Seeking Sophia

More Than Tradition

2006-09-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

I am deeply saddened by the apparent decision of the UUA and General Assembly Planning Committee to ditch the Sunday morning worship in Portland, OR this coming GA, instead holding it in conjunction with the Closing Ceremony from 4 to 6 PM later Sunday afternoon. The Lively Tradition reported on this recently:
http://thelivelytradition.blogspot.com/2006/09/sunday-morning-at-ga.html

Some UUA supporters are copacetic with this decision, but others are not. I guess to some there is nothing sacred about Sunday morning worship – whenever you have it, it’s still worship. Yes, worship is worship. I welcome it any time. But to me Sunday mornings are sacred. I think this decision is wrong-headed. I stand accused of being a hidebound, change-fearing traditionalist.

But I see this as being more than tradition. We live in a culture where Sunday morning is the predominant time to formally observe the spiritual and religious dimension of life. This, of course, is not true for Jews or followers of Islam, or burgeoning US Buddhists, but we as Unitarian Universalists are not any of these. We stand with, as we always have, the Protestant tradition of holding worship on Sunday mornings. Should this not be sacred time for our Association? I can’t imagine attending the scheduled plenary session on Sunday morning. This will certainly send me on my way home from GA early.

We have experimented for a couple of years now holding a seeker-friendly Sunday morning GA worship services that were powerfully felt. I’m not sure how many non-UUs attended these services, but who is counting? If only 5 attended, was this a ‘failure’? I know that one of the congregations I served near the site of one GA had busloads attending that service. They were energized and enlivened by the possibilities of Unitarian Universalism. Would local congregations send busloads on a late Sunday afternoon when it was combined with an insider-focused closing ceremony?

I imagine that one of the reasons for this change is to hopefully keep more people in attendance at the usually less-well-attended closing plenaries and closing ceremonies. My reply is to make the plenaries more interesting and compelling. That’s how you get people to stay. More work needs to be done on that score.

I’m not usually one who likes to hold on to tradition for tradition’s sake (although my aging body has been known to fight change!). I think that the decision to move the Service of the Living Tradition to a different time was a positive decision. I’m always in favor of more worship, not less. The quality and spirit of the Sunday morning GA worship these past couple of years were high and life-giving in a way that was not about us – it was Unitarian Universalism reaching out to the community that is primarily used to attending worship on Sunday morning. Why would we want to change that?

Installed!

2006-09-26T12:03:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon was the time of the Service of Installation at the First Unitarian Society of Schenectady, NY – I was installed as its first female called minister in its 106 year history. My family was in attendance making the trip from North Carolina and Montreal. My close friend from Delaware also attended. Their attendance made it particularly meaningful.

It was a beautiful service with so many wonderful people participating. The music was spectacular and the participation of the children and youth was heart-warming and challenging.

An older man in attendance said, “I came out of duty. I didn’t expect such a moving service”. Wow. It was really special. I spent the first part of the summer falling in love with this place. And since I began August 1, I have been falling in love with the congregation. What a wonderful way to begin the deep covenant between minister and congregation!

I am indeed blessed.

The Perfect Day

2006-09-05T08:21:00.000-07:00

I took a long weekend in Vermont – a place I haven’t visited since I was maybe 12. When I look back at childhood vacations, my 2 to Vermont were the most special. There’s something about it that seems almost magical. I rented a rustic cabin in a rather secluded area and took off with a light agenda. The most perfect day was Friday, the first day of this trip.

I moseyed up the West Coast of Vermont (along the Champlain Canal and then Lake Champlain, which borders NY for the geographically impaired). I took my time savoring the blue skies, the low-seventies temps, and the unmistakable signs of approaching autumn. My mood was light and buoyant – after all, this was basically my summer vacation!

I drove to Shelburne Farms, a magical place that makes an incredibly sharp cheddar cheese and features a most wondrous barn that looks almost Russian in style. They have a circle trail of 4.5 miles that I hiked through meadows, woods, and a stretch along Lake Champlain. The aroma of the sweet grasses and clover and wildflowers was addictive. The Green Mountains framed the eastern sky and the Adirondacks the western sky. A most memorable and pleasant walk.

I slowly made my way to my cabin that was near some small towns in north central Vermont. I settled in and meditated on the deck. I had a light dinner of salad and that great cheddar and at sunset took a walk to the pond that was still and reflective as glass. Crickets chirped and a distant owl hooted. I walked slowly around the pond, the trail taking me into a wooded area. As I emerged from these woods, I found myself at the north end of the pond. Facing south was Mt. Mansfield in the distance and a hazy ¾ moon high above in the navy blue sky. That sight caught my breath. I found a rock to sit upon and ponder the beauty of it all -- the sights, the sounds, that same sweetgrass aroma.

I returned to my small cabin and pulled out a good book. Although the lights weren’t great for reading (all overhead lighting – yuck!), it was great to settle in with no thought of reading email or distracting myself with the innumerable distractions of home and church. It was, indeed, a perfect day that I could not have scripted if I had tried.

More Evidence of Creeping Totalitarianism

2006-08-24T05:04:00.000-07:00

This article in today’s New York Times is yet another small piece of the larger picture that is turning this country into something that barely resembles the democracy that we value. http://www.nytimes.com/2006/08/24/washington/24evo.html?th&emc=th

It’s about the evident elimination of evolutionary biology as an allowable major for low income students seeking federal grants, such as the SMART program, that gives grants to students wishing to study math and science.

The article quotes a spokesperson from the Department of Education as saying that this was an oversight, but it remains off the list as of last night. I think, at best, this was some kind of trial balloon to see if they can actually get away with this stuff.

The outrage continues.

Andrew Young and Wal-Mart

2006-08-19T11:08:00.000-07:00

I had read a while back that Andrew Young, erstwhile civil rights leader, had become a visible supporter of Wal-Mart. When I heard this I felt like I did when one of the Yippies (was it Jerry Rubin?) had become a Wall Street investment banker. Sell-out is the word that comes to mind.

His recent comments that put his Wal-Mart cheerleader job in enough jeopardy to make him resign troubled me – because I remember in my civil rights days fighting the battles of rip-off grocery stores in the ghetto. When you really get down to it, the culprit was more the economic reality of poor neighborhoods than the nationality of the store owners. I knew a family, Jewish, who owned one of these stores. They certainly did not make a great deal of money from their enterprise and had a great rapport with the neighborhood residents. Actually, they lived fairly close to the store – they certainly could not afford the richer suburbs. There were exceptions, and these were the store owners that we fought, but my experience has been that many of the store owners tried to serve well the neighborhood people.

The economics of merchandising poor neighborhoods have been difficult for decades. Chain grocery stores do not do business there unless they get heavy subsidies from the city. I’m not sure why, but it does seem that different ethnic groups gravitate to certain economic niches. Like East Indians and motels before 90% of our motels became chains. In Hawaii, Chinese tended to be bankers as well as restaurant owners. Japanese were the government workers and teachers (this was back in the seventies – much has probably changed). Back in the day, the owners of the ghetto corner stores were largely Jewish at least in the cities I was familiar with on the east coast. When I moved to California, Koreans took on that role in Watts and South Central LA; and I know in Detroit the owners became heavily of Middle East origin.

So on the face of it, Andrew Young spoke some truth. But economics do play in here – without chain grocery stores, without deep pockets stocking the meats and veggies, the tendency would naturally be to try to sell whatever was on hand rather than throwing stuff away that large chains do as a matter of course (I knew a perfectly respectable woman who fed her family perfectly good food from the dumpster behind a Sam’s Club). When the margins are much closer, the tendency is to try to sell what one can. Young blamed Mom and Pop store owners for selling bad meat and produce to poor folks.

I’m not sure that this can still be claimed with today’s food supplies and corner stores, which are more likely to be convenience stores. What sells is the mass-produced crap that has long shelf life: sodas, packaged foods, stuff that’s the scourge of our SAD (standard American diet). Cigarettes are big sellers in these stores – and in many poor neighborhoods, cigarette manufacturers, along with liquor manufacturers, have been the largest billboard advertisers (poor neighborhoods tend to have a lot of billboards). Many stores do have problems stemming losses from shoplifting – it goes with the territory of being in a poor area. Friction does occur over the various ways that store owners deal with this.

So what impact has Wal-Mart had on poor neighborhoods? I’m not really sure. Certainly Wal-Mart doesn’t hang out their shingle in these neighborhoods. So my guess is that there would still be a niche still for the Mom and Pop store. Although I have a strong distaste for Wal-Mart for many reasons, I can see why it would be an attractive place for poor people to shop. Moreso if public transportation goes from these neighborhoods to Wal-Mart. But how much can you carry on the bus? How much profit does Wal-Mart make off of poor people, and how much does it give back to local poor neighborhoods?

I would think that many small businesses in the ghettoes/barrios of our cities do give something back to these neighborhoods. Certainly there are always those who would foster adversarial relationships. But are they in the majority? Sadly, I don’t know, because I have not entered a poor neighborhood for many years. We are much more isolated from these areas than when I grew up in the sixties – at least the major arterials still ran through the poorer areas. Now freeways totally skirt most neighborhoods.

It does feel like Andrew Young has sold out – and is perpetuating stereotypes that 1) probably no longer exist in the way that he implied, and 2) are probably the exception rather than the rule. But maybe I’m wrong.

Due to our collective lack of interest in poor folks and how they live, this issue most likely will not get the fuller airing that it deserves.

Musings on Iraq

2006-08-12T12:37:00.000-07:00

The ongoing trauma in Iraq has been relegated to back pages or footnotes since the war erupted between Hezbollah and Israel, with two exceptions: the generals referring to the ‘civil war’ in Iraq when they appeared before Congress a couple of weeks ago and the Connecticut Democratic primary last week between Joe Lieberman and the winner, Ned Lamont. With regard to that primary, much analysis has been written – Lieberman was defeated by ‘disgruntled moderates’ who are fed up with the war. Or by boomer folks who are somehow finally rediscovering their coming-of-age leftist roots that brought the Viet Nam antiwar movement to be a driving force.

But the focus of all this is on election analysis, not Iraq. This is driving me crazy, because no one seems to be advancing anything constructive beyond analysis. Reflecting back on the months leading up to March, 2003 when we invaded Iraq, there was plenty of sentiment that we should not ‘go there’. But our collective fear and trauma from 9/11 silenced all but a few. We didn’t really listen to all of those nations who refused to be part of a coalition to invade that country. We listened to our fear, part of which was that to not invade Iraq would just give ‘the terrorists’ more leeway. So a vast majority of Congress voted to invade. And the Democratic Party rolled over.

As we know, Iraq has been one huge mistake after another. We did not go in there to restore electricity, to boost their economy that was in shambles after a decade of economic sanctions, we did not provide basic human care to the people of Iraq. We strutted around Baghdad and environs while Saddam’s storehouses were looted by the rival factions that we ignored. We were the arrogant Americans who totally blew any opportunity to lift up the Iraqi people (back in the sixties, we were called ‘Ugly Americans’).

So by now things have spun so much out of control that most Iraqis are afraid for their very lives, live under siege, and still don’t have their basic human needs met. And we wonder why we seem to not be ‘winning’ this so-called war on terror? Hello???? Oh, yes, we did give them the gift of democracy. No one seems to be dealing with the outrageous fallacy of Iraqi democracy following our invasion. No one is talking about what to do next except ‘should we stay or should we go’. Both options are lacking from a humanitarian perspective.

As a nation, our nation, what about the concept of atonement? We have essentially raped a country in a misguided effort. We bear witness every day to the fruits (or spoils?) of that rape. And no one is taking the leadership to 1) apologize or 2) make any kind of amends. We cannot go back to March 18, 2003. And we cannot leave a country that is self-destructing in our wake.

I want to hear someone in the leadership of this country come up with a plan to give humanitarian aid to Iraq – we are, after all, spending $1.5 billion a week (heard on NPR this morning via a general whose name I didn’t get, who is now retired but served in Iraq). With that kind of money, we could do a lot, it would seem, towards restoration work that might begin to 1) attend to basic living needs and then perhaps 2) heal the soul of the people whose lives have been totally disrupted. At this point the US cannot be the healers, but we can begin to provide the elements that might help people to begin to heal.

So how do we citizens begin the call for a moral leadership in this war? Not partisan bickering, not pulling out the 9/11 fear card which is at an even higher level this week, not further ‘analysis’, but a strong call for moral leadership to do the right thing?

Weekend Blessings

2006-08-06T05:37:00.000-07:00

This morning was a glorious Sunday morning with the sun beaming down on my front porch. What a difference a couple of days can make – it was blessedly cool (I even donned a long sleeve shirt), so I drank my quotidian pot of green tea hot (I’ve been letting it cool significantly in past weeks – and green tea is steeped much cooler than other teas anyway). The bird song was pure liquid harmony and the sun was strong. I didn’t engage in my usual machinations of moving my chair from one side of the porch to the other to evade its direct rays as it climbs in the sky (well, it doesn’t climb, how archaic our language is!!). The strong rays today felt good, so I got a good dose of vitamin D along with my polyphenols, catechin and theanine. All of this before breakfast!

Yesterday was a great day as well. A dear couple from the church invited me to the rehearsal of the Philadelphia Orchestra, which holds court in a nearby town during the month of August. So I went to the glorious farmers market in that town, stuffed my goodies in my cooler, and headed off for the rehearsal. I love symphonic music and miss regular doses of it (my former partner who recently died was a professional musician, so we attended many symphony and chamber music performances in our time together). They began with their contemporary piece – Phoenix by contemporary composer Bright Sheng (who was there to oversee their rehearsal!). Like many classical music lovers, I find some 20th century compositions to be way too atonal for my tastes, but I think I could like this piece. The story behind its composition was fascinating. They stopped often while rehearsing to master the technicalities of certain sections, so I was not able to track how it all fit together. There were many church members in attendance at this rehearsal, but none liked that particular composition.

The highlight of the rehearsal was the Rachmaninoff concerto featuring Andre Watts. I had never seen him in person, and he was amazing. He rarely looked at the piano – he was looking at the orchestra the whole time, and the music that came out of that piano seemed like an extension of his essence. Hard to explain -- you had to be there. Playing Rachmaninoff seemingly effortlessly is genius at work. At any rate, it was such an incredible treat!

This is my next-to-last Sunday before I begin preaching again. I am going to worship by being in nature on this beautiful day. I’ll weigh in on ‘why I don’t go to church’ on many of my Sundays off in another post.

The First Days of a New Ministry

2006-08-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

This is an intricate time, beginning a new ministry. It is a time when a powerful focus is needed – on people, systems, structure, customs, habits. It is a time to watch where I’m placing my feet (metaphorically) – while I’m also watching my back. It’s a time to bite my tongue and listen carefully before I do hold forth on my thoughts.

My primary focus is getting to know the people of this church – the first thing I learn is their names (hopefully); then what positions they hold or not, who their family members are (if they have family connections), a bit about their history in the church if I’m lucky – plus all the etceteras. But most importantly I try to focus on what are their hopes, dreams, challenges, hungers, needs, and opinions. It will be a while before this kaleidoscope comes into focus and the beautiful patterns emerge.

The challenge of trying to fit my books and office files and ‘stuff’ into a new configuration is always interesting. The process of settling into the Minister’s Study (with its own bathroom and shower, woo hoo!!!) has been slowed by a lack of Pendaflex ‘bones’ for the file cabinet drawers. The procurement of office supplies seems to proceed at a glacial pace. Plus storage spaces are filled with stuff left by previous ministers. Much of this is in the way of items from the Partner Church in Transylvania – it makes sense that the ample storage in ‘my’ study would be the repository for this. But there’s so much of it!! There are lots and lots of historical files too, and they will be fun to go through. But with the steady stream of members and staff that come through, this will probably go slowly.

Another thing that has slowed me down this week has been the heat wave, of course. The church offices are air conditioned, but not my upstairs apartment. My whole body slowed down considerably this week, but the excitement and drama of beginning this ministry, a ministry I’ve dreamed of for a long time, has kept me upbeat and engaged with life in such a wonderful way.

When I get a few months down the line from this settling in/newbie process, I always look back totally amazed and relieved that I actually got through these months, coupled with a feeling that I really wouldn’t want to repeat that time either.

Such is the blessing and drawback of new ministry. It is beautiful in its unfolding, it is heady, it is exciting. It is also full of surprises (which I’ve never been a particular fan of) and ‘dangers, toils and snares’. Yes! That’s it – this is a time of Amazing Grace.

May those of you experiencing such new beginnings find this to be that time of Amazing Grace too.

Re-Visiting My Confirmation

2006-07-28T07:48:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago my mother gave away most of her collected memorabilia to her children and grandchildren. I have been going through the mementoes of her life among the pictures, cards, letters, and newspaper/newsletter clippings that she set aside especially for me. The plastic baggie filled with cards and the order of service from my confirmation stood out.

I was confirmed on Pentecost Sunday many years ago in a Missouri Synod Lutheran church. We confirmands had invested two hours each Saturday morning for the past two years. The Sunday prior to our confirmation, we sat in the front row of church and, as part of the service, had to answer surprise questions from the pastor. Having watched this for the previous 10 years give or take, having seen squirming youth stumped by the questions, embarrassed and shamed before the whole congregation (that was my take, anyhow), I was glad to have lived through The Inquisition.

I remember my white dress, my new Bible (not white, but with the words of Jesus in red), the excitement of wondering what communion would feel like (I was surprised that I didn’t feel much of anything special – I’m sure I expected something huge and wondered if my sinful nature prevented this from happening), and the anticipation of a big party afterwards (isn’t this a bit like how ministers feel at some weddings, that the ceremony will not be intensely felt because so much focus is on the reception?)

The order of service that my mother kept begins with this ‘Prayer Before Worship’:

Lord Jesus, send Thy Holy Spirit into our hearts through Thy Word and Sacrament that He may convince us of all Truth, strengthen us in every trial, and increase our strength and joy of believing, that we may live to Thy glory now, and be saved eternally by Thy grace, Who livest and reignest with the Father and the Holy Ghost, forever and ever. Amen.

Despite the two years of study prior to confirmation (I remember that much of the study focused on Luther’s Catechism), I was not really conversant about the Holy Spirit (almost exclusively called the Holy Ghost in that church). I had a hard time relating to ghosts and I was much more conversant with original sin, which I was undoubtedly committing every moment of my existence. I had my own demons and trials I was dealing with at the age of 13, but the Holy Ghost was not strengthening me, because I didn’t know that this force of love was available to me. But I digress. What I’m trying to say is, this high moment of Confirmation, of Coming of Age, did not meet any expectations I may have had. I can see now that I was truly struggling with how this faith related to my reality and the reality of those times. I can see now that I was already growing away from that faith, but that was unthinkable then.

However, something important did happen then, and I didn’t see it until now: along with the newsletter clipping and order of service from that distant day, that Ziploc bag contained a big stack of cards: several, though they had different drawings on the front, said ‘A Prayer for Your Confirmation’ – several others just said, ‘For Your Confirmation’. All featured pastel flowers and doves, many had crosses and the stained glass window effect -- a couple in glitter. And the sentiments inside all had to do with wishes for a deeper faith, the felt presence of the Holy Ghost active in my life, and messages of love. The surprise was that most of these cards came from, not members of my family or people particularly close to me, but adult members of that church – people I knew all through my childhood, people who spoke to me each Sunday, who chided me when my behavior was out of control, who took time each week to say something special to me (and this was not a small church). And now that I was coming of age, they took the time to shop for and send me a card, along with, I’m sure, wishes/prayers that I would always have this faith to sustain me. I have not read these cards since that distant day, when I probably threw them in a pile for someone else (my mother) to cherish and keep.

I do have a faith to sustain me, though it’s not that particular one and it took me many long years to hone and grow in to. But what has kept me at that task, I'm convinced, has been that distant memory of community, one that took on a shared responsibility for the nurturing of the children of that community. Somewhere inside me, unexpressed until now, was the cellular memory of those people urging me on to keep faith and to open myself to the Holy Spirit. What a lasting gift that truly speaks to what a Coming of Age can and should be for children in those confusing early adolescent years.

I got my aging body out of bed at 3:30 AM one morning last week to see off the youth who recently ‘graduated’ from the Coming of Age program at the church I am about to begin to serve. They were departing for Guatemala for a service project – and I wanted to be there to show them that they truly matter to the whole church and to nurture them in their unfolding. I don’t know these youth but I hope to build an open relationship with them. I know even more this week how important it is to stand by them and with them as they forge through their adolescence and into their adult years.

Summer Day

2006-07-25T16:09:00.000-07:00

A near-perfect summer day: it started out cool, in the low sixties. The morning was productive, and I shared lunch with a local colleague who I’ve known slightly before moving here. We ate on the deck of a restaurant on the river. Though it was hotter by early afternoon, lunching in the shade on the river bank was delightful.

Then a bike ride on the river bike path. I love bike riding and was consternated to find my trusty bike stolen a couple of days after I arrived here. To be honest, I did not ride it much living in that huge Southwestern metro area. The roads were dangerous and the bike paths were underneath high tension lines, for pete’s sake! Not conducive to a great ride, or even a good ride. I love taking in nature in huge chunks when I’m riding, and the high tension wires did absolutely nothing for me. I wanted to resume riding here, so I shopped for a new bike. In my days of test riding, I made the mistake of testing out one that was beyond (way beyond) what I wanted to pay. But after I rode that baby, you know what I bought. It’s only the down payment on my future house! [I’m kidding, kind of].

So the river path here is long and there are many segments that are fun and give me the communion with nature that I crave. So after my wonderful lunch, I took off with my bike and rode on a different part of the path, one that is close to the river for many miles. Other parts of this section are forested – the smell of the moss, the deep green of the woods, the liquid bird songs and the occasional bunny scurrying across the path lifted my soul. When I got to the meadow parts, the smell of grasses and that sweet meadow aroma wafted my way. I could almost taste blackberries! The sun was hot, but the wind cooled me off. The marshy river sections were salty, tangy and pungent. Geese and egrets dotted the shore. It was a great ride – twelve miles as I get used to riding again. This bike is so much faster than my old bike. Even my slowest today was as fast as I ever went on my old bike. I’m happy!

Hot and sweaty coming home, I took a cool shower and had a farmer’s market-inspired dinner. Roasted beets with a balsamic splash on fresh greens. An organic egg deviled with wasabi mustard and smoked Spanish paprika. A fresh ripe tomato and basil with fresh mozzarella. And a New York organic Riesling.

This is how summer is s’posed to be. I’ll go to bed early because I go to the airport at 4:30 AM to see the youth from the church I’ll be officially serving come next Tuesday off on their trip to Guatemala.

The Netflix Effect

2006-07-21T08:08:00.000-07:00

I’ve found myself avoiding the news this week, something that’s unusual for me. As I was browsing the internet, I found an article in the Wall Street Journal that shed light on my avoidance of world events as they are spinning ever more out of control.

The article is entitled For Some Netflix Users, Red Envelopes Gather Dust: http://tinyurl.com/jq7ju. Evidently Netflix doesn’t get prompt returns from the ‘heavier’ movies such as Schindler’s List, Hotel Rwanda, and those other movies that we ‘should’ watch but put off doing so because we know that we will feel pain. So the red envelopes that contain these movies sit on coffee tables or entertainment centers for weeks on end, often to be returned unwatched. WSJ cited a 1999 study that confirmed this behavior. If you want to watch a movie today, you will most likely choose Groundhog Day or Harry Potter. Or an action film. But not one that brings us down with reality.

So I am wanting to avoid the pain of the news this week. I make myself read it in small spurts. And I am more fearful than I remember being, save perhaps for the first month following 9/11. I have watched so much spin out of control since then. And the spin gets faster and faster, more deadly in every spin. I don’t know what to do, but I feel like I can increasingly relate to the German citizens who have been castigated and demonized for the sixty plus years following WWII – you know, all those sheep who wore blinders and failed to rise up against their leaders.

I know I am not alone – I am in the company of so many of us who are numb, frightened, and powerless. I was just reading in today’s NY Times that our US exporting of democracy in the Middle East is supposed to have the effect of allowing common citizens to effectively choose responsible leadership. Well, they have chosen Hamas in Palestine and have given some legitimate power to Hezbollah. They have chosen a Shiite majority in Iraq, which has already had major implications for civil strife that has grown exponentially in the past few weeks and is now relegated to back pages of the news with the horrors of the Israel/Lebanon conflict. And then there’s Somalia, Darfur, and all those other places.

We are not going to resolve this by watching the heavier movies. Actually, resolution is obviously not going to be felt for a long, long time in the Middle East. I don’t have any answers (I’ve been procrastinating writing this, too, because my thoughts are so disorganized as I feel the fears rising in my body). But I do have questions.

I have a lot of questions about democracy: the default definition of democracy is ‘getting the right to vote’. A side rant: my teeth have often gnarled at the children’s version of our Unitarian Universalist principles and purposes that conflates our will toward democratic process to ‘all people should be able to vote’. Voting is an important facet of democracy, the 2000 and 2004 US presidential elections aside. but much must come first. And in this post-postmodern age, what the heck is democracy anyhow? And if it’s anything like the incivility that we see in US politics at all levels, what are we exporting exactly? What are the underpinnings that make democracy truly flourish? If people do not feel like they have hope, like the wave upon wave of people in the Middle East who are ready to die, what should be our response? Armies and weapons do not seem to do anything but lessen hope.

I have a lot of questions about empowerment: in the US with our Patriot Act and listening programs, how might we rise up and inform our leaders about how we see world events unfolding and effectively mobilizing action to reverse our morally bankrupt policies? I have no clue at this point.

I am going to spend some time in the next few weeks with Bonhoffer and Niebuhr. I am going to spend more time in my theological ground that is rooted in liberation theologies. I am going to fight my own avoidance and dissociation behaviors. For what is done in the name of the US is being done in my name too. I liked the sentiments behind the progressive organization called Not In My Name (NION), but hey, it is being done in my name. And what we are doing is unacceptable to me.

Living Into the Unfolding

2006-07-14T08:01:00.000-07:00

One of the major things I have learned through ministry is to be more open to the unfolding of life. Like most people in our culture, I make many plans, plot trajectories, and make assumptions about where these plans and trajectories should take me and the churches I serve. Often enough, however, S*%T happens. Plans and trajectories get scuttled. And the Holy Spirit of Life nudges into new space, new directions.

Such as it is this summer. July was to be my vacation month, with the main agenda being to settle into my apartment and this area – along with, of course, resting up for the demands of a new church and new ministry. Now I am facing 4 memorial services. Five, actually – one of the deceased will have a smaller service this weekend and a large service in August. Of course much pastoral care goes along with the deaths of beloved members of the congregation. And I’m thrown into the logistical elements of memorial services in a church where I do not know the customs, traditions, expectations, or even where to find the right people to help with the receptions, ushering, and all the etceteras that go into well planned services.

Some have said to me, ‘What a terrible way to begin your ministry with us!’ ‘What a shame that you are not even due to begin and all this is happening!’ There would have been times when I would have complained loud and long to whoever might listen. But that doesn’t change what is, that doesn’t bring back the failed plans and assumptions, and complaining takes much more energy than it’s worth. Not to mention the spiritual costs – one is then prevented from living into the unfolding of life, from the nudgings of the spirit -- God.

I’m looking at the blessings that present themselves even though I’m short on sleep from a few days of hospital vigil for a tragic death. A blessing in this case was the magic transformation of the family and close friends as they spent 6 hours together with their beloved as the respirator was turned off. It was a healthy and heartfelt goodbye process. Many in our culture cannot relate to the special blessings of being present in death, but many health care folks and ministers in particular (chaplains especially) know what I mean.

I am blessed to know who really runs the church even before I start!! Sometimes it takes a long time and many mistakes before this awareness dawns. I found out after only making a couple of mistakes and only stepping on a few toes. And once I ‘officially’ start (which in this case now means, when I get paid for my ministry here), I will be a more familiar face who has already begun to walk with the congregation in the midst of tragedy and sadness and grief.

I am also lucky to have some great friends and relations who can hear my grumblings and not chastise me for having moments of pique. You all know who you are, and I am eternally grateful and blessed to have you in my life.

The Joy of Farmers Markets

2006-07-06T07:12:00.000-07:00

I have always loved local farmers markets. [nb: I had to interrupt this writing to Google the term ‘farmers markets’ – is it farmer’s market, farmers’ market, or farmers market? The latter won out handily]. When I was a child in the fifties and sixties, vendors would line up along King Street in my East Coast city in old black pick up trucks or panel vans without windows. They would sell their wares from behind their trucks, much like they do today in many towns. I remember the bunches of fragrant lilacs in May, the sweet yellow peaches in July and the succulent tomatoes in August. Those were the highlights for me.

Whenever I’ve moved, I’ve always made it a high priority to find the great sources of local produce. I remember learning of the local farmers market in the southern town of my first ministry: I was told that it was held on Saturday morning in Jackson Square. The person who told me about this market waxed eloquent about how wonderful it was. My first Saturday in that town, I got up, had a leisurely breakfast, and set out for the market. It took me a while to find Jackson Square, so I got there around 9:30 or 10, and I couldn’t understand what was so wonderful about this market. Few vendors, paltry displays of produce. When I commented on that, I was urged to give it another try – at 7 AM when it opened, or even a bit earlier, as they didn’t always wait for the opening bell.

Sure enough, it was a different experience early in the morning. Half the town would be there, and the produce was indeed plentiful and wonderful. I could have given my sermon there and served most of the congregation. I made lots of other friends at the market over the years, and folks like the Herb Lady would always set aside what they knew I liked. Later, when a coffee shop (The Daily Grind) opened across the street, the ritual would be to get to the farmers market early and then find a table with friends at the packed coffee house. Ah, those memories! Saturday mornings in the ‘off season’ (Thanksgiving through Memorial Day) paled in comparison to those wonderful summer and fall Saturday mornings.

There were other markets and other rituals in other cities. Sadly, there were no farmers markets that you could rely upon to sell local produce in my last city – I think all of the produce would wilt in the tremendous heat of the southern plains by Memorial Day anyhow. So I was happy to find many farmers markets in my new locale. However, I have found that they are spotty – the one in my city is on a Thursday and has maybe 5 or 6 vendors, some of whom sell candles or jams. Not a large variety of produce. But I found the mother lode in a neighboring town. Lots of vendors selling all kinds of freshly grown stuff, in addition to the natural meat and egg folks, artisanal organic cheeses, freshly made peanut butter and homemade challah. Woo hoo!!

This market operates on Wednesday afternoons in addition to Saturday mornings. Yesterday I decided to see what it was like mid-week. It was almost as spectacular as Saturday. I picked up fresh broccoli, kale, and salad greens. Sunflower sprouts. Herbs. Black raspberries that are the food of gods! Baby yellow squash, zucchini, and snow peas for my Quorn stir fry. Some of that homemade challah. Oh, and the most beautiful flower bouquet that graces my antique pink vase.

Overheard at one of the crowded booths (this neighboring town is a prime tourist spot): So when are we going to move up here? I felt so lucky at that moment. Here it was, a perfect day – not too hot, not too humid, sunny and just right. Here I was, in my glory at a wonderfully abundant farmers market, stuffing those wonderful veggies and fruit in my string bag. Life is good in the summertime when the grace of harvest is shared at the market; where the bounty is imported at most from the next county; where the freshness overcomes all of the senses; and the nourishment of our bodies rises to new levels.

For sustainable living, the only thing that beats this is growing your own. But then you don’t have the community aspect, unless you grow your own in a community garden or invite lots of people to share in your bounty.

I will savor this market for months to come. I will nourish my body well and know that I am adding to the local economy as well as not relying upon vitamin-depleted produce that’s trucked/shipped/flown in from the far corners of the earth. I will count these market experiences as spiritual practice. What a blessing!

Holidays

2006-07-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

I don’t like holidays. I get restless and lonely. I am out of my element. Many holidays like July Fourth, I am alone. My family is small and in diaspora. None of us lives where I grew up – we really don’t have a common home. We do get together for many of the ‘big’ holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas. I guess that’s all we’re together for most years. My friends, many of whom have always lived in one place, have their holiday traditions and routines. Brunch here, dinner there. Gathering with the same friends year after year. I’m the one who is moving around.

Since seminary days many years ago, July often finds me in a new locale as I take up a new ministry somewhere. I house-sat for my ministerial intern supervisor the month before I began that internship – I think I arrived a few days before July 4. I was invited to a picnic with many church members. I remember being so hot and sweaty from the stifling heat and overwhelmed with the newness of it all. I think I spent a lot of time that day in the pond cooling off and swimming. I remember being on call during my CPE unit on July 4th – the hospital seemed eerily quiet as it too was outside of its regular day-to-day routine. And there have been other years like this one, where I am a stranger in a new town, anticipating the beginning of a new ministry.

What I am faced with during holidays like this is my workaholic nature and need for my regular routine. If I would give thought to holidays ahead of time, I probably should plan a time of rest and renewal. Having just returned to a new abode after having just traveled, I didn’t plan this long holiday weekend at all. I am still unpacking from my move and finding places for my stuff. I am engaged in the pastoral care demands and hospital visits that I must attend to, and I am sitting with my loneliness and feeling of complete discombobulation. Tears are at the heart of things as I meander from activity to activity, feeling like I’m accomplishing little. But on a holiday, perhaps I shouldn’t expect to accomplish. Perhaps the spiritual task is to take in the enormity of this change and be very kind to myself through this transition time. Perhaps I should just let those tears flow in the grief of too much moving, too much change, too much resistance to the whole process of change. Perhaps I need to recognize the diaspora of my body and soul during these times, and find ways to bring them into closer proximity. This is a process, it won’t happen overnight.

So long holiday weekends like this one can serve that higher purpose of integration that I may well overlook in the day to day workaholism that can be my life if I’m not aware and awake. The loneliness of this holiday can empower me to celebrate that I did the hard work of determining what kind of ministry is right for me and pursuing it, resulting in this new settlement. It can lead me to resolve to find ways to be a part of this new community outside of the work of ministry – to find the activities and make the friends that will fill my reservoir and life with meaning outside of work.

These are hard for me to do – it took me way too long to make friends in my first settlement. I got wiser in my next one. I hope to be wiser still in this one. So I thank this holiday time to teach me what I most need to learn.

Muder's Law

2006-07-02T13:20:00.000-07:00

Muder’s Law: Any day sufficiently far in the future seems to contain infinite time.
Infinite time… how old does one have to be to grow out of Muder’s Law, which he (Doug Muder) mentioned at the beginning of his GA blog found here:
http://www.uua.org/ga/ga06/gajournal.html

I am meditating on that now. Actually, I’m cringing. This seems to be an Achilles heel of sorts for me. I always think that I will have infinite time to do so many, many things ‘sometime’ in the future. And that could be tomorrow – so much for ‘sufficiently far in the future’.

I came home from my trip shaken up somewhat. My return from the south ended up taking an extra day and an extra 350 miles due to the flooding in central Pennsylvania and New York. It was one of those ‘you can’t get there from here’ type of experiences. I was stranded for a time in Sidney, NY, a town along I-88 which will be closed indefinitely as it collapsed in both directions. The town of Sidney bridges collapse from one side of town to the other – it spans the Susquehanna River. I tried to go east and over the mountains to get to through roads. No dice. One often thinks of floods in the valleys that rivers run through. I’m here to tell you that water running off of mountains can just as easily take out mountain roads before the water gets to the valleys.

After driving for about an hour and a half, all roads led back to that flooded town. I got out of the car for a cold drink and talked to several townspeople who had congregated at the convenience store. They had lost communication with people on the other side of the river – family, friends, schoolmates of their children. They were frightened and panicky. I realized how this flood was much more than an inconvenience to my travels. It's going to disrupt their lives for a long time, as the major factory and town employer right behind us was under water up to the rooftop. There was only one way in and out of town – and with major flooding all along those roads, they were also worried that food and other necessities would not be able to come in for a few days. I felt guilty about the snacks I purchased.

Finally returning, there was a death in my new congregation and another member near death. So I am planning one memorial service now and tending to the other situation. As July begins, I’m aware that I had many plans for this month – lots of travel, getting completely settled in, getting all those pesky things done like car registration etc., and knowing my way around before I officially begin this new ministry. Well, I have already begun this ministry. And I have miles to go before I’m completely settled in.

Heck, I haven’t even had time since my return to look at the videos of GA! I wanted to do that while I was away, but the church’s laptop had some quirky issues and there was no wireless connection at my Mom’s retirement facility. Video over dialup doesn’t work too well, I found. I do want to see at least the big parts of what I missed.

So the infinite time I was counting on in July will quickly sift through the metaphorical hourglass, I’m afraid. This always happens, and I’m not quick to learn the finitude of time vs. all I want to do and see and experience.

Since I have experienced a lot of death lately, this realization is ratcheting up the fear level – the primal fear that I’ll never be able to do all that I’d like to do and experience all that I’ve always assumed that I will experience in this lifetime. It’s a chilling fear, the kind that will take a long time to meditate on and come to some peace with. May I begin that meditation today and not kid myself that infinite time will take care of these fears.

Sitting Out GA 06

2006-06-20T14:54:00.000-07:00

Well, not exactly sitting… I accepted a request to officiate at the wedding of one of my son’s high school friends. This comes nine years after they graduated, and most of his friends have moved on as have we. The wedding is in a different area, but many of his friends will be in attendance. Plus the bride’s mother was a friend of mine. So it will be a reunion time of sorts for me. Plus my son will be there, and I see him all too seldom. The place where this couple is getting married is within an hour of my family, so I will also be making a long-overdue visit to my ailing mother.

There was a time when I would attend what I could at GA, then leave at the last possible minute to honor my obligations (even though I moved 1700 miles 2 weeks ago) and then wonder later in the summer why I was so exhausted. I don’t do that any more.

However, I am sorry I’m missing UUGA06. I usually have a love/hate relationship with General Assembly, I don’t like crowds (even Ministry Days seem overcrowded to me – when GA begins, I go into total overwhelm); I feel bad about the money that it’s costing me (usually I’m running out of professional expenses by that time); and for the past few years, I felt like the UUA was running the same agenda and programs over and over. That angered me when I feel that there is so much hunger for the liberal religion that I love so much. I often feel that we as gathered UU community are missing the boat by refusing to really look at who we are and what the world needs from liberal churches.

This year many programs look interesting. I would love to hear Mary Oliver. And Sharon Salzberg during Ministry Days. I would like to hear Gail Geisenhamer preach as well as Judith Meyer. Some people whom I care for will be walking in the Service of the Living Tradition – I’d love to share in their proud moment.

I would be attending the Young Adult worships each day. I truly want to learn about what kind of worship they will be planning – I seem to fill needs of the young adults of the congregations I’ve served, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you what works and what doesn’t. I have a lot to learn about what young adults want and need in church. I would like to hear colleague Rob Hardies give the John Murray Distinguished Lecture on Hospitality and Grace. And the UU Buddhists’ Zen and Unitarian Universalism ( I always attend many of the UU Christian events, because they are always top notch). And since I’m entering an area that is doing intentional regional growth work, I would attend the workshop on growing UUism regionally.

Since I have a strong interest in leadership development and governance, there are several workshops along these lines that don’t sound like the same old tired stuff. There’s a workshop on ‘Growing UU Congregations in a Post-Denominational World’. Wow, I thought. I didn’t think that the reality that we are in a post-denominational world was on the UUA’s radar screen since we are still sprouting ‘The Uncommon Denomination’ bumper stickers. Turns out that James Wind, the President of Alban Institute, is leading it. Of course.

I would want to hear colleague Alma Crawford in Preaching and Public Ministry. And David Korten, someone I read from the alternative press. So there seems to be a lot to like about this GA. I’m sorry I am missing it, but I still would make the same choice – it will be such a delight to officiate at this wedding with people who populated my life a decade or so ago.

OK, one rant: I don’t know how they are publicizing the Seeker Service on Sunday morning where they invite the St. Louis community to learn about us. But in the publicity online, they advertised it thusly:

On Sunday morning, we will be inviting residents of the St. Louis community to join us for worship. The service will convey the Good News of Unitarian Universalism, a faith of open minds, loving hearts and helping hands.

If this is how they are advertising to the wider community, I find this to be a totally inadequate way to publicize our faith. I find ‘open minds, loving hearts and helping hands’ to be insipid. Not to mention that GA gives plenty of opportunities to find that we also have people with closed minds, closed hearts, and closed hands. I’m tired of insipid. I’m tired of the superficial approach that really says ‘maybe we’re a religion but maybe we’re too afraid of what that might really mean’. Where is our fire and our passion? I’ll bet Gail Geisenhamer will give it to those present, but this advertisement is hardly an enticement to come check out what Unitarian Universalism has to offer a hurting world.

End of rant: enjoy GA! I will truly miss you.

Dad and Tiger

2006-06-17T16:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve been painfully aware that tomorrow is Father’s Day – my second without my father. It isn’t any easier this year, maybe because my heart is really hurting from the recent death of my former partner.

So this morning my heart tugged even more when I browsed the newspaper and came upon a large picture of Tiger Woods in the sports section – his eyes were downcast, his expression was downcast. There was still evidence of a kid in this picture – a sad kid who was in the painful process of trying to make sense of a seemingly senseless world. He looked so vulnerable! Under the picture was a 2 inch caption that said ‘CUT!’ Evidently, for the first time in a decade, he didn’t make the cut in a major golf tournament.

Now I could care less about golf. I tried to play once in college – I had no skill and even less interest. If I ever began to take up golf, I know several people who would personally take me to a doctor for evaluation. The game makes no sense to me – except for miniature golf. But golf was a passion of my father’s. He took an early retirement and moved my mother to a major golf resort so that he could play every day. He even proudly got a part time job at the major hotel at this resort. And I can’t tell you how many Saturday and Sunday late afternoons were punctuated with TV golf.

Part of the sadness of this picture on the day before Father’s Day for me was the fact that my father couldn’t stand Tiger Woods. He found every opportunity to put him down. Why? No reason other than Mr. Woods is African American. My father grew up in a very racist home in a pretty racist city and never opened his heart to the slow and tortuous journey of acceptance that many in this nation have inched towards. OK, maybe overall people have moved maybe an inch and half since Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. opened us to the sin of racism and oppression. But my father didn’t really move even that inch and a half.

What tore my heart out at this picture in the paper today was the fact that Tiger Woods exemplifies so many traits that my father would have admired in a white guy. He was close to his father and wasn’t afraid to show it. He isn’t a flaming grandstander. He is clean-cut and respectful of others. He probably doesn’t have even one tattoo – this would have been high on my Dad’s list of great traits. Sometimes I have wondered if Tiger is too good to be true, but this is the type of hero that my father always held up.

The sin of racism – so senseless, so tragic, and always very much a part of us. We are all part of a culture that accommodates racism -- to wit, Darfur, other horrors going on in Africa, the wall going up along our border and the hate being spewed against ‘illegal immigrants’. Not to mention the invisibility of the poor among us, who are largely African American and Hispanic.

My heart breaks open because I am part of this culture and part of this racist tide. I am a person of privilege who often places my own comfort and security ahead of doing what I can to staunch the tide.

I pray that I accept my father’s limitations and shortcomings while empowered through the everlasting and unconditional love of God to spread that love to all the corners I can reach.

Goodbye to a Dear Friend

2006-06-16T08:17:00.000-07:00

My former partner died this week. It was a May-December relationship – he was a widower many years older. He was charming, funny, a great old-fashioned liberal (he took pride in one of his childhood memories – his mother, a Russian immigrant who, with his father, became American citizens – left her deathbed to vote for Eugene Debs). He was also very controlling, as I found out after I left active ministry a few years ago to be with him.

His family was, shall we say, opposed to our relationship. He was wealthy, they were greedy. We did a pre-nup which was pretty much engineered by one son – not a pretty story – but it didn’t matter. The family was not only hostile to me but also shunned him. That was the real sin, and it tore both of our hearts out.

Who knows if we could have worked out the generational issues and expectations if we had family support? Maybe not even support, even indifference would have helped. But there was too much to deal with in this relationship, and his failing health also got in the way. He simply did not have the energy to put into relationship, and his generational understanding of how relationships worked (the guy commanded, the woman obeyed) was not something that I could deal with.

So in addition to his family failing him, we also failed each other. That is a grief that I will always carry with me. As a minister, I see every day how people fail one another – it’s interwoven into the tapestry of human relationships. It took me a long time as a social worker and then as a minister to realize that I cannot fix this in people. I do not have the power to stop people from hurting and/or failing one another. And my blind spots and ego often prevent me from seeing where I fail others. When I do see it, it hurts deeply. Sometimes I have the power to change it and other times I don’t. Sometimes it depends on the willingness of the other person(s). But at other times, I simply do not have the willingness to change. I didn’t in this case.

So I carry this grief, and I carry it alone – out of respect for his family, I will not attend his service. I will find my own ritual way to say goodbye. It may not come tomorrow, but it will come. And I will carry the grief for a long, long time. He was such a special person.

Waiting to Exhale

2006-06-12T13:51:00.000-07:00

I've moved. My furniture has arrived, minus my vacuum cleaner and a broken knob on my washing machine. But I am far from settled in. My kitchen is about half complete, and the rest is probably less than half unpacked.

I'm tired. No, I'm exhausted. I drove over 1700 miles over 50 hours after the packing and leaving from the 100 degree heat of the southwest. So I arrived in pouring rain and chilly temperatures. My blood needs to thicken up! But today was a beautiful June day and I'm glad that I'm in a cooler climate.

I'm having to do far more cleaning as I unpack than I would like. I don't understand landlords who rant and rave about tenants not being spotless when they do not hire cleaners to ready an apartment for them if they do not wish to clean it themselves. Also, this is an older building with electrical outlets that are not, shall we say, up to the computer age. And don't even talk to me about phone jacks. Actually, I am having to use dial up temporarily until I get the DSL thing straightened out. A major crimp in my usual operations.

But my apartment is bright and sunny (when the sun is out!!) and I think I will like it until I am able/ready to buy my own place.

I'm still feeling like I'm in that curious limbo state as I transition into this new community. I've found the grocery stores (but no Whole Foods!! I'm in withdrawal!!), the big box stores like Target and Lowe's, and a Barnes and Noble -- there's a smallish independent bookstore that looks interesting, but it wasn't open on Sunday or on whatever morning it was that I walked by it.

Hopefully I will soon be able to think of interesting things once again. My brain cells are still not functioning well together. So let's pray for synergy...

Moving Day Cometh

2006-05-27T07:41:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a hiatus for about 10 days. Or maybe I'll get bored with the moving tasks (my to-do list looks like Hammurabi's Code) and come back to waste some precious time. But don't count on it, because the brain cells aren't moving really well these days.

See you when I get to upstate New York!

Ending Times

2006-05-23T06:33:00.000-07:00

I have never been stellar at saying goodbyes. Every time I approach a time of leave-taking, I vow to do it differently. I’m ashamed to remember times when I’ve left congregations saying “Oh, this really isn’t goodbye”. It was. And I ripped them off and myself off pretending differently.

Serving a church as interim minister really pushes the envelope here, as they deserve a good leave-taking in order to better able to welcome their next minister with open hearts. The congregation I’m leaving has not had a good history of endings with ministers, so it was important to model and teach how to have a good ending. Our beginning was difficult because they had a lot of unresolved issues in the ending with their previous minister. I didn’t want that for the incoming settled minister.

So I’ve really tried to be on track here. I’ve talked about the feeling of being in the desert in this transitional time as I prepare to move into my own settled ministry. But I realized this past Sunday, my last time in the pulpit with this congregation, that I have been doing fine with the ‘check-list’ items of leave-taking, but I have not done a lot of the necessary inner work. This realization hit me fully when I stood up in the pulpit and had one of those Oh, S*#t moments when I realized that I would not be opening and conducting worship for these dear faces, these wonderful people who come faithfully with their lives in various states of order, chaos, need, etc. etc. I realized how wonderful it is to look out each week at, not only individuals, but a created community like no other in our society – a community that is invested in learning how to live a particular set of religious values with the hopes of transforming their lives so that they can transform the worlds that they live in, as individuals and as a church. What an awesome honor and responsibility to live into each Sunday! All of that hit me hard as I forged into my welcome words.

And the children… as an interim minister with a whole agenda of issues to face, none of which had to do with Religious Education, I have felt during this ministry that I have not paid enough attention to the children and my relationship with them. But as I had them help me pack up my backpack this past Sunday, I realized that we do/did have a relationship, and that they have felt this too. One of the reasons why I chose to not continue with interim ministry, which I feel is such an important specialized ministry with its own special rewards and at which I have been successful, is that I don’t get to participate in the unfolding of children’s lives over time. I was especially moved during the children’s time in my last worship with this congregation.

I am not a public crier (the spell check didn’t like cryer, which looks better to my sensibilities) – actually, it took me many years to access my tears, having had so many messages in childhood that it’s not OK to cry. But in many moments during that worship, I could feel the tears somewhere in the recesses of my heart, which was bursting with so many feelings. I came home after the Annual Meeting and cried. Tears are streaming now as I am writing this.

So I am taking time away from the unending to-do list of the next 10 days before the movers come to pack me up (what a luxury to not have to do all my packing myself!!). I am taking time away from those pesky logistics, which I have focused on in this leave-taking, and I’m getting in touch with the grief of leaving a wonderful community that I have taken the risk to love, even though I’ve known that this was a relationship with a specific ending date. The gift is that they have taken the risk to love me, too. So I will carry that love into my next ministry, which I hope will not end for many years.

The tears feel good – they feel cleansing. The move will take care of itself. I will honor these tears, these people, this community, and the love and hard work we’ve shared in this transitional time.

Mysticism, Empowerment, and Resistance

2006-05-22T07:20:00.000-07:00

A very interesting part of the conference I attended on Mysticism, Empowerment, and Resistance that I attended in Austin, TX, was the composition of the large audience. This conference featured John Dominic Crossan, Marcus Borg, and Joan Chittister, three of my favorite contemporary theologians. It was put on by the Dykes Foundation: . (I need to learn better how to do links).

In publicizing the conference, they evidently blitzed the Austin area, particularly Austin area churches, with publicity a couple of weeks beforehand. Indeed, I received my ad for the conference at my home address just two weeks beforehand, although I live over 200 miles away. The conference spanned 3 days (I could only attend half of it due to other schedule demands that held precedence) and cost $30 total, including lunch each day and snacks at break.

So over 1,000 people showed up for this conference (organizers said they would have been ok with 300). Of this group, only about 10% were members of the clergy. And when they asked for denominational breakdown, less than ten hands were raised when they got to Unitarian Universalists. Similar numbers for UCC and Disciples. Most were Episcopalian, Methodist, Lutheran, Presbyterian – mainstream churches. Joan Chittister and Dom Crossan brought in some Catholics. Few identified as Baptists (it was held in a large Baptist church in downtown Austin that has left the Southern Baptist Convention). So this was a gathering of mostly mainstream Christian lay people – over 1,000! For a conference on Mysticism, Empowerment, and Resistance! May I remind you that this is in the heart of Texas, a very red state with very conservative religion and politics?

Discussions in between sessions were interesting. The three speakers made no attempt to hide the fact that they were well left of center in terms of their religious understandings. Dom Crossan said, ‘Jesus was on the right hand of God, which means that God is left’. The crowd was way beyond giving these three speakers a polite listening – they interspersed the talks with much applause and verbal appreciation and gave Joan Chittister (and then all others following) a rousing and long standing ovation.

The passion of this crowd blew me away. Again, this is mainstream Christianity deep in the heart of Texas, hungry for a message of empowerment and change – and By God, Resistance!!!

My take on this is that something is happening in mainstream Christianity – the hunger of lay people for something radically different and personally engaging is palpable. Joan Chittister at one point challenged pastors to preach this new gospel. Since there weren’t many clergy present, I wonder if we are part of the problem, if we fear what might really happen if we feed this hunger.

I think that often we Unitarian Universalists think that we define the market in terms of liberal values. But if indeed something is happening in mainstream Christianity (and my guess is that there are going to be some overt splits in some of the mainstream churches), how deeply are we going to join them in their powerful push to live more liberal moral values in the wider world and face down those who would define moral values differently? For God, a liberating God, is at the center of this powerful push. Are Unitarian Universalist ministers going to help empower our congregations to meet in the marketplace, so to speak, to join our voices with people hungry to lift up their understanding of God’s action in the world? In churches that are often silenced by people who howl at the very mention of God, let alone the notion of a God who is living through people’s actions, are we brave enough to guide the church to be released from these hostages? To find ways to love these folks and understand that they are suffering a great loss of a church free from what they perceive to be the shackles of God? Yet help congregations to find a powerful mission outside the confines of the sanctuary?

I am going to a new settlement where these questions are very much alive, but they are not yet talked about – they are hidden dynamics. I think it was Joan Chittister who asked what our congregations were fighting about – what issues were taking up space and precious time. I think that those issues are the tip of the iceberg, and the real issue underneath is probably, ‘where is God in the midst of us?’ And whose God? And why God?

I am pondering now the divisive issue in many mainstream churches about homosexuality. For a long time I have been grateful that I am in a denomination that does not have to wage that battle. And basically I am grateful, but I believe that the long and passionate arguments that most mainstream denominations have been engaged in have clarified a deep sense of where the Holy really is – it has pushed the divide that will inevitably happen, I believe, in mainstream Christianity. We do not have that sense of where the Holy is, and for the most part, I believe that we are afraid to confront and passionately argue about the issues that divide us.

More later. This is all compelling stuff to ponder in the midst of packing it all up to move.

Renewal

2006-05-17T08:25:00.000-07:00

I'm heading for a desert oasis -- I'm traveling to Austin TX today for a conference featuring 3 of my favorite contemporary theologians: Joan Chittister, Marcus Borg, and John Dominic Crossan. The title of the conference is Mysticism, Empowerment, and Resistance.

I am so thirsty for something like this -- to hear in theological language(as opposed to political commentary) how to get deeply in touch with God in this time of debilitating angst, how to become empowered and empower one another, and how to resist the powerful pull towards fascism and oppression that the United States, and seemingly the world, are headed. Although I am in the throes of my leave-taking here and the movers are arriving in two weeks, I desperately need to take this time to regroup in my spiritual life and translate that into action. This is the time to experience the desert within and without and not succumb to a victim stance or the lethargy that comes with the powerlessness that the vast desert can bring on.

If I can blog from the road, I will. If I can't, I will catch you up this weekend.

Earth to Laura...

2006-05-15T06:14:00.000-07:00

So, Laura, you don’t believe those polls, that show an incredibly low approval rating of your husband’s presidency? You don’t believe them because first the media report them and of course we all know that the liberal press will go to any lengths to diss Republicans, right? And wherever you go, there are lots of rabidly happy people out there?

Did your husband forget to tell you that the crowds that you find so enthusiastic are hand-picked and well-vetted crowds? That enormous time, energy, and money are spent ensuring that you, he, and his bosses, Cheney and Rumsfeld, are greeted by your base?

Do you loathe the press so much that you are not following the ever-widening gap between your base and the rest of us? That your husband’s policies can be summed up in one convenient political slogan – No Millionaire Left Behind? Do you not know that your husband’s highly touted Ownership Society means that every day more and more people are forced to leave that class, as many can no longer afford housing in the area in which they live, and that soon housing foreclosures may rise dramatically because of the ill-considered financial policies that only favor the very wealthy?

So you say that this has been a very hard year, beginning with ‘the storm’ last August. Yes, and I guess you still believe that your husband and Brownie did a heck of a job, when the Gulf Coast is not even close to rebuilding people’s lives. But you all did get that bill passed where you can finally relocate that pesky highway that proved to be a barrier to tourists getting to those casinos in the Gulf? You know, that highway that was repaired in the aftermath of Katrina so that goods and services could again flow to the residents?

I don’t know what gospel you read, Laura, or if you even have a familiarity with the religion of Jesus (as opposed to the religion about Jesus). In my Good Book, Jesus has made it very clear that our mission is to feed the hungry, to tend to the prisoner, to heal the sick, to welcome the stranger. Because they/we are all holy. Because the privilege of living in this wonderful and abundant creation means that we love one another, not just those who have ‘made it’. That we have a responsibility to love those who have not ‘made it’. Maybe that sounds a bit too socialist for you folks. And, yes, in every crowd there are those whom we find it difficult to love. That is why this is something that we always need to work on. It’s called spiritual practice. Perhaps the policies and the indifference to suffering that your husband promulgates get under the skin of those who actually try to adhere to the teachings of Jesus.

Which brings us to the war, Laura, Dear God! That wicked press again – always showing the suffering and not the good news and progress made in Iraq. To many of us now, Laura, your husband’s direction and drive along that hell-bent road to invading Iraq is now transparent. He had a score to settle with his Dad, and in retrospect his choices of Cheney and Rumsfeld to steer the ship of state (coupled with his failure to ditch them while the whole world writhes in pain as their bungling continues to, well, bungle) show what he was up to all along. I don’t know anyone (perhaps besides you) who believes that we are actually fighting ‘those terrorists’ in Iraq. What we are witnessing is the painful unraveling of a society that was barely held together by baling wire and duct tape. Our failure to provide for basic economic and social needs (like health clinics, clean water and sanitation, electricity, all the stuff that you take for granted) is criminal. And I won’t even mention how many Americans are sickened by how we do treat those in Iraq’s jails, or those whom we have transported to Guantanamo and other secret prisons God knows where. And this is just racked up to ‘a bad year’???

So tonight your husband will attempt to redeem himself by jumping on yet another bandwagon where he perceives Americans are riled up – the whole immigrant thing. Tonight he will pander to the soft underbelly of our social order, our recurring preoccupation with ‘the stranger’, ‘the other’, those whom we fear will take our resources and will somehow corrupt our white superiority. Tonight we will hear a proposal to send the military to guard our borders.

I could go on and on, Laura. But it is clear that you and I inhabit different worlds and are clothed in different world views. But if you want to delude yourself that most of America inhabits your world, feel free. But I know that I certainly am not alone in believing that America stands for something other than what your husband and his cronies are providing today.

Desert Queen

2006-05-13T10:15:00.000-07:00

I’m in that limbo period that feels like the desert – I seem to be on auto-pilot as I go through these days wrapping things up at this church and preparing to move to the new church. Well, it’s not new, it’s over 100 years old, I’ll be the shepherd for the next several years anyhow (I hope).

I have moved many more times than I ever thought I’d move. When I entered ministry I knew that it could be a nomadic journey. For me it has been that, indeed. I should be used to moving, used to saying goodbye. I am intentionally trying to engage this congregation in saying heartfelt and honest goodbyes. They have never in their life done this well and they have the scars to prove it. It is hard for them. It is hard for me. My default way is to disassociate from it all. I am struggling mightily to not do this. I am attempting to set a good example on how to say goodbye. Not easy for me or for them.

So I feel like I’m in the desert. I have a hard time actually *feeling* the sadness, the gladness, and the ambiguity of moving. I am procrastinating on the packing and nailing down the details of moving. I am just moving through the days as if I have nothing big in front of me, and it’s as big as an elephant.

My spiritual life feels like a desert right now too. But I am seeing an oasis in this desert: next week I will be attending a conference with 3 of my favorite theologians: Joan Chittister, Marcus Borg, and John Dominic Crossan. The topic is Mysticism, Resistance, and Empowerment. I can use all three! It’s not far away and only $30 for 3 days. OK, the hotel costs $350, but I’m not going to General Assembly this year.

I hope that being fed during those three days will lead me out of the desert – being numbed out is actually a painful place to be!

Rockin' Raspberries

2006-05-10T07:17:00.000-07:00

Whole Foods had large containers of raspberries that didn’t cost an arm and a leg – just an arm. In my book, this passes for a sale. So of course I bought a container, for I believe that they are food of the gods. When I got them home, I wondered what I was thinking – because of course raspberries do not keep well and I didn’t want to eat mega-bowls of raspberries in one sitting.

I was fortunate one year to be living in a small house with huge raspberry bushes in the back yard. They were ripe when I moved in that June and lasted for a few weeks. They also gave a second crop from September to the first freeze. With this bounty (and there were plenty for the birds and for me and my friends) I looked up all kinds of raspberry recipes – I put them in muffins, pancakes, salads, etc. And then I found that I really loved them best just plain. Just the pure raspberry goodness right off the bush (ok, I did take most of them in and washed them first). So I’m not really into doctoring raspberries in any way.

So here I was, with a container of ripe raspberries that grew larger every time I looked at it. What to do?? I read somewhere that raspberries are good if you droozle some balsamic vinegar over them. So that’s what I decided to do. I figured that vinegar would probably enhance their keeping power. It worked! And the raspberries were amazing – what a wonderful blend of flavors. Heavenly! So the raspberries lasted a few days and now I have this wonderful raspberry-flavored balsamic vinegar that I can’t wait to make into a salad dressing. Maybe a salad of arugula and mixed baby greens with some Vidalia onion, red pepper, strawberries, and goat cheese. Maybe a couple of walnuts thrown in. And I always put sprouts in my salads. A full meal. I can’t wait!!

Mocked! At church!!

2006-05-10T07:04:00.000-07:00

Several mockingbirds make their home around our church parking lot. They are pretty much year-round birds, and on nice days they sing their hearts out from early morning and into the night. Last spring a mockingbird took up residence for about a week near my bedroom window and they sang his/her heart out throughout the night!! I was not amused. But it’s such a pleasant way to begin the work day, listening to the varied sounds and liquid trills and songs of these birds. Plus, mockingbirds are among the few bird species that sing while they fly. Interesting birds – among my favorite.

Yesterday I arrived at church and, as usual, hit my remote locking mechanism – what do you call those things? At any rate, my car’s sound is not the car horn, but an electronic beep. As I was walking away from the car, I heard ‘beep—beep--beep’ and thought that the car alarm was going off. I turned around and nothing happened. When I went into the church, I commented on that strangeness, and someone said, ‘Maybe it was the mockingbird!’. Hmmm…

I left a couple of hours later and returned again for evening meetings. And sure enough, I was being mocked by a mockingbird. It happened every time. When I unlock the car, I get a double beep. And the mockingbird also gave back a double beep at those times – though just a single beep when I locked it. And of course this was in perfect pitch, exactly imitating the sounds my car makes.

This stuff boggles my mind. My inquisitive mind wants to know if they practice this stuff before they are ready to perform, or if they can just internalize ambient sounds and repeat them at will? I’ve always loved mockingbirds, 2 AM songfests nothwithstanding. But now I’m totally enraptured.

coyote chorale

2006-05-07T17:14:00.000-07:00

I like my little piece of wildness in the midst of endless exurbia. Last night when I had turned out the light but was sitting quietly, letting all of the elements of my worship service for today flow through my being, I heard a strange sounding bark outside of my window. That bark was joined by another, then another, then at least one more. It was an eerie yet beautiful coyote choir in the grove of trees just outside my window.

I quietly scurried to my balcony, where I could hear them quite well but I couldn't see them in the dark. They would howl together, then stop on a dime in mid-chorus. Suddenly they would all start again, only to stop suddenly again. This replayed several times. I was enthralled and enchanted. I kept straining to see them. All of a sudden they were gone. No more howls, no more choruses, no more singing. Just holy silence after the glorious atonality of the coyote chorale.

I've been in this apartment for just shy of a year. I have heard this maybe four times, and it always occurred between 9 and 10 at night. Because these were spaced out over the past year, the timing clearly had nothing to do with daylight or darkness. (Hey, this is an upscale area -- maybe they have Rolexes?) I have fantasized about what this chorus might mean -- this is an apartment complex that allows pets. Perhaps a German Shepherd mix has crossed over to the wild side, and is being initiated into the club? All the other scenarios floating through my mind are much less savory. Or perhaps a little too savory!

There's not a lot I will miss about this exurban sprawl, but I will miss the periodic coyote chorale. Incidentally, the only time I have seen a coyote here was on a winter Sunday morning, early, just around sunrise as I was putting the finishing touches on my invocation for worship. It was a holy beginning for that particular Sabbath.

Another Death

2006-05-05T16:07:00.000-07:00

Another recent death has affected me – the death last week of Jane Jacobs, who set the urban planning community on its ear in the early sixties. Urban planning was in the process of razing older housing for ‘urban renewal’, which replaced viable community housing with high-rise housing for the poor. We all know how that turned out.

Jane Jacobs, in her first book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, described what vibrant communities looked like – a good mix of people (age, ethnic, racial, economic diversity), a good mix of shops, restaurants, and entertainment (the big box store had not yet been invented) mixed in with the residential area, and a pedestrian life. This kind of community was often chaotic and had layered complexity. What a concept! Jacobs had developed a lot of ‘street cred’ but no academic background in urban planning. At that time, the field of urban planning was a male-dominated field and her ideas were severely pooh-poohed. But enough people were beginning to see the writing on the wall about the rising suburban lifestyle and the decay of inner city life. She developed a following that continued until her death last week at the age of 89. In fact, the New Urbanism movement, which promotes more livable and sustainable communities in the face of the decline of cheap oil, definitely owes a lot of its vision to Jacobs.

I came across Jacobs’ work when I was a senior in college majoring in Urban Affairs. She excited me. I felt like I had just come across a visionary who would be important to me. Indeed, as I reflect, she influenced my life in ways that I had not understood until just now.

My first job after graduating from that Urban Affairs program (what a name!) was with a Model Cities program in a mid-size Eastern city that had exploded in riots following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. There I worked with many citizens, mostly welfare recipients and the powerless in that ‘disadvantaged’ part of town -- along with city, state, and national folks who were instrumental or necessary to birth our vision of a Model Neighborhood into existence. This was an amazing program that truly gave citizens a big voice (not to mention huge sums of money) to reinvent their neighborhood. We planned all kinds of human services – free day care, additional public transportation, ways to enable people to buy their homes (we had the first urban homesteading program in the country!), child friendly parks, alternative schools, you name it. Plus economic development – trying to get old abandoned factories renewed with local owners. In short, we were trying to embody Jane Jacobs’ vision.

The Model Cities program was too successful and was designed to give money (and power) directly to the residents. Mayors didn’t like that one bit. So the program was re-designed and it lost its promise and eventually its money a few short years later. The hope embodied in that program died a bitter death. But that was one of my favorite jobs ever, helping people to define their community and put their vision into reality.

Ministry is a lot like that. We are always helping people to build a vibrant community that celebrates the totality and complexity of life and empowers everyone. We know that this is hard work, work that is not often honored in material ways. It is, however, honorable work that lifts up the human spirit in interdependence. It is holy work, and I count Jane Jacobs as being one of the saints that helped make the rough places smooth.

May you find the kind of community you always dreamed of beyond those pearly gates, Jane Jacobs!

The World's a Bit Dimmer Today...

2006-05-04T05:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my mother's friend, Evelyn Bowen (aka New Jersey Evelyn) died at a retirement center in North Carolina. She was an amazing woman. She and her husband decided to retire to North Carolina when the house they lived in became too much for them -- they relocated near their son. But her husband died just before they were to make the move. Evelyn had to make that huge transition by herself in the midst of her grief.

Evelyn (who loved New Jersey and missed it terribly) was one of those indomitable spirits that I have always admired. One always knew where one stood with Evelyn -- she was straight up in her opinions and was not shy. She had a keen sense of humor and always made life an adventure, even at Grace Ridge. She will be sorely missed by most people there, even though she was not universally accepted -- She brought her 'New Jersey' boldness and pizazz to this very Southern place.

One of my favorite 'Evelyn' stories came from a time when my mother and a few others were in the lobby talking. A male resident came down sputtering mad, headed straight for the director's office. Seems as if he had been spending a beautiful late spring morning out on his balcony when waves of water came down upon him from above. After he entered the director's office, Evelyn came down and said, 'I feel so good -- I finally cleaned my balcony this morning!' They knew that she lived one floor above this man. Although she felt bad about his plight, they all got a good laugh. I don't think the gentleman ever forgave her, but I'll bet even he will miss her sharp wit and saucy presence.

I know that my mother will miss her terribly -- they shared dinner almost every night. And their mutual friend, Alice, who had been best friends with Evelyn for several years, will also be lost for a time. Evelyn had been experiencing breathing difficulty over the past couple of months and was diagnosed with lung cancer only two weeks ago. I will miss her on my visits -- for I had come to love her as one of my Grace Ridge mothers.

I'm sure that right now Evelyn is arranging a party -- or atleast some mischief -- behind those pearly gates.

House Hunting

2006-04-26T03:38:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-23T15:24:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-21T05:45:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-18T07:21:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-16T16:49:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-15T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

2006-04-14T15:54:00.000-07:00

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.