In every minister's life, there are a number of notable "first time" moments: the first time you raise both hands for the benediction, the first time you're called "Reverend," your first time serving communion, first baptism, first funeral, first wedding, first prayer at a hospital bedside, etc.
And then there are those less illustrious firsts; for example, the first time you find yourself mentally blank and panic-paralyzed on Saturday night and have to choose between a) taking your week's worth of study and reflection into the pulpit, praying for the Spirit to give you the inspiration that has refused to come all week, and winging it, or b) reheating a sermon previously preached elsewhere.
What hasn't come in six days of preparation is unlikely to come on a wing and a prayer on the seventh, in my experience, and so I chose option b.
I chose, but rather badly, without any sense of peace in the decision, and still trying to scribble out a sermon on 1 John 3 at 9:30am, while holding one on Deuteronomy 6 in the other hand. I wish I could say I that I at least chose resolutely, or that deciding enabled me to get a good night's sleep. Alas. I once worked with a pastor who kept a massive file cabinet full of sermons and an elaborate reference system for them, so that he never had to write a new one. Today I recycled, and running through my head the whole time was that disdainful promise I made while watching him pull old sermons and pass them off as new: "I will never be that lazy and irresponsible and disrespectful of my congregation and office. I will never be that pastor."
Pssst...I am particularly gifted at self-flagellation.
I can't seem to make myself stop, but I do have a less masochistic and more honest side. It's the side that tells me that, first of all, I'm not actually lazy or irresponsible or disrespectful. I've preached somewhere around ninety sermons in my time here, and having the ninety-first be a reworked version of an old one is not exactly a symptom that I've fallen into sloth. Second, all these expectations of myself...well, they're just not realistic. I'm never going to be Pastor Perfect. If that's what I'm worried about, it seems like maybe my mind is on entirely the wrong thing. Last I checked, it wasn't all about me.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Monday, April 24, 2006
Sabbath
I find it unbelievably irksome when I feel unwell on my day off. Stupid allergies are still acting up, and it seems this may be more than allergies as well. I so seldom actually get a whole day off that I want to spend it doing something fun, but even walking the dog turned me into a wheezing, head-throbbing mess, so fun is probably out.
To tell the truth, I didn't really have the day off either. I had a meeting this morning with my clergy group, which isn't work work, but also isn't exactly not work, since we spend most of our time talking about church.
Ironically - since I was sacrificing my off-day to be there - we were discussing the need for sabbath. We've been reading Working the Angles by Eugene Peterson, and he's a big proponent of sabbath.
I have a mixed relationship with the idea of sabbath. First of all, I didn't grow up practicing it. Second, by the time I learned what it was and started to think it might be important, I was already working in a church. When you work in church, the most obvious sabbath day is your big work day. Third, it seems like people's approaches toward sabbath run to the extremes: legalistic, or not at all.
The rhythm of sabbath seems not only appealing, but necessary. And yet...when does one find this time, consistently? And if you can make the time, how do you protect it without getting all rules-crazy about it? It just seems like an endless cycle of wondering. In the meantime, Eugene just keeps mentally beating the crap out of all of us who haven't gotten it all together like he has.
So, I've been playing a lot of music lately, and for some reason, while we were discussing sabbath, something my former guitar instructor once said to me came storming through my brain. "When you play is less important than when you stop playing. It's the silence that gives shape to the music."
Jimmy was no Zen master, and if I had talked to him about sabbath, he would've shaken his head and told me I needed more beer. But he understood it, understood that music is defined by the silence within and around it, understood that life is shaped by the rhythm of rest more than it is by work.
***A next day addendum***
Speaking of rest (but not necessarily rhythm), allergies/whatever bug I've picked up got the best of me last night. After thirteen hours of sleep, my head is clearer, food actually has a taste, and I can more or less breathe. I like this rest stuff.
To tell the truth, I didn't really have the day off either. I had a meeting this morning with my clergy group, which isn't work work, but also isn't exactly not work, since we spend most of our time talking about church.
Ironically - since I was sacrificing my off-day to be there - we were discussing the need for sabbath. We've been reading Working the Angles by Eugene Peterson, and he's a big proponent of sabbath.
I have a mixed relationship with the idea of sabbath. First of all, I didn't grow up practicing it. Second, by the time I learned what it was and started to think it might be important, I was already working in a church. When you work in church, the most obvious sabbath day is your big work day. Third, it seems like people's approaches toward sabbath run to the extremes: legalistic, or not at all.
The rhythm of sabbath seems not only appealing, but necessary. And yet...when does one find this time, consistently? And if you can make the time, how do you protect it without getting all rules-crazy about it? It just seems like an endless cycle of wondering. In the meantime, Eugene just keeps mentally beating the crap out of all of us who haven't gotten it all together like he has.
So, I've been playing a lot of music lately, and for some reason, while we were discussing sabbath, something my former guitar instructor once said to me came storming through my brain. "When you play is less important than when you stop playing. It's the silence that gives shape to the music."
Jimmy was no Zen master, and if I had talked to him about sabbath, he would've shaken his head and told me I needed more beer. But he understood it, understood that music is defined by the silence within and around it, understood that life is shaped by the rhythm of rest more than it is by work.
***A next day addendum***
Speaking of rest (but not necessarily rhythm), allergies/whatever bug I've picked up got the best of me last night. After thirteen hours of sleep, my head is clearer, food actually has a taste, and I can more or less breathe. I like this rest stuff.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Metal
I walk through the door repeating the mantra, "I belong here. I belong here." The guy who checks my ID has neck tattoos as well as full sleeves and those ear things that are more like large plugs than rings; the holes they've made in his earlobes must be at least an inch in diameter. He asks me if I'm sure I'm in the right place before he takes my cover. I belong here. Sure.
Everyone is wearing black. The girl next to me at the bar has so much hardware hanging from her ears, eyebrow, and nose that I'm not sure how she holds her head upright. I feel very blonde. And very clean. I wish that it hadn't seemed so important to shower today. I wish my tattoo was more visible. I wish I still owned black clothing that didn't look 'pastoral.' I wish all the friends I talked to about going with me hadn't said, "A heavy metal band? Uh...no."
The first band is awful, like someone screaming through mud. At the beginning of every song, the guitarists strike an identical wide-legged stance, all the better from which to headbang in unison. They have rhythm, but it seems to stay in their head region and not quite make it to their fingers; they change tempo a lot but can't stay together. I can see them as high schoolers, geeky and awkward with their comic books and all too obvious angst. Heavy metal exists for guys like these...but they're just plain bad. I wander around and meet a lot of people who all seem to have met each other on MySpace, a lot of people who look me over with a bit of skepticism but are ultimately pretty friendly.
The band I've come to see spends an eternity on soundchecks. I'm about to give up, swallow the cover, and head home when they finally start to play. They are actually good. It's angry, pounding, screeching music, but the rhythm is tight, and I'm surprised to realize that I still like this stuff. I want to jump up and down, but even in this crowd, there's only one guy leaping around in front of the stage. I'm not gutsy enough to join him. So I meet more MySpace people instead. Maybe I should join...nah.
The guy who invited me to see his band play never expected me to show up - especially not alone. He's hesitant when he asks, "So...what did you think?" He's trying to figure out whether I really enjoyed it, whether it is possible that I could have had fun. I suspect he still doesn't believe me, but ya know what? I did.
Everyone is wearing black. The girl next to me at the bar has so much hardware hanging from her ears, eyebrow, and nose that I'm not sure how she holds her head upright. I feel very blonde. And very clean. I wish that it hadn't seemed so important to shower today. I wish my tattoo was more visible. I wish I still owned black clothing that didn't look 'pastoral.' I wish all the friends I talked to about going with me hadn't said, "A heavy metal band? Uh...no."
The first band is awful, like someone screaming through mud. At the beginning of every song, the guitarists strike an identical wide-legged stance, all the better from which to headbang in unison. They have rhythm, but it seems to stay in their head region and not quite make it to their fingers; they change tempo a lot but can't stay together. I can see them as high schoolers, geeky and awkward with their comic books and all too obvious angst. Heavy metal exists for guys like these...but they're just plain bad. I wander around and meet a lot of people who all seem to have met each other on MySpace, a lot of people who look me over with a bit of skepticism but are ultimately pretty friendly.
The band I've come to see spends an eternity on soundchecks. I'm about to give up, swallow the cover, and head home when they finally start to play. They are actually good. It's angry, pounding, screeching music, but the rhythm is tight, and I'm surprised to realize that I still like this stuff. I want to jump up and down, but even in this crowd, there's only one guy leaping around in front of the stage. I'm not gutsy enough to join him. So I meet more MySpace people instead. Maybe I should join...nah.
The guy who invited me to see his band play never expected me to show up - especially not alone. He's hesitant when he asks, "So...what did you think?" He's trying to figure out whether I really enjoyed it, whether it is possible that I could have had fun. I suspect he still doesn't believe me, but ya know what? I did.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Memes are Great Avoidance Techniques
As mentioned in my previous post, my psychotic water heater has rendered me still sleep-dressed, glasses-wearing, and medusa-like in the hair department. I'm extra unmotivated before I've had a shower, and so, courtesy of Katherine, I present to you my latest diversion.
in my fridge:
1. Diet Mountain Dew
2. Iced green tea
3. Yogurt
4. An assortment of condiments, preserves, dressings, etc.
5. A chunk of bleu cheese
in my closet:
1. too many winter clothes
2. too many garments that once fit but are currently too big
3. a dog nail-trimmer
4. a pile of jewelry, scarves, and belts that I'm sure would make me look artfully accessorized and unbelievably stylish if I ever remembered to wear them
5. three bridesmaid dresses
in my purse:
1. the wonder-planner. It's not just a planner; it's also a wallet, address book, notebook, and calculator
2. cell phone
3. pens, pens, and more pens, because if I don't have several, I won't have just one when I need it
4. touch-up makeup
5. Leatherman all-purpose knife/pliers/wire-cutter/tool thingy. With a few flicks of my wrist, I can trim a hangnail, install new windshield wiper blades, restring my guitar, snip yarn ends, and have a panic attack when I realize it's still in my purse and I'm about to be inspected to board an airplane out of Haiti. By some miracle, the knife made it through, which made me simultaneously pleased and a little worried about the effectiveness of airport security.
in my car:
1. a large CD wallet
2. a bunch of CDs in the wrong cases that have yet to make it into the wallet
3. multiple empty diet dew cans and other assorted bottles and wrappers (kind people describe my car as 'lived-in')
4. a large atlas, a small atlas, and maps to this county, Albany, NYC, Boston, and Kentucky (one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just isn't the same...)
5. dog treats, dog toys, dog blanket, and dog towel to de-mud the dog after off-leash runs
on my TiVo...ok, I have no TiVo. However, making frequent appearances on my plain old TV lately:
1. God or the Girl
2. True Grit (I hesitate to admit this, but it's one of my favorite movies ever, and TCM has been playing it a lot this week)
3. Sex and the City reruns...despite the fact that I own 5 of the 6 seasons.
4. Gilmour Girls
5. Boston Public
I tag...whoever wants to do it, as usual. Let me know in the comments if you play.
in my fridge:
1. Diet Mountain Dew
2. Iced green tea
3. Yogurt
4. An assortment of condiments, preserves, dressings, etc.
5. A chunk of bleu cheese
in my closet:
1. too many winter clothes
2. too many garments that once fit but are currently too big
3. a dog nail-trimmer
4. a pile of jewelry, scarves, and belts that I'm sure would make me look artfully accessorized and unbelievably stylish if I ever remembered to wear them
5. three bridesmaid dresses
in my purse:
1. the wonder-planner. It's not just a planner; it's also a wallet, address book, notebook, and calculator
2. cell phone
3. pens, pens, and more pens, because if I don't have several, I won't have just one when I need it
4. touch-up makeup
5. Leatherman all-purpose knife/pliers/wire-cutter/tool thingy. With a few flicks of my wrist, I can trim a hangnail, install new windshield wiper blades, restring my guitar, snip yarn ends, and have a panic attack when I realize it's still in my purse and I'm about to be inspected to board an airplane out of Haiti. By some miracle, the knife made it through, which made me simultaneously pleased and a little worried about the effectiveness of airport security.
in my car:
1. a large CD wallet
2. a bunch of CDs in the wrong cases that have yet to make it into the wallet
3. multiple empty diet dew cans and other assorted bottles and wrappers (kind people describe my car as 'lived-in')
4. a large atlas, a small atlas, and maps to this county, Albany, NYC, Boston, and Kentucky (one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just isn't the same...)
5. dog treats, dog toys, dog blanket, and dog towel to de-mud the dog after off-leash runs
on my TiVo...ok, I have no TiVo. However, making frequent appearances on my plain old TV lately:
1. God or the Girl
2. True Grit (I hesitate to admit this, but it's one of my favorite movies ever, and TCM has been playing it a lot this week)
3. Sex and the City reruns...despite the fact that I own 5 of the 6 seasons.
4. Gilmour Girls
5. Boston Public
I tag...whoever wants to do it, as usual. Let me know in the comments if you play.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Computers Hate Me
I was so excited today to find a deeply discounted iPod. I've been looking at them for ages, and although funds are tight, it was a deal I couldn't pass up. So, I came home and started installing.
Everything appeared to be going swimmingly...until I tried to copy some music from my Windows Media library to the iPod. No go. Thinking maybe the problem was with the Win Media, I attempted to download some music from iTunes. iTunes announced that it needed to be reinstalled because the drivers weren't working properly. Disk back in...nothing. Odd. Check computer files...CD-ROM drive is gone. Oh, it's there, in the computer like always, but according to the computer, it no longer exists.
After two hours of fiddling around, uninstalling and reinstalling half of my computer, I have a CD-ROM drive...but it doesn't work. "The device is not functioning properly." And I have an iPod, but it doesn't work. "The drivers for this device are not functioning properly. Please reinstall iTunes." I can't reinstall iTunes, because the CD-ROM drive isn't working.
I want to scream.
I just want a computer that works. I know that's a materialistic thing, and that computers are not basic needs for life. But I really just want a computer that works.
Everything appeared to be going swimmingly...until I tried to copy some music from my Windows Media library to the iPod. No go. Thinking maybe the problem was with the Win Media, I attempted to download some music from iTunes. iTunes announced that it needed to be reinstalled because the drivers weren't working properly. Disk back in...nothing. Odd. Check computer files...CD-ROM drive is gone. Oh, it's there, in the computer like always, but according to the computer, it no longer exists.
After two hours of fiddling around, uninstalling and reinstalling half of my computer, I have a CD-ROM drive...but it doesn't work. "The device is not functioning properly." And I have an iPod, but it doesn't work. "The drivers for this device are not functioning properly. Please reinstall iTunes." I can't reinstall iTunes, because the CD-ROM drive isn't working.
I want to scream.
I just want a computer that works. I know that's a materialistic thing, and that computers are not basic needs for life. But I really just want a computer that works.
Gigs and Such
I have no plans to play any actual gigs. Playing spontaneous set breaks makes me pretty happy right now. Nonetheless, here I sit, limbering my fingers into the five-fret stretch of "Blackbird," relearning the lyrics of "Tangled Up in Blue," looking for songs that someone else might know. Laila is hiding upstairs, which might give some indication of exactly how badly I'm butchering "Fast Car." I never could play and sing at the same time on that song.
There are no plans to start playing out again...and yet, the guitar has been restrung, the amp tested, the notebook full of (mostly unfinished) lyrics has reappeared. No plans. But it never hurts to be prepared...
There are no plans to start playing out again...and yet, the guitar has been restrung, the amp tested, the notebook full of (mostly unfinished) lyrics has reappeared. No plans. But it never hurts to be prepared...
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Still Random After All These Years
Holy Week is officially over. Thanks be to God. Not that it wasn't good, mind you; it was, but it's still been the kind of week that makes me want to curl up and hiberate for a few days. Alas, I shall be doing no such thing. It'll be yet another hectic week here. No rest for the wicked, or something.
It's also been the kind of week where so much big stuff is going on that, in my down time, I've retreated into the shallow realm of haircuts and pictures of myself and such. My brain is utter mush.
Speaking of mush, I forgot to file my Indiana taxes until last night. Oops.
I mentioned in a previous post that there seems to be a lot of religious programming on television lately. That wasn't just a Holy Week phenomenon, however. A&E is currently showing "God or the Girl," a documentary sort of program about four young men trying to decide whether to enter the priesthood. I'm hooked. I'm generally fascinated by how people figure out what they're going to do with their lives, and during my time as a college chaplain, I discovered that I really enjoy helping people discern their vocation. The stakes are raised considerably when one is making a lifetime commitment that involves absolutely shutting off another option.
Of course, every "yes" to one path in life is also a "no" to another. But the decision to commit to a lifetime of celibacy...yowza. A friend is currently struggling with a similar choice, and I'm a total loss of what to say, other than that my prayers are with him. Sure, going into ministry involves sacrifices for me - and it may even hold the same end result, as it turns out - but it wasn't such an absolute closed door situation. Now I'm just rambling, but I'm having considerable empathy for these people and their discernment process.
On the other hand, I'm also feeling pretty irked on behalf of the women they are dating (the men on the show, not my friend) who have been put in some sort of holding pattern while the dudes figure out what they're doing. Just a little reminder that few decisions are made in isolation; we all affect others with our choices - and how we go about making them.
It's also been the kind of week where so much big stuff is going on that, in my down time, I've retreated into the shallow realm of haircuts and pictures of myself and such. My brain is utter mush.
Speaking of mush, I forgot to file my Indiana taxes until last night. Oops.
I mentioned in a previous post that there seems to be a lot of religious programming on television lately. That wasn't just a Holy Week phenomenon, however. A&E is currently showing "God or the Girl," a documentary sort of program about four young men trying to decide whether to enter the priesthood. I'm hooked. I'm generally fascinated by how people figure out what they're going to do with their lives, and during my time as a college chaplain, I discovered that I really enjoy helping people discern their vocation. The stakes are raised considerably when one is making a lifetime commitment that involves absolutely shutting off another option.
Of course, every "yes" to one path in life is also a "no" to another. But the decision to commit to a lifetime of celibacy...yowza. A friend is currently struggling with a similar choice, and I'm a total loss of what to say, other than that my prayers are with him. Sure, going into ministry involves sacrifices for me - and it may even hold the same end result, as it turns out - but it wasn't such an absolute closed door situation. Now I'm just rambling, but I'm having considerable empathy for these people and their discernment process.
On the other hand, I'm also feeling pretty irked on behalf of the women they are dating (the men on the show, not my friend) who have been put in some sort of holding pattern while the dudes figure out what they're doing. Just a little reminder that few decisions are made in isolation; we all affect others with our choices - and how we go about making them.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
The End of Lent
Several people I know gave up things for Lent, usually some food or luxury sort of item. Other people I know adopted some discipline for Lent, such as a more regular time of prayer or meditation. This year, I think I had anti-Lent. I gave up staying home alone. I gave up trying to be all pastoral and contemplative. I gave up being regimented about my schedule and the time in which I allowed myself to just have fun. The joke has become that I gave up Lent for Lent.
See, I spent my first year here in a sort of prolonged Lent. I worked a lot. I stayed home a lot. I was often silent. I stopped playing music except for church, stopped writing music altogether, stopped eating out and trying to make friends outside of my congregation. And really, as it turns out, that was an okay thing to do. I gave myself time to settle into my vocation and its particular expression here. I gave myself space to focus only on that.
But Lent rolled around this year just about the same time as my one year anniversary of being here. I didn't plan it, but that was around the same time that I started getting out more, going once a week to a place that had live music. I had been going out for about a month before I picked up a guitar after someone else's gig and just started playing. Another month passed before I ventured out to a new location where someone I had met was playing. When I showed up twice, he asked me to get up and play a couple of songs.
It's all sort of escalated from there. I've been playing a couple of songs during set breaks...then four...then six...Today I went to see his band play at a different bar, and ended up playing a few songs. Totally the wrong genre for the crowd, and with no rehearsal, and I forgot lyrics and messed up chords left and right and had to bluff...and yet, it was great (for me, anyway). He and the drummer got up to provide some additional instrumentation, and I have to tell you, my soul just swelled. There's nothing like it, that feeling of playing with a band behind you and hearing everything come together. My head is still spinning just a little from that few minutes of forgetting everything else and just singing, letting the rhythm carry my voice and the guitar become an extension of myself. I'm a little bit in love with the experience, frankly, in a way that I've never been in love with a person. I spent a year forgetting what that was like, weeding that feeling out of myself and replacing it with other challenges and other joys. Well, I gave up weeding for Lent. That part of me is back.
The best Lenten habits are the ones you keep up long after Easter - the ones the become a part of you and shape the rest of your life. They often involve sacrifice. On the surface, it seems like going out and playing music is hardly a sacrifice. Being the most me I ever am is not a sacrifice. But this is what Lent has taught me this year: sometimes it's walking away from the euphoria and learning to live between the highs that is the sacrifice. Letting the thing that gives you that sense of really living become secondary is the sacrifice.
I gave up isolation for Lent. I gave up giving up this part of myself. And I gave up leaving this part of me behind so that I wouldn't have to feel incomplete the rest of the time. There are many aspects of me, and some get subverted for the sake of others at various times; I just don't think I'll be giving up music again anytime soon.
See, I spent my first year here in a sort of prolonged Lent. I worked a lot. I stayed home a lot. I was often silent. I stopped playing music except for church, stopped writing music altogether, stopped eating out and trying to make friends outside of my congregation. And really, as it turns out, that was an okay thing to do. I gave myself time to settle into my vocation and its particular expression here. I gave myself space to focus only on that.
But Lent rolled around this year just about the same time as my one year anniversary of being here. I didn't plan it, but that was around the same time that I started getting out more, going once a week to a place that had live music. I had been going out for about a month before I picked up a guitar after someone else's gig and just started playing. Another month passed before I ventured out to a new location where someone I had met was playing. When I showed up twice, he asked me to get up and play a couple of songs.
It's all sort of escalated from there. I've been playing a couple of songs during set breaks...then four...then six...Today I went to see his band play at a different bar, and ended up playing a few songs. Totally the wrong genre for the crowd, and with no rehearsal, and I forgot lyrics and messed up chords left and right and had to bluff...and yet, it was great (for me, anyway). He and the drummer got up to provide some additional instrumentation, and I have to tell you, my soul just swelled. There's nothing like it, that feeling of playing with a band behind you and hearing everything come together. My head is still spinning just a little from that few minutes of forgetting everything else and just singing, letting the rhythm carry my voice and the guitar become an extension of myself. I'm a little bit in love with the experience, frankly, in a way that I've never been in love with a person. I spent a year forgetting what that was like, weeding that feeling out of myself and replacing it with other challenges and other joys. Well, I gave up weeding for Lent. That part of me is back.
The best Lenten habits are the ones you keep up long after Easter - the ones the become a part of you and shape the rest of your life. They often involve sacrifice. On the surface, it seems like going out and playing music is hardly a sacrifice. Being the most me I ever am is not a sacrifice. But this is what Lent has taught me this year: sometimes it's walking away from the euphoria and learning to live between the highs that is the sacrifice. Letting the thing that gives you that sense of really living become secondary is the sacrifice.
I gave up isolation for Lent. I gave up giving up this part of myself. And I gave up leaving this part of me behind so that I wouldn't have to feel incomplete the rest of the time. There are many aspects of me, and some get subverted for the sake of others at various times; I just don't think I'll be giving up music again anytime soon.
Procrastination Blogging
So, anyone have an Easter sermon I can pilfer?
Just kidding. If I was going to rip off a sermon, I'd take one from Fleming Rutledge. I relied rather heavily on her on Palm Sunday, however, so I guess this week I'll muddle through without the training wheels. And also without much sleep.
Last night we had our first storm, a sure sign that spring really is here. The thunder and lightening were not what woke me. I woke up to a cold nose on my foot, a paw pushing against my leg, and the low whistle of canine crying - and then the shudder of my whole bed as Laila decided she wouldn't wait for me to move over after all. She rarely sleeps in my bed anymore, having discovered the joys of overtaking the room formerly known as guest. But when she's afraid, there's just nothing like balling herself up against my stomach at 4am - and continuing to twitch and whine with every rumble of thunder. Hence my lack of sleep.
It cracks me up how many Bible-related shows and movies are on television this week. Right now, my choices are "Mysteries of the Bible: The Last Supper" (part of an all-day Mysteries marathon, no less), "Passion of the Saints," multiple showings of "Songs of Praise," and "David and Bathsheba" (Gregory Peck as David, with some very whiny sons and a deliberately seductive Bathsheba who purposely bathes where David is sure to see her, and begs him to 'break the law of Moses' with her. Yowza). That's not even counting the "Christian" stations. Unfortunately, I suspect that my Easter inspiration is not going to come from any of this fine programming.
Well, I suppose I should stop yapping here and get back to writing the aforementioned sermon. Oh, I will be glad when Easter is over.
Just kidding. If I was going to rip off a sermon, I'd take one from Fleming Rutledge. I relied rather heavily on her on Palm Sunday, however, so I guess this week I'll muddle through without the training wheels. And also without much sleep.
Last night we had our first storm, a sure sign that spring really is here. The thunder and lightening were not what woke me. I woke up to a cold nose on my foot, a paw pushing against my leg, and the low whistle of canine crying - and then the shudder of my whole bed as Laila decided she wouldn't wait for me to move over after all. She rarely sleeps in my bed anymore, having discovered the joys of overtaking the room formerly known as guest. But when she's afraid, there's just nothing like balling herself up against my stomach at 4am - and continuing to twitch and whine with every rumble of thunder. Hence my lack of sleep.
It cracks me up how many Bible-related shows and movies are on television this week. Right now, my choices are "Mysteries of the Bible: The Last Supper" (part of an all-day Mysteries marathon, no less), "Passion of the Saints," multiple showings of "Songs of Praise," and "David and Bathsheba" (Gregory Peck as David, with some very whiny sons and a deliberately seductive Bathsheba who purposely bathes where David is sure to see her, and begs him to 'break the law of Moses' with her. Yowza). That's not even counting the "Christian" stations. Unfortunately, I suspect that my Easter inspiration is not going to come from any of this fine programming.
Well, I suppose I should stop yapping here and get back to writing the aforementioned sermon. Oh, I will be glad when Easter is over.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
The Trivialities Continue
I did indeed have my hair recut, and it looks pretty decent. I took a picture, but the camera cord has disappeared. The back still bears a strange ridge-like section of hair which is apparently impossible to fix. It seems I have finally reached the limit of how short I can go.
However, the hair catastrophe ended up having some benefits. First, I realized I was close to the fabric store, so I spared myself an hour tomorrow and bought the black fabric I need for the Maundy Thursday service. Second, the fabric store is right next to the Chinese buffet, which sometimes serves something closely resembling sushi - which I have been craving like none other. So I popped in for takeout, and ran into a musician friend person I've recently gotten to know a bit. End of the takeout idea. Hoorah for social lunches!
It's funny how inconveniences can lead to lovely things.
It's Wednesday of Holy Week, and despite working 13-14 hours each of the last two days, the list remains long. So, what am I doing? Excessively and inanely blogging, of course. Lethargy has claimed my day. This is not a good sign.
However, the hair catastrophe ended up having some benefits. First, I realized I was close to the fabric store, so I spared myself an hour tomorrow and bought the black fabric I need for the Maundy Thursday service. Second, the fabric store is right next to the Chinese buffet, which sometimes serves something closely resembling sushi - which I have been craving like none other. So I popped in for takeout, and ran into a musician friend person I've recently gotten to know a bit. End of the takeout idea. Hoorah for social lunches!
It's funny how inconveniences can lead to lovely things.
It's Wednesday of Holy Week, and despite working 13-14 hours each of the last two days, the list remains long. So, what am I doing? Excessively and inanely blogging, of course. Lethargy has claimed my day. This is not a good sign.
Trivial but Disruptive Things
The last thing I want to worry about this week is how I look - which is why I got my hair cut yesterday. It was getting downright shaggy, and hair hanging in the eyes tends to be a distraction while I'm preaching. Not only to myself, either, as evidenced by the multiple kind women who recommended bobby pins to me last Sunday.
Time out. I am reminded of my all-time favorite (not) post-preaching comment: "You shouldn't push your hair behind your ears when you preach. It reminds people that you're a woman." In case the skirt, high heels, and general shape didn't tip you off...
Anyway. People seem to be overly interested in my hair. So, lest I brush it out of my eyes on Easter and start some sort of riot, I had it cut.
My hair is not difficult to cut. It has sometimes looked better than others, but it has never in my life been cut truly badly. Until now. It looked fine in the salon mirror, but a half hour later, I caught sight of myself in the rearview mirror and almost ran off the road with shock. My hair is now choppy and uneven and just sloppy. Oh, and that's not the best part. Last night I realized that she hadn't shown me the back of this miracle cut - and for good reason. Some sort of consistent length SOMEWHERE would be good.
Now, I know it's just hair and it will grow back and all of those cliches people tell you when it's not their hair that looks terrible. But this is my hair, and it looks awful, and it makes me want to cry and throttle the stylist (more the latter than the former). However, I'm taking a third option. Back to the salon with me, to see if someone can make something presentable out of the crazy shingley mess that is currently my head.
Time out. I am reminded of my all-time favorite (not) post-preaching comment: "You shouldn't push your hair behind your ears when you preach. It reminds people that you're a woman." In case the skirt, high heels, and general shape didn't tip you off...
Anyway. People seem to be overly interested in my hair. So, lest I brush it out of my eyes on Easter and start some sort of riot, I had it cut.
My hair is not difficult to cut. It has sometimes looked better than others, but it has never in my life been cut truly badly. Until now. It looked fine in the salon mirror, but a half hour later, I caught sight of myself in the rearview mirror and almost ran off the road with shock. My hair is now choppy and uneven and just sloppy. Oh, and that's not the best part. Last night I realized that she hadn't shown me the back of this miracle cut - and for good reason. Some sort of consistent length SOMEWHERE would be good.
Now, I know it's just hair and it will grow back and all of those cliches people tell you when it's not their hair that looks terrible. But this is my hair, and it looks awful, and it makes me want to cry and throttle the stylist (more the latter than the former). However, I'm taking a third option. Back to the salon with me, to see if someone can make something presentable out of the crazy shingley mess that is currently my head.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Adventure Over Safety
I guess I've always been the kind of person who chooses adventure over safety. Of course, even one who disregards her own physical well-being never expects to find herself clinging to a highway guard rail with eighty pounds of dog dangling from a leash over a twenty-foot drop.
I had to bring a Maundy Thursday reading to a congregant who lives about a quarter of a mile from my house. Driving just seemed silly, it was a beautiful day, and the dog and I both needed exercise, so we walked. The thing about this particular quarter-mile stretch of highway is that part of it has maybe almost a foot of shoulder, a guard rail, and about a foot of flat-ish ground on the other side of the rail before there's a sharp drop-off down to a small stream. Given the choice between risking the Wal-mart trucks that haul through there and the drop-off, guess which one I chose?
However, it did not occur to me that Laila would be magnetically drawn to the stream and decide to make a mad dash down the slope. Thank God for the guard rail, without which I would have been very wet and probably in considerable pain.
Oh yes, and I'm SO glad to know that there were people outside to watch me hanging on for dear life and trying to tow my dog back up the incline. Splendid. Dignified, I am not.
I had to bring a Maundy Thursday reading to a congregant who lives about a quarter of a mile from my house. Driving just seemed silly, it was a beautiful day, and the dog and I both needed exercise, so we walked. The thing about this particular quarter-mile stretch of highway is that part of it has maybe almost a foot of shoulder, a guard rail, and about a foot of flat-ish ground on the other side of the rail before there's a sharp drop-off down to a small stream. Given the choice between risking the Wal-mart trucks that haul through there and the drop-off, guess which one I chose?
However, it did not occur to me that Laila would be magnetically drawn to the stream and decide to make a mad dash down the slope. Thank God for the guard rail, without which I would have been very wet and probably in considerable pain.
Oh yes, and I'm SO glad to know that there were people outside to watch me hanging on for dear life and trying to tow my dog back up the incline. Splendid. Dignified, I am not.
Monday, April 10, 2006
It was on the Monday
It was on the Monday that religion got in the way...
He turned the tables on Monday...the day that religion got in the way.*
It's only Monday, and I swear, I'm already losing my mind. This does not bode well for the rest of the week.
I left a comment at WaiterRant last week, essentially saying that the problem with the restaurant industry is that it requires you to deal with people, who rarely act as you wish they would. Well, that is also true of the church. People just don't usually behave the way you expect or want. Now, sometimes surprise behavior is good, and they blow you away with unanticipated thoughtfulness (like the person who returned my church-related phone call by asking why I was working on my day off...just the fact that this was noticed made my day a little better). But often these surprises are not pleasant ones, and you find yourself in the midst of "shock and awe" attack operations. It was on the Monday that she found herself subjected to several unexpected behaviors from others. Not so much fun.
The trick, of course, is to try to see beyond your irritated surprise and the less than tactful delivery to the valid point being made. As much as I hate to admit it, there are valid points, and so I've spent most of today trying to considerately negotiate these situations.
Nonetheless, I'm feeling more than a little worn down by the events of today. Worn down is not what I wish to be at the beginning of Holy Week, with four services still coming down the pike.
On the Monday of Holy week, the crippled and the blind came to Jesus in the Temple and he healed them.*
May God who broke down barriers and healed on the Monday bind up our crippled and worn-out emotions this week, and open our eyes to the goodness in those around us.
* quotes from "It was on the Monday" in Stages on the Way, Wild Goose Worship Group
He turned the tables on Monday...the day that religion got in the way.*
It's only Monday, and I swear, I'm already losing my mind. This does not bode well for the rest of the week.
I left a comment at WaiterRant last week, essentially saying that the problem with the restaurant industry is that it requires you to deal with people, who rarely act as you wish they would. Well, that is also true of the church. People just don't usually behave the way you expect or want. Now, sometimes surprise behavior is good, and they blow you away with unanticipated thoughtfulness (like the person who returned my church-related phone call by asking why I was working on my day off...just the fact that this was noticed made my day a little better). But often these surprises are not pleasant ones, and you find yourself in the midst of "shock and awe" attack operations. It was on the Monday that she found herself subjected to several unexpected behaviors from others. Not so much fun.
The trick, of course, is to try to see beyond your irritated surprise and the less than tactful delivery to the valid point being made. As much as I hate to admit it, there are valid points, and so I've spent most of today trying to considerately negotiate these situations.
Nonetheless, I'm feeling more than a little worn down by the events of today. Worn down is not what I wish to be at the beginning of Holy Week, with four services still coming down the pike.
On the Monday of Holy week, the crippled and the blind came to Jesus in the Temple and he healed them.*
May God who broke down barriers and healed on the Monday bind up our crippled and worn-out emotions this week, and open our eyes to the goodness in those around us.
* quotes from "It was on the Monday" in Stages on the Way, Wild Goose Worship Group
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Palms and Passion
We were loud this morning in church.
I brought noisemakers and horns. The long strips of palm were perfect for snapping (It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye...fortunately, no one did). We yelled. Several times. I yelled more than anyone, because the wireless microphone is broken, and this morning's service involved being in various locations in the sanctuary. I don't know how ministers did it before there were microphones; my voice is now a bit ragged.
I am now convinced, yelling in church is good for the soul.
So is jumping in church. I did that too. It made the kids laugh, and some of them even jumped with me.
I did my first "children's sermon" ever, which actually involved the whole congregation, but we'll call it a children's sermon because it helps the adults feel less silly about shouting in church if they're "doing it for the kids." It was a completely random moment of "Aha! I know what I'll do with all these noisemakers; I'll throw in a children's sermon!"
After much arm-waving, jumping, yelling, and dashing around the sanctuary a bit like the Pied Piper, with a stream of kids wandering behind me, I finally made it back to the safe, calm little world of the pulpit. Note to self: get more than four hours of sleep before attempting such antics. I thought I was going to collapse. However, adrenaline and grace overcome even sleep deprivation, it seems, and the "real" sermon poured out of me with unexpected force.
I then proceeded to utterly bumble the congregational prayer. Seriously, I had to apologize afterward for completely misreading a very important prayer request that I really should have understood. Which is when I rediscovered that publicly admitting you've screwed up royally is also good for the soul.
I'm not sure this post has a point, except that church was very good this morning. Things certainly did not go according to plan. The sound system was a mess. The kids marched when they were supposed to be waiting and froze when they were supposed to be waving the palms. I signaled the sound guy to turn up the music, and the whole congregation stood up. I biffed the prayers. Some people avoided the children-in-church factor by staying home or attending the early service. Nonetheless, it was a wonderful morning. We had a big breakfast in between services. Attendance was huge, and spread across all age demographics. Both services felt alive in that way I wish they always did, but they often don't. It felt like the church I hope and pray we will be. It couldn't have come at a better time for me, as I was just remarking yesterday about how dry and stretched-thin I've felt lately. Now I'm ready to jump up and do it all again for Easter...after I get some sleep, of course. You know, one would almost think that God was at work or something!
Thus begins Holy Week. Praise be to God, I think we may actually be ready for it.
I brought noisemakers and horns. The long strips of palm were perfect for snapping (It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye...fortunately, no one did). We yelled. Several times. I yelled more than anyone, because the wireless microphone is broken, and this morning's service involved being in various locations in the sanctuary. I don't know how ministers did it before there were microphones; my voice is now a bit ragged.
I am now convinced, yelling in church is good for the soul.
So is jumping in church. I did that too. It made the kids laugh, and some of them even jumped with me.
I did my first "children's sermon" ever, which actually involved the whole congregation, but we'll call it a children's sermon because it helps the adults feel less silly about shouting in church if they're "doing it for the kids." It was a completely random moment of "Aha! I know what I'll do with all these noisemakers; I'll throw in a children's sermon!"
After much arm-waving, jumping, yelling, and dashing around the sanctuary a bit like the Pied Piper, with a stream of kids wandering behind me, I finally made it back to the safe, calm little world of the pulpit. Note to self: get more than four hours of sleep before attempting such antics. I thought I was going to collapse. However, adrenaline and grace overcome even sleep deprivation, it seems, and the "real" sermon poured out of me with unexpected force.
I then proceeded to utterly bumble the congregational prayer. Seriously, I had to apologize afterward for completely misreading a very important prayer request that I really should have understood. Which is when I rediscovered that publicly admitting you've screwed up royally is also good for the soul.
I'm not sure this post has a point, except that church was very good this morning. Things certainly did not go according to plan. The sound system was a mess. The kids marched when they were supposed to be waiting and froze when they were supposed to be waving the palms. I signaled the sound guy to turn up the music, and the whole congregation stood up. I biffed the prayers. Some people avoided the children-in-church factor by staying home or attending the early service. Nonetheless, it was a wonderful morning. We had a big breakfast in between services. Attendance was huge, and spread across all age demographics. Both services felt alive in that way I wish they always did, but they often don't. It felt like the church I hope and pray we will be. It couldn't have come at a better time for me, as I was just remarking yesterday about how dry and stretched-thin I've felt lately. Now I'm ready to jump up and do it all again for Easter...after I get some sleep, of course. You know, one would almost think that God was at work or something!
Thus begins Holy Week. Praise be to God, I think we may actually be ready for it.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Day Off!
Rejoice! It is Monday. It is my day off. Wonder of wonders, it actually looks like it will be a day completely without work. Yes, I realize that would be the definition of a "day off." Yet, it so rarely happens that way that I'm a bit shocked at the idea, and not entirely sure what to do with myself. Sleep is a given.
Or, so I thought. However, my plans to sleep in were interrupted by an early phone call from my brother - who NEVER calls me. I have a new niece! Welcome to the world, Adeline. I suspect I'll meet you in a couple of months.
By the way, half of the world seems to be pregnant right now. I don't have much to say about that except that I'm completely at a loss of how to respond to pregnancy.
Much soul-shifting is happening over here lately. Unfortunately, it's proving resistant to coherent expression. Hi, my name is Stacey, and I'm an extrovert. I barely think if I'm not conversing. So, change is hard and slow for me when I don't have regular "hanging out" time with people who can participate in the bouncing around of ideas. And while this blog is a wonderful outlet, it's not a conversation. So, please bear with me while I sputter and hint and attempt to work things out.
Or, so I thought. However, my plans to sleep in were interrupted by an early phone call from my brother - who NEVER calls me. I have a new niece! Welcome to the world, Adeline. I suspect I'll meet you in a couple of months.
By the way, half of the world seems to be pregnant right now. I don't have much to say about that except that I'm completely at a loss of how to respond to pregnancy.
Much soul-shifting is happening over here lately. Unfortunately, it's proving resistant to coherent expression. Hi, my name is Stacey, and I'm an extrovert. I barely think if I'm not conversing. So, change is hard and slow for me when I don't have regular "hanging out" time with people who can participate in the bouncing around of ideas. And while this blog is a wonderful outlet, it's not a conversation. So, please bear with me while I sputter and hint and attempt to work things out.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Communion
This morning a couple of kids approached me after the first service and asked if they could eat the leftover communion bread. Judging from their elation when I handed it to them, they had expected me to say no. With big grins, they took the bread and cups of juice and spread out a picnic on the sanctuary floor. Which caused quite the array of frowns and murmurs from some of the older members.
I suppose it wasn't very reverent of them (or of me to allow it), but I couldn't help but smile as I watched them breaking off pieces of bread and dipping them in the juice, laughing as they tried to divide it evenly among them, and joking about getting a little extra Jesus. I suppose it looked to some like blatant disrespect of the elements of the Lord's Supper. To me, it just looked like communion. And hey, don't we all need a little extra Jesus from time to time?
I suppose it wasn't very reverent of them (or of me to allow it), but I couldn't help but smile as I watched them breaking off pieces of bread and dipping them in the juice, laughing as they tried to divide it evenly among them, and joking about getting a little extra Jesus. I suppose it looked to some like blatant disrespect of the elements of the Lord's Supper. To me, it just looked like communion. And hey, don't we all need a little extra Jesus from time to time?
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Taking Yourself Too Seriously Does Not a Great April Fools' Spoof Make
Today's email update from Sojourners, with the subject line "April Fools' SojokeMail," began with this paragraph at the very top of the email:
WARNING: The contents of this "April Fools' SojokeMail" are entirely satirical
While Sojourners cares deeply about the serious issues of our day, we also recognize the tonic value of a good laugh and a well-aimed spoof. The ancient roots of April Fools' Day even included slaves ruling their masters and mocking the king. So in that spirit of subversive humor we offer this equal-opportunity satire - and promise that we'll return to our usual docket of thoughtful and inspiring commentary next week.
No animals were harmed in the making of this e-zine.
Dear Sojourners,
You're great. I appreciate the work you do, and enjoy reading the weekly updates. However, in regards to the April Fools' email: it's not funny if you have to flash "THIS IS A JOKE! THIS IS ONLY A JOKE!" warnings everywhere. As you were.
Stacey
WARNING: The contents of this "April Fools' SojokeMail" are entirely satirical
While Sojourners cares deeply about the serious issues of our day, we also recognize the tonic value of a good laugh and a well-aimed spoof. The ancient roots of April Fools' Day even included slaves ruling their masters and mocking the king. So in that spirit of subversive humor we offer this equal-opportunity satire - and promise that we'll return to our usual docket of thoughtful and inspiring commentary next week.
No animals were harmed in the making of this e-zine.
Dear Sojourners,
You're great. I appreciate the work you do, and enjoy reading the weekly updates. However, in regards to the April Fools' email: it's not funny if you have to flash "THIS IS A JOKE! THIS IS ONLY A JOKE!" warnings everywhere. As you were.
Stacey
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