Wednesday Interesting

I read a lot of things every day--both print and online. I click licks on facebook, I browse on all kinds of topics, occasionally a search turns up not just what I'm looking for but something fun as well. Probably the majority of my days are generally spent reading and writing, with a generous side of talking to people.

But it's also super common for me to go "I read something about that....where was it?" So I decided to follow the example of some of my other favorite bloggers, and post some links I've found interesting in the past week or so. The document where I'm saving them all us is titled "things worth sharing" but could just as easily be titled "things I want to be able to find again," except then I'd have to figure out how to make it searchable. One of the beauties of a blog: searchable.

So, today: some things I've found interesting lately, and you may or may not also find interesting...

I super want one of these at church. Because I am not kidding when I say that I roast The Best marshmallow out of anyone ever.

I'm generally a fan of technology--I use a lot of it, though nowhere near to its potential. As someone who lives far away from most of my family and friends, it's pretty much indispensable. As someone who likes to know things before I forget what question I had about them, it's useful. And as someone who really values the time spent face to face, it can be frustrating. So this was timely for me.

Simone Weil wrote, “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” By this definition, our relationships to the world, and to one another, and to ourselves, are becoming increasingly miserly.
… We often use technology to save time, but increasingly, it either takes the saved time along with it, or makes the saved time less present, intimate and rich.

This made the rounds on Facebook, as does *everything* this pope does. Protestants have a serious pope crush going on. When I read it, all I could think was "It is not good for the human to be alone." Which makes us wonder whether this pope might be laying some groundwork for some major change in the Catholic Church....though change at anything like the pace we who are not part of that tradition would like to see is unlikely. (Also, it's not our tradition to change, so there's that...)

Za'atar is one of my favorite spice blends. I started making it myself recently but it's just nowhere near as good as what I first discovered in Damascus, much like this person did....

Speaking of the Middle East, a place close to my heart if far in miles, this story of a Palestinian Christian was both heartrending and hopeful. Thanks, Ruth.

Daoud says: “There is a way for a better future, this future will not be a gift from others.” And so they continue to work. They plant and harvest, they collect rainwater, and they run summer camps for children, focused on the creative arts. They believe Jesus’ message of peace. They live Jesus’ message of peace. Love your neighbor as yourself.

This made me laugh out loud. And nod my head in recognition. heehee.

This, however, made me cringe and tear up a little with both frustration and sadness. I've been involved in several conversations in the past couple of weeks that both highlighted how blind we often are to our own privilege and assumptions and highlighted my own privilege (in a really bizarre way, but still).


On the other end of the video spectrum, though, this is SUPER COOL. You'll probably want to heed the volume warning, though! Science is so interesting. Also, it's fun to note what must be the frequency of Celtic artists, near the end. :-)

This is probably my favorite open letter of the week. So much strength, so much potential, so much awesome...why aren't we figuring out how to empower and tap into that? Thanks, Queen Rania.

If one girl with courage is a revolution, imagine what feats we can achieve together.

Parker Palmer is an incredibly gifted writer, teacher, speaker, and thinker. I appreciate his work so much. This is a great discussion of the importance of vulnerability, of speaking truth even when it's hard, of being honest about who we are so we can fully receive who others are too. I would add that when we're fully honest about who we are, we also find ourselves open to God...Unfortunately, too many churches are places where this level of vulnerability is frowned upon. How do we create a community that is trusting and safe and sacred enough to allow one another to be fully human?  I wish I knew the answer to that, because I watch too many people get hurt by betrayed trust, by thoughtless replies, and by subtle shunning and shaming.

Last but not least, What is Church for anyway? Is it just an institution that meets our social needs, an outlet for volunteerism, or something more? And for those of us who know the institution is in a change-or-die moment (though the Body of Christ will always exist), what does all that mean?

“this is what church is supposed to be. Not comfortable gatherings for self-improvement, not a means to enjoy feel-good sentiments, but equipped communities mobilizing together in Jesus' name to serve in real and loving ways in this world of need.”

That should be enough interesting to keep you going through the rest of the week!

What Story? A sermon for June 9 2013

Rev. Teri Peterson
PCOP
What Story?
Deuteronomy 6.4-9, Matthew 28.16-20
9 June 2013, Singing Faith 2 (Ordinary 10C, Psalm 146)


Spirit
I Love to Tell the Story
What A Friend We Have In Jesus
I Will Sing A Song of Love


Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’ ~~~~

Christians, along with Jews and Muslims, are known as “People of the Book” because we believe we can encounter God over and over again through the stories God has given us in scripture. God created us to be a people of stories, plugged in to the big story God has been telling since before time began.

In Deuteronomy we hear that we are to “keep these words in your heart”—which is immediately followed by “recite them to your children, talk about them at home and away, at night and in the morning.” God asks us to know the word, but to keep does not mean to hide it away for ourselves. We cherish God’s story enough to give it away. Or, as Jesus put it, we go and make disciples, teaching them what Jesus taught us, because once we’ve heard the good news, we can’t help but share.

We have been cast in an epic play of grace, redemption, hope, and justice. Is this the story we love to tell?

In the beginning, God spoke, created, sculpted, breathed, loved. God called the world very good. God called all creation to live in harmony. God gave us stories, commandments, and experiences to help us live that harmony. When speaking wasn’t enough, God came to be even closer to us, living and working, laughing and crying, being a friend who comforts and a friend who challenges, loving up close and personal. He said, “leave everything and follow me.” The stories Jesus told, the things Jesus did, the people Jesus hung out with, were hard to understand. He said things that go against the grain, like love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you, give away all you have, turn the other cheek. Every word was a challenge for love. Then he also said “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” He taught us to pray “your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” And he showed us how to live in that kingdom by doing God’s will here on earth, even if it meant losing the world’s popularity contest. He told us to love as God loves, to be the light of God in the world. He sent the Holy Spirit to be our breath, our life, the fire of passion and hope and change.

A little while ago we sang that we love to tell the story of Jesus and his love. Though the song doesn’t tell the story itself, it prods us to remember just what that story is and whether our lives and our words are actually a witness to the God who loves, creates, calls, dreams, hopes, and commands. Katherine Hankey, who wrote the poem that became the hymn I Love to Tell the Story, was one who knew firsthand the transformative power of God’s story. As a teenager in the mid 1800s, she organized Sunday Schools for both rich and poor children. She brought kids together and arranged for them to hear about God’s love, Jesus’ life, and the Spirit’s call to new life. Katherine wasn’t kidding when she said she loved to tell the story. She knew it by heart, and couldn’t help but share the good news.

Her song is about telling the story in the here and now, because it can change the life of the teller and the hearer. “Tis pleasant to repeat what seems each time I tell it more wonderfully sweet” and "those who know it best are hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest." But then in the refrain, which was added by the tune composer about 10 years after the hymn was written, we sing about our theme “in glory”—which we take to mean the afterlife, implying that we can relax now, because telling god’s story is for heaven.

But remember: “your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Jesus said “go and teach.” Deuteronomy says “recite these words to your children.” God tells us to fill our lives with the word…and to teach it to others, so they too can follow God’s call. Remember a few weeks ago I mentioned that the Hebrew word for “hear” also means “obey”? It’s at the beginning of this text—Shema Israel—hear and obey, O Israel. Love God with all you are and all you have, and share the story in every moment of your life, night and day—and in so doing, we can and will live in the kingdom of God now. So when we sing “it’ll be my theme in glory” and mean “when I live in God’s kingdom”—that means it’ll be my theme right now, day and night. When we live a with-God life, aware to God’s presence all the time, we are bold to tell the story with our lives and our words. Presbyterians say that one of the purposes of the church is to “exhibit the kingdom of heaven to the world”—to be a living story about another way of life, possible now because of God’s grace.

And yet the story the world hears from Christians is more about judgment and hypocrisy, about a narrow worldview that abandons this world and most of the people in it in favor of getting to heaven. They get that message because we tell any number of stories, about one another, about other religions, about people who disagree with us politically or economically or socially. We hurt each other, we forget to be gracious, we withhold love. When we do tell something resembling the biblical story, often it’s a watered down version that leaves God off in the distance until we need something, then paints Jesus as the kind of friend who approves everything we’ve already decided. It’s a story that says “if you’re a nice person, don’t rock the boat, God will help you succeed in life, and you’ll go to heaven.”

That story bears little resemblance to the story of the God whose voice thunders through the prophets, who commands us to do justice, love mercy, and be humble. That story has almost nothing to do with Jesus who was a poor refugee who gathered the losers as his disciples, had dinner with the outcasts, accepted sinners, and told stories that crossed every boundary imaginable, only to end up tortured and killed because he was so obedient to God’s call and shared God’s grace so widely. The story that tells us to be nice to get to heaven ignores the rushing wind of the Holy Spirit that sets people on fire and changes hearts and even changes whole societies. In other words, that other story waters down love to just a pink fluffy heart, and in the process loses the good news.

The story of the living God has changed the lives of many. A man whose hymn we’ll sing next spent his whole life trying to live the sermon on the mount literally. He shared with anyone in need, giving away even the clothes he was wearing. He worked only for those who could not pay. He spoke and lived peace. His friendship with Jesus, the living word of God, was true and deep, not the kind of friend who rubber stamps our every desire, but the kind of friend who changes us from the inside out. And he was an eccentric outcast in his community and even in the church.

So when we tell the story, I hope we’re singing of a Jesus who is the kind of friend we all really need. A true friend is compassionate and loving, and also challenges our assumptions, encourages us to widen our perspective, and helps us be the best version of ourselves, to seek who we are called to be. When we sing about the friend we have in Jesus, I hope we’re singing about a friend who will bear our burdens and also remind us how we picked them up in the first place. I hope we’re singing about a friend who walks with us through trials and temptations, in order to help us resist those temptations. I hope we’re singing about a friend who knows us so fully that he can push us to overcome our egos and to grow through our weaknesses, a friend who sees that we doubt even as we worship, just like the disciples did on the mountaintop—but who sends us out to do his will anyway, knowing that faith is a journey. I need a friend who will help me go out and make disciples, not a friend who’ll walk meekly behind while I try to figure out how to be successful by the world’s standards. I need a friend who can handle it when I say “you know, Jesus, you’re being a little harsh” but who won’t just agree to back down and get by. I need a friend who wants me to be transformed into the image of God more and more every day, a friend who will remind me over and over again that it’s not all about me.

What story we tell matters. If the God of our stories is just like we are, why bother following? That story is so boring that no one will want to sing it. But we have a story of love, of power, of creativity, of hope, of grace—and it comes with a call to new life, to leave behind the way we think we know and set out on a new adventure, every day. That’s a story worth singing about, a story worth being known for, I love to tell. I hope you love to tell it too.

May it be so. Amen.

working the plan

A month ago today, I was settling in to a lovely retreat center north of New Orleans. I'd grabbed beignets in the airport, (half) jokingly begged the shuttle driver to show us a drive-through daquiri place up close and personal, and been super grateful for the homemade hummus I'd tucked into my awesome hello-kitty thermos (thanks Max!) so I could turn a lettuce-and-tomato sandwich into a fantastic snack.

Throughout the week about 30 presbyterian pastors spent time learning about all kinds of things, then praying and talking about how we could put those things into practice to improve our lives and ministries. The week culminates in the creation of a plan that involves words like "goals" and "objectives."

Now, I'm not a huge fan of goals and objectives. They seem so black and white, with so much opportunity for failure or disappointment. I really do not like to disappoint people. (This may be what I spend most of my hours in therapy talking about.) Of course, what I really mean is that I don't like to disappoint other people. Disappointing myself still sucks, but falls lower down on the scale of most-hated things, somewhere around "getting shots" and "eating something gross", just above "wearing orange."

My version of planning is usually something like this....not a chart or, heaven forbid, a spreadsheet. lol.

You can see where this is going, right?

Because I had been told to create this plan, and I wasn't about to disappoint anyone, myself included, by not doing it, I did.

I will note that we were told repeatedly that we could use whatever language and format was useful to us, because it was MY plan, not the faculty's plan, not the denomination's plan, not my friend's plan, not my church's plan. But it seemed like they'd put an awful lot of time into coming up with this particular format for a plan, so I thought I'd try it. I put my goals and objectives into the chart. I answered all the questions. And then, of course, I broke out the crayons and drew all over it.

I was skeptical about my ability to stick to a plan. But today, at the three-week-check-in with my small group, I found myself saying things like "well, I've done this, and I'm working on that..." and "I feel pretty good about how this is shaping up."

It turns out that Charlie was right. I can in fact work the plan. I have the skills and even the willpower to do it, if I just put it on paper and have some people to check in with about how it's going.

The latter is the hardest part for me. Because I had to tell someone else what I hoped to do, and the people I've told have been really great about checking in to ask if I'm doing it. It's like a weird combination of doing something that's good for me and doing something that won't disappoint other people. Yes, I should have all kinds of internal motivation. But who are we kidding. My motivation is just as mixed as the next person--some from within, some from the Spirit, some from abject fear that people might think I'm a slacker.

I wonder whether this kind of process could work for a whole group of people, too. Like, say, a congregation. Could we spend time learning, then praying and discerning and talking, in order to create a plan that we can work? The idea behind the plan is that it is an expression of what God calls us to...surely that's what we're asking in church too? What is God calling us to? How can we get there? And if there's a plan to which other people are holding us accountable, would we be more likely to persevere even when it's hard going?

It seems many congregation's plan has been: do what we've always done, or do what we used to do, and wait for people to find out how great that is.
This is probably obvious, but: that plan does not work. That is a plan for the church we used to be, not the church we are called to be. If I had created a plan that was all about practicing the clarinet, it would be a plan doomed to fail. Those were wonderful times in my life, but they are not the times I'm in now, nor the times I'm headed toward. A plan for how I could live in a place where leaving the house was difficult due to the harassment level on the streets would also not be a good plan--it's a plan for 2006, not a plan for 2013 and beyond.

I'm sure there are churches that are as wary of the whole goals-objectives-plan thing that I was (and maybe still am). It feels so boxed-in and clinical. But so far I am experiencing "working the plan" as a freeing option--it allows me to think about a variety of things rather than just "what do I do now?" Maybe that would happen on a communal level too?

I recognize, of course, that interruptions to the plan are inevitable. That no matter how carefully we work a plan, things happen. That's why we also need to remember this: 

every day's a mission trip

Tonight we started a new thing, which I'm calling "TOP"--Thursdays on the Patio. Whoever wants to comes to a local restaurant/brewery and sits on the patio talking about theology stuff for an hour. There's a TOPic for each week. Today's was "Faith Outside the Box."

We talked a little about the boxes we put ourselves in and those we think the culture puts us in, as Christians. "Christians should..." be loving, radical, less narrow-minded, relax. Then we talked about how dangerous it can be to put God in a box--ever read that story in 2 Samuel 6? It's something else. Someone who tries to control God gets zapped, literally. oops. Note to self: attempting to control God is dangerous. Too dangerous. Don't do it.

But then...if God is love, awesome, big, good...if Jesus is loving, radical, healer, revealer-of-God...and if the church is the Body of Christ...why aren't we out loving, healing, being radical revealers of God?

short answer: cuz it's hard.
slightly longer answer: because people are a little afraid of Christians--there's so much baggage and expectation and small-box-ness about the word or the idea, that if we say we're Christians or we go to church, people back away a little. We're all tired of having to say "but not that kind of Christian."

really long answer: because we're so busy trying to think the right things that we forget who we're called to BE. we've gotten so confused with the word "church" thinking it's a place we go, we've forgotten how to be the church. we've become so caught up in the stuff we're supposed to do, we don't have time to wonder about God's purpose.

In other words: we've got our hands squarely on the God-box, holding it steady, and we've ceased to expect to get zapped because the God inside is so small and easily contained, manageable.

So what if we could imagine that God is the one with the mission, not us? It's not something we SHOULD DO, but something God IS DOING. Then every day is a choice to join in the mission.

Mission is another one of those loaded words. We think of it as synonymous with serving/helping. So to join God in the mission must mean doing more things. We got into a brief discussion about the word Missionary and how much baggage that has too (see this blog for more on that!). But really, it means BEING with God, paying attention to God's purpose and God's presence.

Reggie McNeal talks about how when we're on a mission trip, we approach every day as if it's loaded with opportunity, with Spirit, with promise. We're looking for where God is acting and how we can be a part of that. Whether or not we actually accomplish anything on the mission trip, we were with God. Maybe we jumped rope with kindergarteners all day, or maybe we built a house, or maybe we ate lunch with people who are alone most days, or maybe we cleaned a park, but whatever it was, we were on the lookout.

What if every day was like that? At my office, I'm on a mission trip. On the freeway: mission trip. At the grocery store, on the playground, walking downtown, on the train, at the coffee shop: mission trip. We're the deployed staff of God, constantly working out God's purpose: the kingdom on earth.

We'd certainly be outside the box!

Go.

Dancing Faith: a sermon for Trinity Sunday

Rev. Teri Peterson
PCOP
Dancing Faith
Proverbs 8.1-4, 22-31
26 May 2013, Trinity C


Does not wisdom call,

and does not understanding raise her voice?

 On the heights, beside the way,

at the crossroads she takes her stand; 

beside the gates in front of the town,

at the entrance of the portals she cries out: 

‘To you, O people, I call,

and my cry is to all that live.

The Lord created me at the beginning of his work,

the first of his acts of long ago.

 Ages ago I was set up,

at the first, before the beginning of the earth. 

When there were no depths I was brought forth,

when there were no springs abounding with water.

 Before the mountains had been shaped,

before the hills, I was brought forth— 

when he had not yet made earth and fields,

 or the world’s first bits of soil. 

When he established the heavens, I was there,

when he drew a circle on the face of the deep, 

when he made firm the skies above,

when he established the fountains of the deep, 

when he assigned to the sea its limit,

so that the waters might not transgress his command,

when he marked out the foundations of the earth, 

then I was beside him, like a master worker; 

and I was daily his delight,

rejoicing before him always, 

rejoicing in his inhabited world

and delighting in the human race.
~~~~~


Imagine yourself in the year 325. It’s been only 10 years since Christianity became legal, persecution ended, and the emperor decided to ensure the unity of his empire by requiring unity of religion. We’ve been trying to make the story of Jesus, the living Word of God, understandable to all kinds of people, some of whom hear about him not by choice but by imperial decree. No longer are we meeting underground, or in inner rooms of homes, but openly in public, and the gospel is spreading fast.

Then we hear something…whispers…teachers…philosophers…a man named Arius has come to the conclusion that Jesus was created by God the father, and his divinity comes only through adoption, not because he is actually God.

Soon everyone is talking about it, and people are taking sides, and there’s a new danger: if the one church that the emperor is using to hold together his one empire is fractured, this whole enterprise could come crashing down. Constantine, seeing the threat to his political power coming through the hands of a theological dispute, calls together 318 church bishops, puts them in a room in Nicea, and tells them, in no uncertain terms, to solve this problem.

Nicea is normally just a hymn tune to us—we sang it at the beginning of worship. But it’s also a place where the statement of faith, the measuring stick for orthodoxy, the most widely used profession of faith, was written nearly 1700 years ago. In it the bishops attempt to say how it is that the Father, the Son, and the Spirit can all be one—because Arius was dangerously close to polytheism, and we do not believe in three gods! But if you open your hymnal to the front section, page 15, you’ll see that it’s not easy to put this understanding of God into words. It’s never easy, really—God is essentially a mystery, beyond the capacity of human language. And yet we try, over and over.

It’s almost impossible to explain the Trinity without falling into some kind of heresy. Some explanations make it seem as if God is one person of the Trinity at a time—first the Father, then the Son, then the Spirit. Some make it seem as if each person of the Trinity is just a part of God. Others make it seem as if each person of the Trinity is a mask that God wears, showing us first one face and then another, but never the true reality. There’s actually a really funny video about the problems of using analogy and metaphor to try to explain the Trinity. You can find it on the church facebook page.


So how can we talk about God, Three In One, One and Three? Well, first we can remember that the reason we try at all is because we want to put words to our experience of God—and when we talk about our experience of God, we are not talking about the fullness of God. Second, we can draw on an image from the Eastern Orthodox churches, where they talk about the three persons of the Trinity being locked in an eternal dance, circling and weaving and moving together and around and through one another. The Father, the Son, and the Spirit are a community that is not complete without each person, but not all mixed up either. They dance, and we experience each differently, and their arms are constantly outstretched inviting us to join the dance. In the words of one of my favorite prayers, “God in community, Holy and One.”

It can be hard, for those of us who have been taught that God is static and unchanging, to imagine God ducking and weaving and swirling and moving and always appearing from a slightly different angle. But scripture is full of times when God changed or took a different tack. What doesn’t change is God’s essence as Love and Justice, constantly together. It’s also hard to imagine being both One and a community in and of Oneself, but there it is. Slightly beyond language, as always.

The keys here are invitation and experience. The creed unintentionally led us down a path in which we started to think that you had to believe the right words about God in order to be faithful. And the words we use do matter—we do not want to give the impression that God is just an actor pretending to be different things, or that Jesus is only part of God or not really God, or that when Paul says “God is Love” he’s only talking about the Spirit, not the Creator. But words are not the end of the story.

In the reading from Proverbs, we meet Sophia—God’s wisdom. In the gospel according to John, Jesus is God’s wisdom incarnate. Sometimes people equate Sophia with the Holy Spirit, because both are feminine nouns and because this passage talks about wisdom having a part in creation. Either way, we hear these words: before the beginning, I was with him. I was there before the waters and the earth, beside the Creator, a confidant, a fellow worker, dancing with delight like a child. Our English Bibles translate “rejoicing” where the Hebrew could also mean “dancing”—which is such a beautiful image, of God the community, dancing together to create and redeem and sustain, constantly inviting us to join this community, to come and experience the dance. It is an invitation to life--and life abundant.

And, as we said already, what the Trinity tries to put into words is an experience. Though we have turned the word “belief” into an intellectual exercise, it originally meant to love whole-heartedly, to trust completely, to give myself over. What a difference it would make if we said not “I believe in God” but “I love God wholeheartedly.” Not “I believe that Jesus is the Son of God” but “I trust Jesus, the Son of God.” Not “I believe in the Holy Spirit” the same way we “believe” in the church and in resurrection, but “I give myself over to the Spirit.”

But in order for that to be true, we have to experience God as more than a thought, more than an intellectual proposition. Ours is a Dancing Faith—and in a dance we give our lives to someONE, not someTHING. Unfortunately, we are the recipients of a long line of faith tradition trapped in the mind. Much of the time, not only do we not experience God, we don’t even expect to encounter God. In our zeal not to check our brains at the door—which I am not advocating! I want us to think!—we have forgotten that there’s more to us than a brain, and more to God than a spoken word. We have lost the dance.

What would change if we expected to encounter God every day? If we were looking for the movement of the Spirit? If we anticipated that God would show up in worship, in Sunday School, on the commute, in the office, in the kitchen? If we really believe that God is everywhere present, why do we so often fail to look for that presence? Why do we so often fail to cultivate a relationship with the One whose hand is outstretched, inviting us into community? Faith is, at its core, about an experience with God. We put words to that, we check whether our experience aligns with the community throughout the ages, and we try not to give the wrong impression of who God is, but ultimately God is beyond our limited human language. The only thing to do is to keep our eyes and hearts open while we sing and dance and pray, that we may one day affirm “I give my life to God, maker of heaven and earth…and I trust in Jesus, God’s son…and I love with the Holy Spirit, giver of life.”

May it be so.
Amen.

umbrella realignment specialist

At the Solomon Episcopal Conference Center, every building's front door is flanked by umbrella stands stocked with huge umbrellas. Those in our group who'd not spent much time in the South couldn't really understand that--it seemed so sunny and nice all the time!

When two days of insane thunderstorms brought rain that caused the lake to overflow its banks, they understood.

We grabbed up umbrellas by the dozen and moved them as we moved. They were wonderful. Always available, good size for one or two people, keeping us dry in the downpour as we moved around the campus.

Of course, if it wasn't raining when we left a building, we rarely remembered to grab that umbrella we'd sheltered under just an hour before to take it to the next place or return it to where we found it. We left it drip-drying on the porch.

And someone--a wonderful staff member--would go around the campus and re-distribute umbrellas. They knew it was going to rain again. This two-hour lull at mid-day was a teaser, not an enduring reality. The storm was not past, just resting.

When the rain resumed, we again found umbrellas at every door, just where we needed them.

I had to wonder: whose job is it to realign the stock of umbrellas? How would we have felt if there was not an umbrella waiting on the porch when we needed one, because we'd neglected to take responsibility for the tools we'd been so graciously provided? How easy it is to forget that we still need to carry the tool, even if we don't appear to need to use it right this instant.

And is it the end of the world if my hair gets wet while I sprint from one building to another? (well, okay....maybe. probably.)

Sometimes I wonder if pastors are basically umbrella realignment specialists. It sounds a little more useful than Titanic deck-chair re-arranger (which is a job pastors are often accused of settling for!). We offer the tools...and hope that people carry them around even if they're not using them right this instant. But when they leave those tools lying around somewhere, we pick them up and put them back where they can be of most use next time the rain comes down. It's a behind-the-scenes job. Once I did see someone, across the campus, wrapping umbrellas and placing them neatly in a stand, but in the 2 days of rain that was the only glimpse I got, aside from the fact that there was always an umbrella there when I needed it. That person, whoever he is, equipped the saints.

Who is our umbrella realignment specialist?

Friday Five: if...

Karla over at RGBP gives us a themeless Friday five today.

 1. If you could hear what someone is thinking for a day, who would you choose, and why?
ooh....well, the evil part of me has many answers for this. But really, I would very much like to hear what my cats are thinking for a day...because really, I do wonder!!

what's going on in there?

 2. If you were trapped in a tv show for a month, which show would you choose, and why?
Doctor Who, obviously. Because think of all the places I could go and things I could experience in a month of time-traveling!! (plus it would totally feed my "I can save the world" complex. haha.)

 3. If you could do any job in the world for a day, what would it be?
Is it wrong to say "a job that pays a lot per day"?? LOL. 
I think it would be interesting to be a foreign diplomat for a day. Think of all the insight you can gain into the world's political systems even in just one day....

 4. What are you loving right now?
That it is not very humid in Louisiana this week!

 5. Use these words in a sentence: bless, cheeseburger, chihauha, skipping, Georgia.
And the chihuahua, skipping to the table, held up the cheeseburger, blessed and broke it, and said "Georgia, this would be for you if I hadn't licked it first." ;-)

path...

One of the things we did today was look at a variety of "path" images, and see which one felt most like the path we are currently walking. some of the images were of idyllic forest or meadow paths, footprints on a beach, etc. Others were really more wide-open space. Some were briefly heart-stopping, like the guy sitting on the edge of an outcropping of rock over a canyon. Some were filled with people, others deserted. A few went all over the place and had no clear direction. Some had obstacles, others were smooth.

Of course, this morning before breakfast I was out for a walk and I noticed that one of the things that's hard to capture in a picture is the way some parts of the ground are green, covered with something that I know is moss but looks like algae. (of course, given that this is Louisiana, it could be algae, since the air is similar to standing water most of the year! though the humidity the last couple of days hasn't been bad...)

I was trying to capture it in a picture, and this is what I got:

As I walked this path, though, I noticed that's it's really a two-in-one path. (and then I got a better picture later of the green dirt!) There's the wide path that goes...somewhere. And there's the path through the pine needles, clearly carved by water. That water path meanders a bit, but it goes inexorably toward its destination--other water (in this case, the lake). 

of course, walking the water's path is more dangerous--that green stuff is slippery and the path takes many twists and turns. There's lots of opportunity to fall, to get hurt. It's a risk.

I wonder how often I try to walk a path that seems easier, when where I need to be is risk the path of the water, moving always toward where I belong?

(yes, there's a metaphor in there, for baptism and for calling, and probably for any number of things.)

I'm reminded of the sermon Calum preached at my ordination, in which he talked about how Earth is a closed system when it comes to water. The water we have now is all the water earth has ever had, and will ever have. So when we drink a glass of water, it's likely it was once dinosaur pee. 

I don't remember the point of that illustration, but it came to mind again when I was thinking about the water's path within the path. That water wants nothing more than to rejoin its fellow water, and it will move earth and stone and pine needles and who knows what else to get there. And it always goes. 

Maybe the path of the baptismal waters also pushes us inexorably toward the larger body, and ultimately toward the source?

We hope.

noticing

here are some things I have seen today that couldn't be captured on camera...

a dragonfly so green it shone like an emerald. Not even joking. If it had held still you would have thought it dropped out of Louis XIV's crown.

a pine tree whose trunk was bent so that it arced across the path. The tree remained rooted where it was, it was still alive and well, but instead of growing up it grew in a perfect arc.

a turtle peeking its head above the water in the pond outside my window.

a knot (or perhaps a stunted branch?) that looks--and I am not kidding--almost exactly like the bagpiping pig gargoyle on Melrose Abbey (a place I have been thanks to RevGal Julie!).

someone whose problem solving skills take a completely opposite approach from mine.

sunshine!!

Active Listening--a sermon for Easter 6C

note: worship this morning includes welcoming new members, a baptism, and communion, so this week's sermon is more of a brief meditation...


Rev. Teri Peterson
PCOP
Active Listening
Acts 16.9-15
5 May 2013, Easter 6C
new members, baptism, communion

During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us.’ When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them. We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. A certain woman named Lydia, a worshipper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, ‘If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.’ And she prevailed upon us. 
~~~~~


Listening can be a hard skill to learn. So often we are taught to think first of how we will respond, and we end up listening to someone only halfway, waiting for the word we can grab on to in our rebuttal. Or we look like we’re listening, but we haven’t heard a word. Sometimes people look like they’re not listening—they’re writing or swiping their phone screen or knitting—but keeping their hands busy or taking notes means they’re listening more deeply than they would otherwise. The goal we’re after, though, is active listening—where we are paying attention to what the person is saying without simultaneously formulating our own thoughts. Active Listening implies that you could repeat back, in your own words, what the other person has said.

The words “active listening” also imply some kind of listening that leads to action, which is exactly what we get in today’s story from Acts. Paul listened carefully to the Spirit, then acted. The apostles listened to Paul, then acted. Lydia listened, and responded. Paul and the apostles listened to Lydia, and stayed with her. There’s hearing and acting all over the place.

In Hebrew, the language of the Old Testament, the word “hear” is the same word for “obey.” I’ve always loved that because it implies that if you don’t act, you haven’t heard. While the Greek of the New Testament doesn't usually have double meanings, we know that the people spoke both languages so may be drawing on this tenet: to hear is to obey.

How often are we not listening?

Sometimes we are too far away from one another to hear. That’s one of the reasons the worship team has been roping off the back pews—because when we are closer together, we hear one another better, which both improves our singing and builds our community.

Sometimes we are too busy to listen. We get caught up in all the things we have to do and forget that God’s favorite mode of communication is through a still small voice, a whisper we could miss if we aren’t careful. That’s one of the reasons community is so important—we have a group of people around and hopefully at least one of us will get the message, and alert us!—and then we can talk and discern and listen together.

Imagine if Paul had been too busy to sleep at night, or the apostles couldn’t bear to leave their favorite restaurant. Imagine if the apostles protested that they didn’t want to talk to women. Imagine if the women beside the river were spread all along the bank and Lydia had never heard Paul teach. Imagine if she’d said “that’s nice, I have fabric to dye.” Given that Lydia was the first person on the European continent to turn to Christ, if anyone along the way had not listened and acted, our whole story could be very different!

Instead, when the Spirit called them to the water, they heard and obeyed. And then they listened and acted again when the opportunity to celebrate Christ’s presence at the table of hospitality arose through Lydia’s invitation. In this story we see how integrally linked baptism and communion are. At the font, we remember that river that washes away our old self, drinking deep of the hope and new life offered there. And following that stream leads us directly to the table, where we experience God’s grace and hospitality anew, so we are strengthened to offer that hospitality to others.

But nothing happens if we don’t listen—to God and to each other.

May it be so.
Amen.

Friday Five: Playing along...

Today over at RGBP, Pat offers us a little spring fun... Of course, today it's cold and rainy at my house, but that's all the more reason to dream of sunny days!

It's May! And it smells so good outside. I can close my eyes and remember the golden hours after dinner as the days grew later and later, and we got to play outside until called home. It makes me want to go outside right now and play!

Of course, not all of us are in the northern hemisphere... plenty of RevGals and Pals are experiencing a season that is turning cold and blustery.

So to all of you, wherever you may be, how will you (or would you like to) play this month?

1. Tell about your favorite outdoor play. 
hmmm....I like urban scavenger hunts. I think they're so fun. I love figuring out clues and seeing a city as we look for the answers.

2. Tell about your favorite indoor play.
Board games all the way! My current obsession is Ticket to Ride. I also really enjoy Settlers of Catan, and a good old fashioned game of Clue. (And Scrabble. And Scattergories.)

3. Tell about a game you (or your friends) created. 
Well, I didn't create this game, but I think the youth leaders before me at RCLPC might have. Human battleship--where you pull those wheeled dividers across a room, creating a barrier that you can throw things over. Everyone chooses a spot to stand and then can't move their feet, and throws yarn balls over the divider trying to hit people on the other team and get them out. Sort of like dodgeball only you can't dodge and you can't see who you're throwing at. Very fun.

4. Tell about a game that is new to you. 
I'm just beginning to play Letterpress on my phone. It's a surprisingly confusing game, because none of the rules for similar-looking games apply, and the strategy is still unclear to me. Maybe it'll get more obvious as I keep trying.

5. Tell how you would like to incorporate play into your workday
hmmm...good question! I think it would be great if every meeting involved a few minutes of play--it opens us up to thinking more creatively. I suspect lots of people would view that as wasted time, even if it did get our creative juices flowing so we could be better leaders in the long run.
But not every day has a meeting (anymore) (yay!) so...I'll have to contemplate whether there's a way to work something play-like into a regular day when there are just 2-3 of us in the office. (besides taking a Words-With-Friends break!)

How do you like to play?

lifeline

I am preparing for a conference next week, and one of the things I have to do is create a "life-line"--a timeline of my life, divided up in whatever way I wish...presumably divided by major events, turning points, or other demarcations that indicate a season of life.

I'm debating the best way to do that...

*do I want to mark my life by the places I've lived?
   0-8 Hubbard
   8-10 the farm
   10-13 Seattle
   13-17 Yakima
   17-21 Chicago
   21-24 Decatur
   25-26 Cairo
   26-32 Crystal Lake

The divisions make sense, because I think I am influenced by the place where I am. There's something about my environment that matters to how I experience the world and go through life.

*Maybe I should divide by the things I've done at various times....
   0-9 read, run from sheep, gymnastics
   10-21 play the clarinet
   19-32 church church and more church

It's a less clean demarcation, but it could work.

*I suspect some people use their school/work life as the defining experiences...
   0-17 school
   17-21 college
   21-25 seminary
   25-26 missionary
   26-32 pastor

That would be a more interesting division if I had space to think about the overlaps (volunteering on Iona, changing academic foci, etc).

*I could have a really disturbing lifeline centered around boys. (because you know I define myself by my boyfriends, obv.) (that was sarcasm.)
   0-19 none because dating wasn't allowed
   19-20 P.P.
   20-21 T.S.
   21 B.M.
   22 M.H.
   23-26 J.C.
   30 G.F.

Maybe not.

*I could arrange my lifeline on my travel experiences...
6: disneyland!
14: Washington DC
16: Interlochen, MI
17: Hawaii
18: Belgium
19-20: Scotland
22: cross-country road trip extravaganza
23: Jamaica
24: Middle East Travel Seminar
25-6: Egypt, Palestine, Italy
29, 30, 31, 32: Caribbean/Bahamas
31: Scotland
32: ???

*Maybe by pets...
   Crash
   Ole
   Tang and Rusty
   Sammy
   Doris and Spot the goldfishes
   Ollie
   Andrew

probably not the most meaningful division ever.

*So...yeah. I really don't know. I think I'm being blocked by the fact that at this time of year, my life timeline has only two sections.
   0-25: mom
   25-forever: no mom.

That before/after split is so noticeable in May, when every email subject line is about gifts for mom, every church discussion is about how to (or NOT, hopefully) address mother's day in worship, every advertisement my eyes fall on is mom-focused.

Pretty sure that's not the kind of timeline they're hoping I show up with....so I'll probably go with the places I've lived. Seems safer.

now to find a catchphrase, song, movie, or book to thematically describe each segment...

us and them--a sermon for Easter 5C, celebrating the ministry of PADS (public action to deliver shelter)

Rev. Teri Peterson
PCOP
us and them
PADS celebration day
Acts 11.1-18
28 April 2013, Easter 5C

Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, saying, “Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?” Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, “I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. I also heard a voice saying to me, ‘Get up, Peter; kill and eat.’ But I replied, ‘By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.’ But a second time the voice answered from heaven, ‘What God has made clean, you must not call profane.’ This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven. At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man’s house. He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, ‘Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.’ And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, “Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life.”

~~~~~~~

There are two kinds of people in the world: rule followers and rule breakers.

Now of course there are some rules that need to be broken, and some that need to be followed. I’m not suggesting that all rule breakers drive faster than the speed limit on the wrong side of the road while not wearing a seat belt. Nor am I suggestion that all rule followers blindly do whatever they’re told. So maybe there’s more of a spectrum, and some days we lean more toward one side or the other.

Peter was pretty much a rule follower. Throughout his years with Jesus he was always looking for just the right thing to say, reminding Jesus to pay taxes, and even trying to stay within the letter of the law when it came to whether he knew Jesus or not. And now we find him trying to follow the rules even in the midst of prayer.

In the book of Leviticus, there are all kinds of rules for life, including personal hygiene, how we live our private lives, how we live our public lives, who we can be friends with, politics, and, of course, food. We know about the prohibition on bacon and lobster, but we probably forget about the prohibition on alligator, ostrich, scallops, and rabbit. It’s a pretty extensive list to memorize if you’re going to follow all the rules. But even in the midst of a prayer-vision, Peter knows that the things the Holy Spirit tells him to eat are an abomination—it says so in Leviticus! And worse: he has to choose which disgusting thing to eat, then catch it from the blanket petting zoo and kill it, presumably prepare it, and then eat it—breaking every possible purity code on the books. He must have thought this was a temptation story like the one of Jesus in the wilderness, so naturally, he resists.

Then comes the surprise. “What God has called clean you must not call profane.” Three times—the holy number—and then it’s over. And just as Peter is congratulating himself on a temptation well survived, the unclean people start to show up. Not just any unclean people, either—Gentiles. I mean, they can’t help being abhorrent and impure, but we still shouldn’t be talking to them. Those are the rules.

This time, though, when the Spirit says “go,” Peter goes, having learned that there is no distinction between “them” and “us.”

Now, when the leaders in Jerusalem hear it, they’re outraged. How could he go eat with unclean, uncircumcised gentiles? He knows the rules. They know the rules. So when he gets home, they summon him for public criticism and questioning. Everyone clearly knows what’s right and what’s wrong—and who’s right and who’s wrong—in this situation.

The trouble is, as Buffy the vampire slayer will remind you anytime you ask her, is that “it’s not about right, not about wrong—it’s about power.” Who has it, who wants it, and how you use it. Peter had an experience that showed him who had the power, and it wasn’t him. When he told the story, the church leaders in Jerusalem heard who had the power, and it wasn’t them. This is a huge change, a turning of the world. It turns out that the institutions—the Jewish Temple, the Roman Empire, even the Church, don’t have the power. They don’t have the power to determine what’s right and wrong, who’s in and who’s out, or to control the Spirit. Only God has the power. The Spirit blows where she will. Peter and the church leaders were moved to silence by this realization—because what can you say? Only the words of Peter seem to work: “who was I that I could hinder God?”

There’s something comforting about being the “us”—it allows us to feel like the heroes who provide for “them,” it allows us to subtly pass judgment, it offers us a constant reminder of how lucky we are, and it gives us a sense of power.

But the Spirit says not to make a distinction between “us” and “them”—and when we do, we hinder God’s work.

Now, those rules in Leviticus were designed to distinguish God’s people from everyone else—to create an us and a them. But there’s a new calling emerging with Jesus and those who follow him. Paul’s letters teach that “there is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female” and that Christ breaks down every wall that divides us. Jesus spent his time with “them” and it made the “us” of his day very angry. And nowhere—in the old or the new testament—is there any endorsement of our superiority over others. Even in the holiness code of Leviticus, the epitome of the us-and-them rules, there’s still a constant refrain of welcoming the outsider, treating foreigners equally, and ensuring enough for everyone. Even in the middle of the document that sets the Jews apart from everyone else, there’s pointed concern for inclusion. Now we find God on the rooftop, expanding and morphing that call to hospitality until it erases the us-and-them, changing the tune from one of separation to one of oneness in Christ.

This is our rooftop moment—the moment when we look at the world around us, the world inside our doors, the world that sleeps in our basement, the world that cries out for justice and peace and hope and love, and acknowledge our calling to live with “no distinction between them and us.” There is no longer American and foreigner, there is no longer homeless and housed, there is no longer gay and straight, for all are one in Christ Jesus, who breaks down the walls that divide us.

Those walls are breaking down right here in our building, every Wednesday night. People come together and are treated with dignity and compassion. People eat together and talk together and help each other with whatever they need. I’d like to think we offer this space and time not because “we” want to feel good about helping “them,” not because we pity those “less fortunate,” but because we see a glimpse of the kingdom of God, where people come from north and south, east and west, to sit at a table where there is no us and them, only children of God. To sit at a table that has nothing to do with our power and everything to do with God’s power.

Let’s hear a little from Jay, the PADS ministry team leader, about what God has done this season.

God’s power is at work in this place. So often humans like to think we can do all things, but scripture reminds us that we can do all things “through Christ.” Our job is to create a welcoming space where all can see the love of God at work, where all can know they are one of us, children of God. Our job is to be a conduit for grace and peace and hope to flow into the lives of those God brings through our doors. Our job is to offer both a safe place and a sacred place—and it takes all of us praying and participating to make the love of God visible every week. It takes all of us leaning on God’s love rather than on our own walls of rules, in order that God can turn our sandwich meat and blankets and hours of wakefulness into the kingdom of God on earth.

So let’s take a minute to look at what God has done and how God has used us this year.
• If you have brought, cooked, or served food this PADS season, please stand. You have been bearers of manna in the wilderness.
• If you have donated for new pads, supplies, or to replace our linen, please stand. You have been comfort in hard places.
• If you have created art, set tables, made cards, or otherwise helped beautify the space downstairs, please stand. You have been secret agents of God’s amazing hospitality, creating a place where people feel their value as children of God.
• If you have worked a shift on a Wednesday night here or any night somewhere else, please stand. You have been the face of God, the breath of the Spirit, the love of Christ that moves in the dark and offers rest to the weary, hope to the hopeless, compassion to the downtrodden, grace to the despairing.
• If you have prayed for those in our shelter and those still on the street, or if you have prayed for the volunteers, please stand. You have been the foundation of this ministry, holding us up, filling us with God’s power. This could not be done without you.
• Lastly, we could not do this without our building. This house of the church is a literal shelter for people. If you have ever given time or resources to take care of this building, or if you have pledged or put money in the offering, you have supported this ministry in a real and tangible way. If you’re not already standing, please do. You have been the living stones that create a welcoming home for all God’s people.

Look around and notice: this is a ministry of all God’s people—not us and them, but the whole body together. God is doing amazing things in and through us. May we continue to lean on God’s power, in order that the kingdom may come.

Amen.

writing writing writing

So, I've done it again. I've accidentally (or by not paying attention) committed myself to a bunch of different things that all require a fair amount of effort, and then I've gone and waited until the week they're due to actually write them. (well, "waited" is probably a strong term. More like "got busy and pushed it to the bottom of the to-do list.")

And now every person who has ever been my roommate, boyfriend, parent, sibling, or close friend is nodding their head in acknowledgement and shaking their head in despair: haven't I managed to grow up or change just a little in all these years?

Apparently not.

So for the next 8 days you'll find me furiously scribbling, frantically typing, and shedding many a tear over the beautiful words that have to be cut to fit a maximum word count or to make something more clear to readers who are not me or my best friend.

Which means one of two things will happen: either I'll blog a lot this week, as a procrastination tool that I can reasonably pretend is "inspiration" or "priming the pump" or something, OR my blog will be completely silent...not because I'm using my time more wisely, but because a blank screen in Word and a blank screen in Blogger are both insurmountable problems.

Having said that, if you want to see some of the work that I did in a similar state of word count despair last year, it's published here.

Friday Five: healing spaces

Deb over at RGBP is "an enthusiastic newspaper reader. Lately, however, world events have made it hard to read and process the pain in the world around me. Perhaps you have struggled with this, too. So, with the events of the violence and tragedy from the Boston Marathon fresh in our memories, I thought it would be good for us to focus on where as RevGalBlogPals, we find healing, peace and strengthening. As a chaplain, there are days where I never seem to catch my breath, and invariably, those are the days that I need it the most!"

 So with all this in mind, share with us these healing things:

1. A piece of music 
hmmm....I think I have several go-tos, depending on the situation. probably here first:

But I might pull out the Indigo Girls. Or a Mozart piano concerto. Or the music for this Sunday. Or I might decide to go with a podcast instead, because learning something new helps my brain let go of some of the crazy badness all around.

 2. A place 

Port Ban, on the west side of Iona

 3. A favorite food (they call it "comfort food" for a reason) 
Mashed potatoes. Mac-n-cheese. things with carbs. But also veggie enchiladas, refried beans...things my mom used to make. (and if anyone says "salad" in the comments...well...I'll try to remain non-violent.)

 4. A recreational pastime (that you watch or participate in) 
reading reading reading! Weeks like this make me want to hibernate--curl up on the couch with a good book, a cat, and a cup of tea. Luckily, I have a stack of books...unluckily, a day or two of hibernating is not on the schedule, even if it is decidedly un-spring-like outside.

 5. A poem, Scripture passage or other literature that speaks to comfort you. 
The end of T.S. Eliot's "Little Gidding"...

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
 Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

 BONUS: People, animals, friends, family - share a picture of one or many of these who warm your heart.

andrew

ollie

Gao Gao, panda papa of the San Diego Zoo

beyond Boston

I've been trying to figure out how to express what I've been thinking about the aftermath of Monday's bombing in Boston. So this post may not make any sense, because I'm essentially thinking out loud.

First and most obvious: this is a tragedy, it's horrific, and I can hardly believe that people do this kind of thing. Even though it happens all over the world regularly, and even though more people die on the streets of Chicago every day, I still cannot get my head around the fact that people commit heinous acts of violence. Add in the marathon and it just seems like such a cruel joke: hey, you're such an awesome runner, you qualified for the most famous marathon! And then after 26 miles, just yards from the finish, you lost a leg. Almost as good as a medal, right? UGH. so much ridiculous and horrifying.

But then the news coverage and the conversation that comes after...

And it comes this way after every tragedy. But this time it just seems more blatant.

talking to people in London: "are you seeing runners pulling out of this weekend's marathon? How are you going to secure the course?"
talking to runners: "does this make you think twice about running another race?"
callers to a local radio show: "I won't want my family coming out to cheer, but I'll run again."

over and over, this sense of using this event to determine our future behavior...

This is the DEFINITION of terrorism. Using a tactic that makes us afraid to do things we would normally do, or that we love to do.

I want to know things like: was the marathon the purpose or convenient? (i.e.: it's hard to imagine that someone was all "hey, I know, I'll make a point by blowing up runners." marathons are popular, but it's not THAT popular. and the bombs were set at a time that the "regular" runners (ie not the famous winners) would be affected, near the end of the race) Could it be that the bomber wasn't working out aggression against distance running, but simply used the famous event to get attention for something else? It's also Patriot Day, and tax day, and who knows what other issue might have been affecting him/her/them...let's not jump to conclusions.

But most of all, I want us to think about the questions we're asking, and the ways we're modifying our lives. Especially in light of the fact that 20 dead school children can't even sustain a national conversation about gun violence for a quarter. We are already incredibly reactionary about any number of things, from airport security to water bottles. If we're going to start calling off sporting events, or insisting people not congregate, or whatever...haven't we in fact just ceded all the power to the terrorist?

And once we're considering that language we use, let's include in the consideration the fact that in other parts of the world these things happen every day and people continue to run, work, play, travel, eat, have families, and generally go about life. I'm not minimizing the trauma or seriousness of this event *or of those that happen every day around the world.* I am trying to suggest that our questions reveal a privileged existence: that we think we could get away from the dark side of life, that we believe ourselves protected from the brokenness of the world.

These are the questions of a privileged few. Elsewhere, and in the majority-underbelly of our cities, people are asking "how do we live life to the fullest, follow our passions, feed our families, and care for each other, even in the midst of the suffering?" because suffering is a fact of life. sin and brokenness are a fact of life. Safety is an illusion and the more we cling to it, the more shocked we will be when these things happen.

I'm not suggesting that we ignore security precautions. I am suggesting that we have trusted in them far too much, and it has made us even less secure. Our privilege has made us blind, and ultimately we are far more easily terrorized.

(see, I told you it was thinking out loud and rambling incoherently.)

the cost of society

In the USA, it's Tax Day--the day when millions of people who waited until the last minute panic about all the forms and whether they have they money to pay what they owe, or when they rejoice about the money they've loaned the government over the past year being returned to them.

For the first time this year I filed my taxes ahead of the deadline and paid on time. It's an Easter season miracle.

Tax season threatens to overshadow the Easter season this year (and most years, due to the vagaries of the lunar calendar!). It's the time when we traditionally complain about the complexities of the tax code, the fact that so many of us need professionals just to navigate the forms, and of course we like nothing more than to complain about how much money we give to the government and to lament the ways in which they mis-spend our hard earned dollars.

Of course, we all pay taxes every day, because most of us live in places with sales tax and gas tax and property tax and various vice taxes. We all have a stake in the tax reality. But today is federal (and state) income tax filing deadline, so we're focused particularly on one type of tax, which about half the country pays. I heard a really interesting story on the radio today about the history of taxation in the US, that included the little tidbit that the income tax, when instituted via Constitutional amendment in 1913, originally applied to only about 4% of the population--just the very wealthy. It was during WWII that the income tax expanded to apply to about 44% of the population--just slightly lower than today. Of course, in those days we weren't paying all those other kinds of taxes. But the story said that people paid it relatively willingly, because with a war on they could SEE where their money was going, and they knew it was important.

It's harder today to see exactly where money goes, I suppose. I'm sure there's waste and mis-spent money. I suspect that's a smaller amount than most of us want to believe. Because really, let's just be honest: living in a society costs money. It can be expensive to run a 350-million member community across thousands and thousands of miles, especially when that community is active in any number of other communities around the world. Do we need more transparency? Yes. Do we also need to learn to trust just a little? yes. (aside: as much as I would like to be able to designate my taxes for things I care about, or rather to NOT be used for things I find objectionable, the reality is that a system like that would be even more problematic on a government scale than it is on a church/non-profit scale...and the whole designated-giving thing has been a *nightmare* for the church. Can you trust us to use money where it's most needed, to do the most good? What would happen if we expected that from the government too?)

I really appreciate having things like roads and train tracks and policemen and fire departments. I want children to be educated so they can create an even better future for this country and this world. I want clean air and clean water, standards for our industries, and someone else to negotiate with the people from other countries about any number of things, from banana imports to nuclear disarmament. I believe it's our collective responsibility to care for one another and for the natural resources we have been gifted, and to ensure that we leave future generations a land and a culture worth living in, so I long for the day when tax dollars are used to help people get training, education, housing, food, and the resources necessary to help them stand and contribute to that future. I like having controllers who know where all the airplanes are, a corps of brilliant engineers who can keep traffic moving even on a drought-depleted Mississippi, and a National Guard ready to step in when there's a disaster or a need. I appreciate people who inspect bridges, fill potholes, and welcome me to beautifully conserved National Parks. I want people to be looking into just what the pharmaceutical and agricultural industries are trying to sell into our bodies before we can buy things at the store. I want laws that create the boundaries of a society in which we all thrive.

I expect a lot from the government. I don't think they always deliver, but I think they do a whole heck of a lot better job than 350 million individuals working on their own and for their own agendas. And remember: we're pioneering the BY/OF/FOR model of government here--so it's not just "the government" doing things with "my" tax money. I live in this society. I am an active participant in the government, through my vote and my voice. When we pool our resources, we can do amazing good. Let's hold our government accountable to working for the common good even as we pay the dues of civilization.

make believe

The other day I was telling someone about a really terrible novel I'd just finished. I promised myself months ago that I would no longer force myself to finish books that are not good (there's only one or maybe two books I've ever left unfinished, ever). But this one was a mystery and my desire to find out what happened overruled the mediocre prose, shallow characters, and tenuous grip on the setting.

The person asked if I often read fiction. Oh yes...I read a lot of fiction. Much of it mediocre, but much of it deliciously wonderful too.

Another conversation this week circled around ideas for what my therapist calls "filling your pitcher." Because we can't pour ourselves out for others if our pitcher is empty. And pouring everything out and leaving nothing for ourselves is not exactly a recipe for sustainable serving, let alone a healthy life. A quote I put on the church facebook page said "I cannot give any more than I have. And if I am not soaked in the love of God, it is very hard to pass that on." (~Bo Karen Lee)  What she said.

Fiction is one of the ways I fill my pitcher. I devour books, trying to get inside the minds of characters, wandering with them through faraway landscapes and interesting times. I'm currently trying not to read too fast on a second draft of a fantastic novel a friend has written. I may have to resign myself to devouring it and then going back to read more slowly for editing. :-) I'm also midway through the Game of Thrones series--just finished book 2. And my book group is reading A Casual Vacancy (the not-at-all-Harry-Potter adult novel by JKR). These books are all SO SO DIFFERENT. Add in the serious novel at my bedside, and the young adult novels that take place in Disneyworld that I just picked up today, and we have a recipe for filling my pitcher. Of course, I may never leave my house again because I'm busy curled up with a book.

Other things I like to do to fill my pitcher: cook. Watch kids movies. Praying in Color. classical music. Stuff You Missed In History Class podcasts. massage. sometimes blog.

I like to pretend that exercise fills my pitcher, and serious intense dramas that win foreign film awards, and other things that cool smart people spend their time talking about and being proud of doing...but really my soul needs more frills than that, because much of my work is intense. Once I realized that it was okay to revel in a princess book and a Pixar movie, that it was okay to just re-read Isaiah 55 and Mark 2 hundreds of times, that I could just relax because who was out there judging my self-care anyway??....well, life just got a lot better.

It's not that I don't enjoy serious movies or thought-provoking nonfiction, it's just that those things are not my go-to stress relievers. They drain my pitcher, not fill it.

What do you do to fill your pitcher?

a train adventure!

I've been playing Ticket To Ride with some friends lately. It's super-fun. It doesn't quite indulge my travel bug, but it does indulge my board game bug. :)

This weekend I'm taking a real-live Ticket to Ride adventure, hopping on an Amtrak train to St. Louis for the wedding of a dear friend. I'm excited about the opportunity to spend that 6 hours reading or napping rather than driving and desperately trying to stay awake. I'm also excited that the cost of a round trip train ticket is awfully close to the cost of one tank of gas (and I'd surely need a few to get there and back, even in my awesomely fuel-efficient car).

I haven't taken Amtrak before. I've had a couple of Greyhound Adventures in my life. I've had ScotRail adventures and EurRail adventures and more than enough EgyptRail adventures to last me a good long while. I'm still waiting for the day we wise up to the wonders of high speed rail in this country--I should be able to train to St. Louis faster than I could drive...but I'll take the same length of time in this case. For longer distances though...seriously? It should not take 3 days to go up the coast. It just shouldn't.

So, anyway, I'm away on a train adventure. I hope it's as exciting as the game! Though I also hope I win (aka get there safely and in a timely manner) more often than I win at Ticket To Ride. So far I'm 0-5 on TTR, while my lovely friend Laura complains through the whole game about how terrible her hand is but she wins basically every time, by double digits. I'm hoping that this particular train adventure will not be the cause of any whining, by me or by others. :-)

liberty

I can't go anywhere without seeing a car with one of these magnets on the bumper:

They started appearing about a year ago, and it turns out they were mailed out by the local Roman Catholic archdiocese to several thousand people in our area. Which explains why when I try to talk about them to people who don't live here, they have no idea what I'm talking about.

The trouble is, I look at that and even *I*, who can see the magnet, have a hard time understanding what they're talking about.

I mean, the whole point of religious liberty is that the statue of liberty doesn't stand for only one religious tradition. So why does she have a cross?

How come there aren't symbols for several different religions along those stripes?
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Oh...right...because you don't actually mean religious liberty--you mean that we all conform to YOUR religion.

Newsflash: that has nothing to do with religion or liberty. That's only about imposing your way on the whole country, which is explicitly the opposite of the Constitution's guarantee of freedom of religion.

In other words, if this same image, but with a crescent instead of a cross, were plastered on 10,000 cars in northern Illinois, there would be screaming about infringement of our right to religious freedom. But if it has a cross, somehow that's okay?

Also, seriously? There is NOT a war on Christianity in this country. You know how I can tell? The Stock Market was closed for Good Friday. Seriously. Not for Passover, not for the prophet's birthday...for Good Friday. And people get off work for Good Friday. Including Congress, who go home for Holy Week and Easter week. There are some school districts that are still giving kids off Easter Monday. That's not even an actual holiday.

Looks to me like our religious liberty as Christians is alive and well. I'm concerned about the religious liberty of some of my neighbors and friends, though.

I am so tired of the level of cognitive dissonance with which human beings seem able to live. How do we not see the inconsistency of something like this? It's an untenable paradox, right there on the bumper of your car.

Pretty sure I'm going to need to find a way to send out 10,000 of this one instead. I mean, really.

mission...

I really hope we see the problem here....

It's no secret that I love church.
It's also no secret that sometimes I hate church.
It's the very definition of a love-hate relationship: I love the potential, the people, the wonder, the possibility, the vibe, the great things we do, the space for transformation, the message of kingdom life, and so much more...and I hate sometimes the things we get fixated on. So often The Church (this is true of pretty much every congregation I've ever been in, including a really big one) is busy thinking about how to get more people and more dollars inside the doors. Now granted, we do incredible things with your money and your time/talents/energy. And we need them, because there's lots to be done in the world. But sometimes it feels like we need the dollars and the people just to keep existing.

And then we get into these conversations, out in everyday life--where *finally* someone has asked us about church or life or something that allows us to talk about our faith, and we end up saying things like "well, I'm on the _____ committee." It doesn't matter what you say in the next sentence, I promise. Only the most committed of friends is still listening.


One of my favorite things about Missional Renaissance is the phrase "God is on mission."

Not like on the mission committee, but rather focused, on-task, keeping the work going.

Then the question is: are we on mission too? Are we on task? Or are we lost in our own plans, ideas, dreams, fears, expectations? Whose mission are we on?

I spend a lot of time trying to explore with people the idea that it's GOD'S mission and GOD'S church, and if we're not on mission then it doesn't matter at all whether we have the best Sunday School or the most engaging preaching or the flashiest service or the small groups that serve my needs. All that will matter is that we've left the Spirit somewhere, looking longingly after us as we go down a path we chose for ourselves, wondering if we'll look back and notice that she's beckoning us to another way.

Lots of churches--maybe even all churches (well, maybe not Quakers?)--are so invested in figuring out how to get people into the building that we've forgotten that God doesn't actually live inside the walls.** Meanwhile, God is waiting for the moment we set aside those things that are so important to US long enough to find out what's important to GOD.

Sometimes we may find that we're on the right track after all, and we can pick that project up and run with it, fueled by the steam of the Spirit.

Oftentimes I suspect we'll find that we're in uncomfortable territory, wandering into the unknown.

Which, I'm pretty sure, is a story in the Bible somewhere.....

God is on mission. Are we?







**note: I am not saying, in this post, that we don't care whether people come to church. I care deeply about whether people come to church--because I want for people to experience God in community, to worship together, to lift their voices in song (which we don't do anywhere else anymore), to seek faithfulness together. I am saying that sometimes those things happen outside the church building, because The Church is where The People are.