at Grandma’s when they left), silly putty, and those round spinner thingies that you fire off with a trigger mechanism. [Can you tell it’s been a *long* time since I’ve bought toys???] We all had a good time with the scavenger hunt and the toys, but the finger paints remained unopened for today. And then we all entered a huge hunt for the 5 year old's shoes before they left to visit their other set of grandparents.

One of the best parts of this dinner was the conversation between the hostess and her longtime close friend about the church’s OWL program (Our Whole Lives, a lifespan curriculum developed jointly by the Unitarian Universalist Association and the United Church of Christ). The hostess’ friend teaches this class with the hostess’ daughter to the K-1 age group, which includes the 5 year old present at the dinner and the above-mentioned boy dressed in the purple shirt, among others. I have to say that it boggled my mind that these little sproutlings are learning about sexuality (Loving Touch = masturbation). But I admit to being a prude. It was heartwarming to hear these two friends discuss how it was for one of them to teach OWL with the other’s daughter. I love intergenerational activities and conversations and realize how few and far between they really are.

Finally, I was deeply touched when the hostess shared with me her conversation with her 7 year old granddaughter about how I was going to be leaving in a few weeks. She said that her granddaughter cried for several minutes and was outraged that I couldn’t stay. I got in touch with my grief of having to leave yet another precious group of children before I really got to know them and experience them over time. But this is all the more reason why I have been hungry to enter into another settled ministry where I really can be with children as they grow and flower.

The main thing I realized today that Easter is so much deeper when I share it with children. Transformation through the generations is a huge message for me this day.

Limbo on Holy Saturday

I live in an exurb of a large metro area: endless malls and strip malls of any chain store you could think of (3 Nordstrom’s within 10 miles), interspersed with housing subdivisions of ersatz McMansions (that may sound like an oxymoron, but trust me, it’s not) that all look alike on teeny tiny lots. A soulless place, I find. I remember finding, when I looked at a detailed map of this city before I came here, a bike path named after a locally prominent wildflower running the width of the city. Since I love riding my bike, I excitedly envisioned a long meandering path running through open prairie and wooded areas, perhaps along a stream. Did I get a rude awakening when I found that this bike trail runs under the high tension wires that supply electricity to all these malls!

When I agreed to come here two years ago, I basically knew what I was getting into, except for the bike path. I had lived 25 years ago in another part of this area and didn’t find a home for my soul then, either. This city where I’m now living was barely beginning to be developed then – now it is completely developed and outlying parts of the prairie are being devoured in big chunks to grow new strip malls and McMansions. When I agreed to minister here for a couple of years, I told the church that I could never find a home here. It is a running joke between us, congregation and interim minister.

So this period has been one of transition for me as I have sought the settled ministry that my heart aches for – it has been a long journey. So the past couple of years have been a sort of limbo time. Now that I have been called to a congregation in which I feel that I can thrive, and ditto in the city where I’m moving, I feel even more in limbo – between the No Longer (well, almost) and the Not Yet.

Limbo was that sort of non-place in Catholic theology (now discredited, thank God) where babies who died who had not received baptism went for maybe a gazillion years until God would finally relent and let them through the Pearly Gates. Limbo is that time when one can get lost in the empty spaces between what was and what will be. For me, it is a time when I can isolate myself and, while I’m disengaging from my current arrangements, I can buy into the fiction that real life is elsewhere – like in my new digs where I won’t land for many weeks. It’s a time when I let myself off the hook because I’m not really ‘here’ anymore, nor am I ‘there’. But I am here – in this city that is not a home. I am here -- needing to finish an interim ministry that has been the source of much hope and change for this congregation. I am here needing to keep on tending to the relationships that we have forged.

I need to face the death of this interim ministry while I acknowledge the healing that has transformed me as well as the church. I need to immerse myself in the goodbyes that need to be said, a few fences that yet need to be mended, and many appreciations that need to be openly noted. I need to feel and express my gratitude for the transition that enabled me to find the ministry of my heart’s desire. I find that, in this limbo, I have grown my soul in important ways. The limbo of this time is reflected in the limbo of this Holy Saturday – I’ve felt the ashes of despair, and I know that resurrection follows, and that it is even more joyous when I’ve done the work of living deeply in limbo times.

New Beginnings

Entering the blogosphere is daunting what with the company of so many eloquent others who regularly comment on what is most high and holy in their hearts and minds.

On this Good Friday I jump into the fray with humility and a sense of exploration -- of my being and ministry in relation to the world around me, a world that spins and circles the sun as it always has yet almost seems to bulge and split apart at the seams in places (like the poles, melting and warming in threatening ways; in countries like Iraq, Sudan, Chad, Iran, and even the United States -- &etcetera). And so this is a good day to engage in spiritual practice. For me that is meditation and prayer. I contemplate how the pace of change seems to be escalating and what my place is in an evolutionary process that I so want to be part of in a positive way. For we are all part of the evolutionary process whether we are aware of it or not. I meditate today on how to be an intentional part of this process.

My prayer for this Good Friday is that, in the face of death, we awaken to the incredible gift of life that we are blessed with – and renew our efforts to live life to its fullest.

I think of all the wasted moments I’ve spent even this day (and this probably includes the learning curve of starting a blog). May I renew my commitment to live more fully.