before Tiny Houses were cool...

Almost every week it seems there is another article or video about Tiny Houses. Google brings up 22.4 million hits just from that phrase. People are making living spaces in freight containers and on trailers, and living in their ingeniously designed 250 square foot space in the woods somewhere. Or in an alley. Or wherever they want, because their house is on a trailer.

If there isn't a Tiny House article, there is a minimalism/get-rid-of-your-stuff article. The latest compiles some startling statistics, including things like "most Americans have 300,000 objects in their home" and "nearly half of Americans can't park cars in their garage." We have more offsite storage than we do people, which means that we are (bizarrely, I think) paying to store things we never see. Are the things in our storage units useful? Do they bring happiness to our lives? If so, why are they stacked in a locked room in a climate controlled building miles away from the house, opened only to put more things in?

I've never been a big accumulator of stuff (besides books...), so I don't really get it. I'm kind of trying to pare down even what I do have, as I seem to have gathered more things than I need or want over the past 9 years of living in one place. (though that article says the average woman has 30 outfits, whereas in 1930 she had 9. I'm super retro, apparently...I have about 10-12, max.) I know people say that stuff will fill the space, and that living in the same home for a long time means you accumulate things more so than if you move frequently (because who wants to pack all that stuff?). But still.

While in Europe this spring, we noticed a large number of little communities that at first appeared to be like community gardens, with garden plots and sheds. Look closer, though, and discover they are neighborhoods. There are garden plots, and swing sets, and lawn furniture, and clothes lines...and those sheds are homes. They have lace curtains and everything. Many of them are smaller than a shed I could go buy at Home Depot and assemble this afternoon in my backyard (if I had a backyard).

Usually these little communities were on the outskirts of a larger town, and often near the train tracks, although in Wittenberg it was just a couple of blocks off the main medieval streets (and would have been just outside the old city walls).

I suspect that little enclaves of tiny houses have been here, at the edge of town, for centuries. It's like the 21st century version of the villages surrounding a castle, where everyone grows a little food and lives in two rooms and maybe comes through the city gates a couple of times a year for a market or festival. Except now people have cars that they park at the edge of the village.

It's strange to think of people living in such small spaces, in what appears from the outside to be hovel-esque conditions, in the Western world in 2015. Even though we primarily saw these communities in former East Germany, it's still jarring to those of us who are used to spacious homes and large yards and storage units. Of course, to people from other parts of the developed world, it's jarring to see how many people here are homeless--a situation which could potentially be remedied with something like tiny house communities, or at least slightly ameliorated, if only we would decide they were legal.

And yet we have this fascination with Tiny Houses.

I wonder if the people who live in these before-they-were-cool Tiny Houses have a fascination with 1500 square foot houses? Or if they enjoy living their Tiny House lifestyle as much as we imagine we would?

all the things

I have officially eaten all the things, both at my own house (deviled eggs, tofurkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, crescent rolls) and at a friend's house (cheesy potatoes, cheesy green bean casserole, veggie stuffing, cheesecake brûlée). I have also played games, petted both cats and dogs, laughed uproariously, and had serious conversations about politics, race, the meaning of justice, scripture, and the history of cuckoo clocks.

I have struggled with what to say about the justice situation in this country. I am distressed by how easily we dismiss the suffering of others. I am angry about how little we value life in all its fullness. I am saddened by the divide that seems more cavernous than ever. Part of me hesitates to write what I think, because I recognize that I have the privilege of not engaging. And another part of me wants desperately to cry out alongside my fellow human beings, insisting that our voices be heard. I am not certain of the best way to say what, honestly, so many people are saying without anyone paying attention. I am not certain of how to use my privilege in this conversation and movement.

But here is what I know:
We are created in the image of God. Not just some of us, all of us. To throw even one life away is a tragedy. To put that dead life on trial without the benefit of openness, defense, cross-examination, or discussion of what evidence might mean is a perversion of humanity, as well as a gross misuse of our American justice system. To stereotype everyone in a profession, or a neighborhood, or a skin color because of one person is short-sighted and ridiculous.

Every act of violence hurts more than just the person who is injured or killed. Not only is life lost, but  the soul of the perpetrator is also damaged. A family is torn apart. A community grieves.

Every time.

Every Michael Brown, every Darren Wilson--one lost his life, the other his humanity. And we who look on with indifference: we lose our humanity too.

How long will we put up with this? How long will we stand by as people are killed for the slightest things? (no matter what you think of Michael Brown, tell me how you justify the 12 year old boy with a toy gun being shot on sight. tell me how you justify the kid on the playground. tell me how you justify the kid in the stairs of his apartment building. tell me how you justify the guy being choked to death on the street. and the hundreds of others happening every day.)

How long will we allow death to take hold, both physically and spiritually? How long will we avert our eyes from grieving mothers, traumatized siblings, friends and classmates who see no other way out than to fight back?

We who have the privilege of ignoring the situation have created the situation. When will we be part of the solution rather than perpetuating the problem? When will we stop insisting that life is a zero sum game, and instead learn that we're in it together--and that when one part of the body suffers, all suffer together with it?

Today, as I am stuffed with potatoes, I am also hungry--with those who are starving and with those who hunger for justice. Today, as I snuggle into my warm bed, I am also cold and alone--with those who are on the streets, forgotten and overlooked. Today, as I laugh with friends, I am also grieving--with those who see no light shining in the darkness. I hope you are too.

oops...missed a day!

Yesterday I wasn't quite ready to write a sermon, so I spent the day reading novels.

Yes, novelS, plural. I read two whole books yesterday. Both historical fiction about women...one more a romance novel and the other a well researched imaginative retelling about Napoleon's American sister-in-law whom he refused to recognize.

I also took a nap.

Between these three things, I didn't go to bed until about 1am...and because I was busy reading, I forgot to blog!

So November will go down as ALMOST NaBloPoMo. Hopefully I can manage to get something up the next few days, and there will be just the one lost day.

I have to say--if I'm going to miss a day, I'm glad to have missed it for a day spent in my pajamas, petting cats and reading novels. I am grateful for the leisure to take a whole day without any productivity, for a home that holds heat well, for blankets and more clothes than I need, for cats who snuggle and purr, for plenty of food.

Today: a sermon. I swear. And also Tofurkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, garlic butter crescent rolls... (and who knows, maybe some kind of actual vegetable will happen too.)

There may also be deviled eggs. Because yum.

Singing Thanks

After a day practicing Sabbath (I napped, read 2.5 books, petted the kitties, listened to the rain, and enjoyed the silence), tonight was the Interfaith Thanksgiving Service.

I've been involved in this service since the beginning, which we think may have been 7 years ago. Or possibly 6. In any case...we have had a variety of ways to give thanks as a community over the past several years. Some years we have relied heavily on spoken and chanted prayers from different traditions--responsive readings, especially. A couple of years we had storytellers who brought out different themes of gratitude. Last year we asked each faith community to give us a synopsis of the foundations/keystones of their tradition, and celebrated the things that make us who we are--and then we asked each individual to think of what they personally have to offer, and we put together the puzzle of our community, literally.

This year, we called the program "Melodies of Gratitude" and we spent the evening hearing music from a variety of musicians who are part of different traditions. Some of the music was explicitly religious (a Muslim poem of thanks), others were written by members of the various communities. Some were instrumental and meditative, evoking thoughts of our blessings without ever uttering a word, others involved the whole congregation in singing along. While it went longer than we anticipated, it was wonderful to hear from so many beautiful voices and instruments, to let gratitude echo through the amazing space and settle into our souls through melody, harmony, rhythm, and wonder.

I'm so lucky to be a part of Faithbridge. I hope everyone has something like it, because this is the kind of thing that changes the world for the better: when we get together and hear each other's songs and stories, share snacks, visit each other's houses of worship, and know our neighbors' names and places. Amazing, and worth all the gratitude we can muster!

here are some snippets of communal singing with the performers--beautiful in the wonderful Blue Lotus space, as you can hear.

appliances

Today's RevGal NaBloPoMo prompt is about an appliance I can't live without.

I've been pondering all day...an appliance I couldn't live without? I've lived without a dishwasher (though I wouldn't *want* to, I can). I've been sans microwave (again, not ideal, but doable). I have lived in places without washer and dryer. I hardly use my TV. My oven's primary use is frozen pizza. Even thinking of things like my computer, my heated mattress pad, or my water cooler as "appliances" I still think I COULD live without them. I don't want to, of course. The water at my house is so disgusting, and it's cold here in winter so I like to preheat my bed, and I obviously spend a significant amount of time on the computer.

But really, it would be possible for me to live without these things. I have lived without these things. Most of the non-USA places I've lived have been experiences of not-having, all of which turned out to be incredible experiences of having...just different things.

So no washer or dryer on Iona, but that didn't deter me from dancing my heart out at the weekly ceilidh, or skinny dipping among the bioluminescence at midnight, or singing in an ancient chapel, or tasting all the whiskeys in the pub, or making incredible friends.

No microwave or dishwasher in Egypt, but I still managed to learn to cook amazing things, talk about food in a new language, and "have people over for dinner" in my flat all the time. We still managed to bake and build a gingerbread house, cook Thanksgiving dinner for many, and create all kinds of random new foods (hello zucchini stuffed tomatoes, I'm looking at you).

No electricity to speak of in our hut at the seminary in Jamaica. Didn't stop us from making jokes about the stretchy toilet paper, or learning how to eat sugar cane or make coconut candy.

Basically no appliances at all in my dorm room in seminary. It was just a living room, bedroom, and bathroom. I seem to have survived without ironing anything or watching TV (well, okay, I clearly had friends with TV), and I hardly even put my stereo to much use.

So I guess the moral of this story is that I *could* live without lots of things I take for granted and enjoy in my home. I am grateful to have so many things--a gas stove (even if only 3 burners work), an oven, a fridge, a microwave, a toaster oven, a panini press, a vitamin, a kitchen aid, a waffle maker, a washer and dryer, a tv and dvd player, a fan, lights, computer, water cooler, furnace/ac, water heater, etc. (I still don't have an iron.) I don't want to live without any of these things. They make my life easier and more comfortable, provide enjoyment and practicality, and contribute to my happiness in lots of ways. But the combination of experience and imagination suggests that there is no answer to "what one appliance could you not live without?"

Recognizing my abundance is part of gratitude, right? So I give thanks, over and over, every time I use these amazing things.

the year of Plenty

In church on Sunday (and this coming Sunday, since weather prohibited so many from attending last week) we handed out little paper eyes with words written on them, and invited people to look through the lens of that word throughout the coming year. These eye-words (a variation on epiphany star words) will hopefully be a way to focus prayer, open us to outside-the-box thinking, and provide things for us to share in the community.

I told people as we passed the baskets to simply take a word without looking and pass it on--don't go through the basket looking for the right word, just take what comes to you and trust that it will be a vehicle of grace in the coming months.

Of course then when it was my turn to take a word, I immediately wanted to put it back for another one.
Granted, I didn't draw the dreaded Patience, so I should be grateful.

plenty.

the hopeful side of me (yay! plenty means a lot!) is offset by the cynical side (plenty of what? "opportunities" to practice patience?).

So the dictionary definitions of plenty include "adequate to meet the need" and "more than sufficient." That seems like a good definition to me. Enough. Not gorging, not overflowing, not ridiculous, just enough.

My therapist loves that I got this word, as she's been trying for two years to get me to think of myself as enough.

I think it's intriguing to be the pastor of a church, a pastor who preaches that God's abundance means there is always enough for everyone, not an overflowing ridiculous cornucopia, but enough for everyone…and, like many pastors of many churches, to know that "plenty" seems a lofty and unlikely thing (there's never enough money, people, time, etc)…and to ponder this word for a whole year.

Whose idea was this, anyway?

(the next word in the basket was "pleasure"…and you know that if I could have discreetly traded, I would have. but I was in front of the sanctuary and was 30 seconds away from admonishing people to stick with the word they got, so…)

SO: plenty. enough. adequate to meet the need. sufficient.

or, to use words that directly address one of my most recent laments: adequate for the task.

The part of me that is a perfectionist (okay, it's a big part…but surely some part isn't?) has its own internal rebellion going on right about now. I don't want to be just enough, not just adequate…I want to be amazing! Not just plenty, but overflowingly abundant. And I also want that in my own resources--more than enough money, time, energy. And in the church. And in the world. (yes, in that order…because this part of me is also selfish.)

So plenty will be a two-way word, I think. Pushing on my perfectionist self, and on my sense of unpreparedness for the tasks this year holds. Pushing on my understanding of what it means to be a pastor in this community and to be a person trying to live a life.

I think that's plenty for one year's pondering.