The Almond Branch

War and such

2010-08-31T11:37:00.003-04:00

So, I was reading this article this morning in the New York Times about the troops in Afghanistan, and it reminded me of a poem that I read on Sunday. Both of them also resonate with how I have been feeling about this endless, amorphous war in the Middle East. Everyone seems to know a soldier who has been deployed in this war, and yet there is a feeling of distance about it, as though it doesn't really affect us. If we really thought it affected us, I suspect we'd be more intent on ending it. Of course, it does affect us, in a number of ways: the death toll, the mental health of returning soldiers, the ever-increasing national debt, etc. But somehow we've been numbed to these effects, and to any real sense that we might bring an end to the war. I'm probably going to be called unpatriotic and told I'm not supporting the troops for saying so, but I tend to be of the opinion that trying to keep them alive and emotionally functional is being supportive.

(And then there are the various race and class issues involved in the military, which are mentioned in both the article and the poem, but which I am just not feeling the mental stamina to address. Another day, another post.)

the con job
by Charles Bukowski

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here.
the U.S. ground troops were
largely
made up of
Blacks, Mexicans and poor
whites
most of whom had joined
the military
because it was the only job
they could find.

the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here
and the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
as on tv
and on the radio
the fat white rich newscasters
first told us all about
it
and then the fat rich white
analysts
told us
why
again
and again
and again
on almost every
tv and radio station
almost every minute
day and night
because
the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
at dawn
in a desert land
far enough away from
here.

Sermon for July 4 (Luke 10)

2010-07-04T22:22:00.000-04:00

Happy fourth of July! Obviously today is the day we celebrate our independence as a nation, so I’ve been thinking about freedom this week. Perhaps this isn’t as true for other generations, but for many people of my age at least, there was a critical moment in which there was a shift in our understanding of the meaning of freedom. It was in 1995 - coincidentally, the year of my graduation from high school - and our concept of freedom was forever altered as we watched Mel Gibson paint his face a historically inaccurate but very dramatic blue, and give his unlikely army a pep talk ending with this phrase: “They may take our lives, but they will never take our FREEDOM!!!!!!”

Yes, oddly enough, it was the movie “Braveheart” that made some of us realize that freedom was not just something that people could die for, which we had been taught anyway by grandparents and American history classes. We came to understand that there is something about freedom that was bigger than death - something about true freedom that even death could not take away.

Of course, what I and some of my peers learned from Braveheart, I suppose others have been learning over the last couple of thousand years from Jesus.

In today’s passage from Luke, we find Jesus giving a “pep talk” of his own, not to warriors about to charge into battle, but to a rag-tag group of followers he was sending out in pairs as ambassadors of sorts to the surrounding villages. Go, armed simply with the message of peace. Bring nothing - no, money, no food rations, no extra clothing, not even shoes. Rely on the hospitality of strangers. There will be a risk that you will be unwelcome - a likelihood, in fact, and this is what you should do if - or rather when - it happens. By the way, you will be like lambs in the middle of a hungry wolf pack. For a pep talk, this is not terribly peppy.

And yet, the seventy disciples go out, and when they return, they are not full of stories of being chased out of town, or running out of food, or of the horrible rejection they’ve received. They return with joy, with stories of the healings they had done, with jubilation at the things they had been able to accomplish. And Jesus confirms for them that they have authority even over snakes and scorpions - which I don’t think means just the literal creatures of the ground, but rather anything that might strike out to harm them. They have authority even over all the power of the enemy. They have freedom to go, to preach, to rely on the hospitality of strangers, to live and travel without worry, and it is a freedom that even all the powers of death can not take away from them.

I think that one of the compelling things about Braveheart was that image of Mel Gibson and the cinematic Scotsmen charging across a field, knowing some of them were going to die, expecting death, even - and yet this was the moment in which they were least afraid. There’s something of that same feeling, I think, in the disciples at this moment - in this group of random people picked up here and there as they were drawn by the call of Jesus, who were in most other moments completely confused by the things that he said - when they headed off in pairs to preach a message they were just beginning to understand, in expectation of danger to themselves. And yet, this is the moment in which they are most certain. This is the moment in which they are least afraid.

As Americans, we like to talk a lot about freedom. We sing songs about it and create holidays to celebrate it. We have it written into the founding documents of our nation: freedom of expression, assembly, religion, the freedom to bear arms, freedom from unreasonable search and seizure and unfair trial, etc. All very important freedoms to have, all worth standing up for.

One of the things we don’t talk so much about, however, is freedom from fear. In fact, it might be suggested that we have built a load of multimillion-dollar industries around our fear. Think about the number of businesses who create products and services that protect us from one thing or another: pharmaceutical companies that preserve us from pain and illness, companies that fill food with preservatives so that it doesn’t make us ill, other companies that make “all natural” food that won’t kill us with preservatives, auto manufacturers who make our cars as impervious to impact as possible, alarm systems and security companies to protect our stuff, data storage and anti-virus services to protect our information, research agencies that tell us which water bottles are safe to drink from and which will give us cancer. I can’t begin to think of the number of companies who currently sell products that protect our children, with everything from baby gates and bicycle helmets to tracking devices and security cameras.

The appealing thing about all of these products and services is that they do, in some ways, keep us healthier and safer, which is a positive thing. But they also depend on people being fearful of all the things that might harm them. Although there are many things to be celebrated about this country, our government, as well, has been known at various points in history to depend on and take advantage of the fear of the American people, and there have been times when we have traded in that precious freedom we talk about so much, giving up civil liberties for ourselves or others, in order to preserve a sense of safety, whether it be from communist, terrorist, or immigrant.

This kind of freedom only goes so far. It might give us a longer life, but trap us in a lifetime of fear of our own mortality. It might allow us to pursue all the success and possessions we want, but in exchange for daily anxiety about keeping up with our neighbors, maintaining our reputations, and protecting our assets. This might be the American dream, I guess, but to me it doesn’t sound much like freedom.

Now, I’m not saying that we have to give away everything we have and become itinerant to be faithful - although according to some accounts, Jesus might disagree. I’m not saying that we should never be concerned for our own safety or the safety of others - although there is a part of Bible that tells us that we need never worry about what we will eat, or drink or wear, or what will come tomorrow. We all have to work out what those things mean for ourselves, individually and in community, and it would be a mistake and a terrible hypocrisy for me to tell you what to do. But I am saying that maybe we should take a little closer look at what freedom really means, and that we might get some insight into that from the kind of freedom Jesus offers the disciples.

No purse, no bag, no sandals...freedom from money and the obsession that it can be, freedom from possessions and the need to carry the burden of them, or protect them.

Say first, “Peace to this house...” Freedom from violence or the fear of it.

Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide...freedom from the mindless busyness of traveling here and there in pursuit of a better offer, freedom from worrying about whether basic needs will be met.

Even the dust that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you...freedom from being crushed by someone’s dislike or ruled by their opinion.

Authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing will hurt you...freedom from fear of harm, freedom even from fear of death.

The kinds of freedoms we have in this country are valuable and important, and people have died to defend them and continue to do so. And yet, they are not the same as the freedom that Christ offers us - which is not only the knowledge that some things are worth dying for, but the assurance that ultimately, even death itself cannot overcome us. The Braveheart vision of freedom, by the way, also falls short of true freedom. It’s a freedom based on violence, on the idea that by killing the people who are doing wrong we can escape from fear. But the way of human beings is that violence generally doesn’t cause peace, it causes more violence, and violence in turn causes fear, which takes away freedom. Christ’s way of freedom is one of peace: of going to the stranger without a sword or even a staff in hand, of welcoming relationship and collaboration, of receiving rejection by simply shaking off the dust of your feet and moving on.

Christ’s freedom enables us to make decisions about the way we live that are not based on worry about what others will think about us or do to us, but rather on what is the best choice: for those we love, for other people we encounter, for the whole of creation, and for ourselves. True freedom has no need to fear injury or rejection, because it does not need to fear even death itself.

I know we don’t quote the Heidelberg Catechism around here much, but it is one of the confessions that the Reformed Church holds to, and as I think about freedom on this 4th of July, I’m particularly drawn to question and answer #1: What is your only comfort in life and in death? That I am not my own, but belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful savior Jesus Christ. Today we celebrate the nation in which we live, and the tremendous opportunities we are given by living in it. But we also recognize that above that allegiance, we are citizens in the kingdom of God come near - and in that belonging we find true freedom.

O Dear, Dear Gender Issues, Won't You Arise Again?

2010-06-17T14:30:00.002-04:00

I've just returned from a week at General Synod. There were no gender-related issues on the agenda. The Commission for Women brought no recommendations to the floor. And yet, when two women were the only nominees for Vice President, comments on the synod blogs reassured us that "the women's issue" is still alive and kicking in the RCA. Then I returned home, and suddenly bunches of my friends are posting gender-related articles on Facebook - a couple about the tyranny of our appearance-obsessed culture over women (important, but not unusual), and then a more atypical one about the trouble with being male today.

I'm the moderator of the aforementioned Commission for Women. I care deeply about empowering women to use their gifts in the full ministry of the Church. And yet, as I read and hear the various comments made during General Synod, and then read these articles about the wider world, I start to wonder whether what we need is something more than a Commission for Women. Maybe we need a Commission for Men, too. Contrary to popular opinion, I wouldn't be opposed to a ministry that helped men understand how best to use their gifts in the life of the church; I just don't want to create or chair it. Or maybe we actually need to throw out this single-gender advancement business and start a Commission for Working Out Our Gender and Sexuality Crap - because people, it seems we have some issues.

I haven't done a whole lot of factual research about it, but I've observed anecdotally some fairly disturbing trends amongst the men I know. As a result, I agree that a lot of men feel displaced by women's increasing independence and leadership, and uncertain about how to live into their own humanity when traditional masculinity is less valued than it once was. Some men react to that by becoming lazier, or subservient to the woman/women in their lives. Some others react by clinging to traditional ideas of masculine and feminine traits and roles (and reinforcing it with religion, which is where it becomes fun for me). The happiest men I know, the ones who seem most comfortable with themselves as humans and as men, are the ones who don't seem overly concerned with which role goes with which gender, and who have instead chosen to embrace the idea that people are unique and should do the things that fit their gifts, talents, and interests, regardless of their anatomy.

People tend to throw Scripture around when it comes to gender roles, but they seem to forget this one: "There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus (Galatians 3:28)." I don't really understand how people read that without getting the idea that Christ eradicates all outward distinctions between us and allows us to simply be who we are in Christ. And I wonder, in my idealistic moments, wouldn't it be a great thing if we could get over all of this finger pointing and telling each other what we are and aren't supposed to do, and just allow each other to figure out who we are called to be? But what do I know; I'm just one of those power-grabbing, emasculating, ungodly women.

On running and such

2010-04-08T11:47:00.003-04:00

For about a month now I have been getting back into running regularly. I do somewhere between 2.5-4 miles a day (some of that is running, some is walking, some is jogging in place as my dog smells things, does her business, and rolls in people's yards), five days a week. Some days I can run a 5k with hardly a thought, other days I get to a mile and a half and want to die. It's an interesting process. At the moment my goal is to become someone who can just decide, "Hey, there's a 5k this weekend, I think I'll run it," and not have to worry about whether I'll be the panting idiot who is walking halfway through.

I miss the days when I could just go out and run six miles without a strain. I do not, however, miss how obsessive I was during that period of my life, in which I ran like a crazy person and basically ate lettuce and grilled chicken. But I had started to see the numbers on the scale go down, and for the first time in my life, I actually cared. All that work got me down to a size and weight that still would have made most of the women I know scream in fright and call Jenny Craig, but what do you do? I didn't even care much about my appearance; it was being able to see progress in numbers that got me.

And then I stopped being a compulsive runner, and returned to eating things other than lettuce and chicken, and the pendulum swung back the other way, and I gained too much weight again, blah blah blah. Which brings us to now.

Running makes my body regulate itself better. When I'm running, I have a better relationship with food (except that lettuce and chicken blip), because my body tends to say, "HEY! I can't do what you're asking me to do if you keep feeding me fries and pizza. Eat a vegetable already." I drink less because it makes me sluggish. I sleep better. I have more energy and deal better with stress. It's a good thing all around.

But here's something frustrating: I've been doing this for a month now. I've cut my calorie intake almost in half. And I have lost exactly ONE POUND.

I wish I could be okay with just being calmer, happier, and healthier. But I want to see a measurable result. I want to see some numbers dropping. If whoever is in charge of that could get on it, that'd be fab.

Back, sort of

2010-03-25T12:47:00.002-04:00

Um, hi. Once again, I got out of the rhythm of regular blogging, and was somewhat swallowed by the rush of life. In fact, right now, I am only taking a brief break from trying to organize the ridiculousness that is my office to drop by and remind myself and anyone still visiting here that yes, I do still have a blog. In case anyone is wondering, my office will cease to look like a donation center when I can ship off the last of the hygiene and baby kits to Haiti, which will happen when I acquire about 10 baby sleepers/gowns, 12 cloth diapers, 5 nail clippers, about a dozen gallon bags, some shipping boxes, and the check that needs to go with the kits to cover handling costs.

It has been a week of minor irritations. My back is out, I have some sort of hacking cough illness that won't quite go away and that is keeping me from sleeping well, I've spent too much time on hold, fielded too many complaints, had too many things go just slightly awry. In honor of the times in which things are just not quite right, I share with you this poem.

In Answer to Your Query

by Naomi Lazard

We are sorry to inform you

the item you ordered

is no longer being produced.

It has not gone out of style

nor have people lost interest in it.

In fact, it has become

one of our most desired products.

Its popularity is still growing.

Orders for it come in

at an ever increasing rate.

However, a top-level decision

has caused this product

to be discontinued forever.

Instead of the item you ordered

we are sending you something else.

It is not hte same thing,

nor is it a reasonable facsimile.

It is what we have in stock,

the very best we can offer.

If you are not happy

with this substitution

let us know as soon as possible.

As you can imagine

we already have quite an accumulation

of letters such as the one

you may or may not write.

To be totally fair

We respond to these complaints

as they come in.

Yours will be filed accordingly,

answered in its turn.

You know it's going to be good when they use the word "terrorism"

2010-03-09T14:57:00.002-05:00

So, last week I was on jury duty. I thought about postponing, which apparently you can do pretty easily if you're clergy, but then I thought, "What week will ever be better?" Monday morning, into the courthouse I went, completely ignorant of the local news because I had spent the two weeks before on a youth mission trip to Brooklyn and then in denominational meetings in Phoenix. It turns out I was one of 600 potential jurors summoned for this huge, high-profile case. The guy has 23 charges against him, one of which is terrorism. Excellent.

Fortunately, I was not chosen for this jury, which will last at least a month and which seems to me to be likely to be sequestered because of all of the media coverage. One of the questions the lawyers asked was about whether jurors would be able to go without internet, and social networking sites in particular, for a month. Gentlemen, I am not the juror for you. My number was never even called (I was one of about eight people left), which means that I spent the week hearing a lot of information about strangers. Anyway, yahoo, that is over.

In theory, I am now back in commission. However, the thing about being basically gone for three weeks is that there is a whole lot of catch-up to do. I'm slogging through my to-do list, slowly but surely, and maybe I'll even get back to semi-regular blogging...and semi-regular eating, and semi-regular sleeping, and semi-regular working...

Absence

2010-02-28T18:27:00.002-05:00

I've been traveling for about two weeks, first on our youth group mission trip to Brooklyn, and then to Phoenix for the meetings of the Commission for Women, which I moderate. I had internet access, but only intermittently, and blog-writing was just not a priority. I'm back now, but guess what? I start jury duty tomorrow. So, who knows when I'll be back into regular posting. But I popped by to note one thing: being essentially without the news for two weeks is an odd thing. I have NO IDEA what's going on in the world right now. And while it's pretty easy to get back into the swing of work, catching up on the wider world is like waking up with no coffee after a long, much-needed, deep sleep: it takes a while, and it isn't pretty.

Fear of Falling

2010-02-11T14:54:00.004-05:00

Today I went ice skating.

We've decided to do this staff bonding thing at church where we do activities together once a month, and this month it was ice skating. I think of myself as a fairly good skater. I've been doing it all my life. In my family, when you can walk, you learn to skate. I used to coach my brother's hockey team. However...

I am now TERRIBLE.

This is not an understatement. I felt like I had never been skating before in my life. And I could blame it on a number of factors - it's been at least a couple of years, I was in rented figure skates rather than my own hockey skates, they weren't sharpened, blah blah blah - but the fact is, I can't skate very well. I am stiff and jerky and awkward. I got better with time, I loosened up, but this is not second nature anymore. Suddenly, I am afraid of falling.

So afraid that it makes me stiff and jerky and awkward...which in turn makes it more likely that I will fall, because seriously - it's a little difficult to be fluid and graceful when your knees are locked and your toes are curled up inside your skates in panic about catching a toe pick and doing a header onto the ice.

I wonder when this happened, when I began to fear falling, getting hurt, failing. I wonder why that seems to be about much more than skating.

A Whole Lot of Underwear

2010-02-08T11:13:00.002-05:00

Thanks to the wonder of Super Bowl advertising, I have finally figured out why it is so difficult to have a satisfactory relationship with a man: they use a thin veneer of depressed apathy to mask their seething anger that they have to be coerced to wake up, go to work, clean themselves and their homes, and be courteous to the people around them, and their trade-off for all this emasculation is - wait for it - a DODGE CHARGER.

First of all, if you can't wake up, care for your pets, keep up basic hygienic practices, bring in an income, and put your underwear into a laundry basket without my intervention, kindly scamper back to your cave and leave me alone. But if all you get in exchange for a life of such utter desperation is a car, and the car you choose is a Dodge Charger, well. My respect for you is such that I might just ask you to carry my lip balm.

I think this might have been the Super Bowl commercial that annoyed me most, but it's kind of hard to choose. One scene of men marching around in their underwear while being encouraged to return to their grunting neanderthal roots is kind of indistinguishable from another, as are the women portrayed as nagging harpies. Much was made of the Focus on the Family anti-abortion ad, which I thought was a little odd and out of touch with their target audience but tastefully done. What really disturbed me was the Focus on the Family-esque views of masculinity, femininity, gender roles, and relationships that permeated the rest of the advertising - right down to a painfully stereotypical gay couple slapping each other over Megan Fox (one of the best parts of my evening was that I was sitting in a room with people who asked, "Should I know who that is?")

In case my sarcasm isn't dripping loudly enough, I don't actually believe that men are incapable of being functional adults (although some of them insist on proving me wrong), which I believe to be a more important question than whether they're capable of being masculine, whatever that means. Speaking of which, when I think of a "manly man," the first image that pops into my mind is totally of a guy wearing Dockers. "Wear The Pants" indeed.

Feeling Cynical?

2010-02-03T11:10:00.004-05:00

A friend shared with me today the lyrics of a traditional Irish song called "Grace," which I will now share with you:

As we gather in the chapel here in old Kilmainham Jail

I think about these past few weeks, oh will they say we've failed?

From our school days they have told us we must yearn for liberty

Yet all I want in this dark place is to have you here with me

Oh Grace just hold me in your arms and let this moment linger

They'll take me out at dawn and I will die

With all my love I place this wedding ring upon your finger

There won't be time to share our love for we must say goodbye

Now I know it's hard for you my love to ever understand

The love I bare for these brave men, the love for my dear land

But when Pádraic called me to his side down in the GPO

I had to leave my own sick bed, to him I had to go

Now as the dawn is breaking, my heart is breaking too

On this May morn as I walk out, my thoughts will be of you

And I'll write some words upon the wall so everyone will know

I loved so much that I could see his blood upon the rose.

Now, I realize this is supposed to be touching, and that I'm probably supposed to swoon while I think something like, "Oh, isn't this so sad, he loves her so very much, but must leave her for a higher calling from which he will never return." A lot of Celtic music, which I enjoy a great deal, is written on the theme of the couple tragically parted when the man marches off to kill the English. (I don't truly know if that is what this song is about, but I can make a reasonable assumption based on the fact that the song is Irish).

Well. I can be as sappy as the next girl from time to time, but please. How many songs do there need to be in which a man avidly declares his love in one breath, and in the next announces that he loves his country/his honor/his friend Padraic more? There is always something the 'hero' loves more, that keeps him from sticking around and being reliable for this woman he's tied down with his declarations and promises and rings. How is that romantic? Having actual obligations and deciding to stick it out even though you can't be in the same place is one thing. "I love you....but now I'm going to demonstrate the higher value that I have for adventure and impressing my friends by ditching you, and hope that you find it manly and honorable" is another.

No, I'm not feeling cynical or bitter today, why do you ask?

I am pondering a song declaring a long list of things that I love more than any person, which I will somehow make out to be a love song - except that it won't work, because somehow it's not so romantic when it's a woman who is more committed to her work, friends, country, whatever. Bah. Until that song gets written, listen to this:

Some Frustrations for the Day

2010-01-29T10:38:00.005-05:00

Sick. My body aches, my nose is dripping, and my lungs are hacking. Most of all, I am just sapped of energy. Not a fan. Sickness makes me cranky about everything else, hence this post. There is still work to do, so I am finalizing mission trip details, writing auction thank-you notes, and trying to reconstruct a sermon I preached in South Africa from my couch. (How is it, by the way, that I can spend so much time writing a sermon, and put so much energy into preaching it, and then immediately forget it? And where on earth is the journal that I wrote the notes in??) I am thankful for the ability to telecommute.

Speaking of the mission trip, if any of you have suggestions of free/cheap things to do in NYC with youth, I would love to hear them.

In the news: I don't really have words for this, except that I can't believe it is considered a legitimate legal defense. Maybe I would if I equated the termination of pregnancies with murdering children. Still, walking into a church and shooting someone - how is that okay?

Quitting. For the umpteenth time but probably the first truly serious time, I am trying to quit a particularly unhealthy vise. It's a good thing, it's the right thing, but I'm sure it's not contributing positively to my mental state at the moment.

Online Dating. For the record, I'm not actually online dating; I'm more....online perusing. Periodically, one of my friends will sign up for an online dating service and convince me that I should do likewise, which generally involves me filling out half of a profile, becoming annoyed and giving up, getting "matched" with a list of people who seem completely arbitrary and mostly unsuitable, and using the list as my comic relief for the day while I proceed to block my profile. That's in the best of times, when I actually want to meet people. Right now, something I thought would work out doesn't seem to be going much of anywhere, and while I'm willing to have some patience and see what might develop, I know it is not good for me to put myself on a shelf in case it actually goes somewhere someday. However, I have zilch interest in meeting anyone new at the moment, although a part of me wishes that I did. But I figured that maybe taking a look at some of the possibilities might help me not to set myself up for the potential of increased jadedness should this not work out, which is looking like the most likely possibility at this point. Yeah....that was delusional. Conservative religious fanatics (funny who you get matched with when you say faith is important in your life, even if you identify yourself as very liberal) and men who can't remember reading a book and who can't construct a grammatically correct sentence don't exactly instill me with hope.

People who cannot have a conversation without pointing out something that is wrong with your behavior or personality. Yes, that entire sentence needed to be in bold.

Disliking people. There is a person I know. Everyone we mutually know assumes we are friends, because we have many interests in common. They also assume that I am very supportive of the ministry this person runs, because it is aligned with many of my interests. Sometimes I think I should like this person, but I just...don't. I feel disrespected and disregarded every time we are in contact. Sometimes I think I should be more involved in this ministry, but then I think, why? My experience in this area has not been valued enough for anyone to actually ask me to get involved. Which goes back to feeling disrespected and disregarded. Part of me says, stop being petty. Part of me reminds me that I don't have time anyway, so I'm not worrying about it after I post this to get it out of my head. And I'm reminded that people like to be appreciated. People like to be asked, and we sometimes feel unvalued if we're not. A good lesson for church matters.

On that note, I'm off to appreciate some church members through more thank-you notes.

Prayer

2010-01-26T16:13:00.004-05:00

Allow me a brief observation before I begin the real topic of this post. Daily blogging is more difficult than it seems. I am at my best if I blog during the day, before my brain has been worn down to a thin strand of consciousness. However, my work schedule often doesn't allow for that - unless I were to get up early to blog, and we all know that isn't going to happen. Hence I am left with the end of the evening for blogging much of the time, and by then my ability to write coherently has gone to crap. Although, it's about 4pm right now, and I'm not sure I'll be any more coherent now. Anyway...

Today I attended a Planned Parenthood training session for clergy. It was more helpful than I expected in several ways, but one of the most interesting thing about it was having a room full of liberal clergy talking about issues of pastoral care for women who are considering or have had an abortion. The subject of prayer came up. Keep in mind that this is a room full of ministers and rabbis, people who one might assume would be quite at ease with prayer. Not so! One by one, we began to divulge our discomfort with offering to pray for and with people.

The reasons differed somewhat; some worried about imposing their own beliefs upon others, some felt conflicted about the ways that people might expect us to pray, others simply thought it was awkward. But few of us were totally at ease with offering to pray with people.

My own awkwardness about prayer is connected to how I learned to pray - in an evangelical fellowship in college. First of all, prayer was often used there as a way of demonstrating piety. "Good pray-ers" were seen as more mature Christians and more righteous and spiritual people. As I came to resent the parading of devotion, public prayer also began to feel less comfortable for me.

There was also a very specific common jargon used for prayer. As I grew and took a different path, those words and phrases no longer fit my beliefs or spirituality, and some of them I now find deeply offensive. But when I pray aloud, those are the words that pop into my head, and since I am an extrovert with very little verbal filter, they are also the words that pop out of my mouth. I then have to hear myself say them, which I do not particularly enjoy, since they are the same things that would make me cringe if anyone else said them.

So, if I am praying in public, I generally write out my prayers in advance, or at least make detailed notes. People tell me my prayers are too short - an effect of both my general economy of words in public speaking and my discomfort with "practicing your piety in public." I don't know; I can't remember ever wishing that someone would keep praying longer. I do know it may be time for me to develop a new prayer vocabulary to replace the unsuitable one that lingers from my past.

Dann bete du, wie es dich dieser lehrt by Rainer Maria Rilke

Now pray,

as I who came back from the same confusion

learned to pray.

I returned to paint upon the altars

those old holy forms,

but they shone differently,

fierce in their beauty.

So now my prayer is this:

You, my own deep soul,

trust me. I will not betray you.

My blood is alive with many voices

telling me I am made of longing.

What mystery breaks over me now?

In its shadow I come into life.

For the first time I am alone with you -

you, my power to feel.

Communication: More is More

2010-01-23T16:20:00.002-05:00

I just got home from a meeting in which there was quite a bit of tension and general bad feelings. I have decided that most of the problem comes down to lack of communication. Policies not settled or explained adequately before confusion arose. Relevant people and committees not consulted. People talking about each other rather than to each other. Words and actions governed by suspicion instead of collaboration. You know, all the usual ways humans get each other all upset.

Of course, I get into trouble for this ALL THE TIME.

The last couple of years have been a learning curve on the topic of communication. When I was in a smaller church, there were fewer people and fewer structures, and everyone talked to each other more often, so it wasn't such a huge deal for me to just have an idea and do something about it. At my current church, if I make some decision and run off to do my own thing and get it done, it affects about a gazillion other people, many of whom think (often rightly) that they should have been included in the making of the decision. I am learning this the hard way. If you want things to go peaceably, communicate MORE than you think you need to, not less. It's pretty difficult to over-inform people about decisions and activities in the church. In this case, less is not more. Less is just less.

Please note that the same is not true in sermons. More words do not a better sermon make.

Invictus

2010-01-22T10:24:00.004-05:00

Last night, I finally got around to seeing "Invictus." I had planned to see when it first came out, but it seemed to disappear from theaters in a nanosecond, so I was glad to see it reappear in the second-run theater (where I happen to have free passes bought at last year's youth auction - bonus!).

It's a very good movie (movie critic, I am not), with a moving story, and Morgan Freeman portrays Nelson Mandela in a way that is both powerful and deeply human. I wondered how they would set up the racial divide, which could easily be oversimplified. The very first scene is of a white rugby team in spotless uniforms practicing on a green field in front of a private school; a pan across the street shows black children playing soccer in the dust of a township. Mandela's caravan traveling the road between draws both groups to their respective fences, the black children cheering wildly, the white boys quiet and suspicious.

I was actually fairly impressed with how the racial issues were handled. The violence and horror of apartheid was addressed honestly, without demonizing white people as a whole. The deep distrust between racial groups in South Africa and the difficulty of reconciliation was a continuous theme, presented especially well by Mandela's bodyguard, who even at the end found a peace with one another that was still somewhat tentative.

That tentativeness was perhaps what I found to be most honest about the movie - but keep in mind that this is coming from someone who was there not long ago, and had fairly strong reactions to the racial divisions that still exist there. Those shanty towns in the movie are still there. The townships still look the same. The boundaries between the rich white areas and the poor black areas are still just close, and just as clear. Some of the comments made by white people in the movie about what Mandela's election meant for them, are the same comments I heard there, twenty years later.

Perhaps people really did move toward a collective national identity through a rugby team, and through an administration that urged reconciliation. My tour guide at Robben Island (who I seriously think may have played Mandela's friend and consultant in the movie...the guy looked and sounded EXACTLY the same) spoke the same message, that those who imprisoned him for so many years were now his countrymen and brothers, that he and others must set aside the past and forgive in order to move toward a better future for their country. I know, I know, it's just a movie, and it's not supposed to tell the entire story of a country. I guess I just wish that the situation in South Africa was as "solved" as it seems to be at the end of "Invictus."

Famous Fans

2010-01-15T17:52:00.004-05:00

While looking at the lineup for Shamrock Fest, I noticed with great amusement that the Enter the Haggis listing mentions the Haggis Heads, the group of fans who "follow the band from gig to gig." You see, I am one of these people, although whether I wish to be described as one varies from day to day. I did the fan tour to Ireland. I've shown up at their gigs in Massachusetts, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Canada, and probably some other places I've forgotten, even though I live in New York. I suppose I might as well fess up to it. We are, admittedly, a rather nutty group of people, and apparently it's gained us some notice, or notoriety. I rarely see a piece of media coverage for the band that doesn't mention us.

What the articles don't mention is the strange process that takes us from liking the music to becoming one of these nomadic fans. Since most of my non-Haggis Head friends think I've completely fallen off the deep end, I thought I'd take a moment to write about my experience of Extreme Fandom.

What happened to me first was the music, or rather the magnetism of the whole live performance. After a day at my first Irish festival, listening to a series of derivative and monotonous Celtic rock bands, I was pulled to the front of a surging crowd as an entirely different kind of band took the stage. I found myself jumping, clapping, and shouting along to a surprising mix of bluegrass, jazz, blues, prog rock, Caribbean, and alternative influences, somehow melded with the bagpipes, fiddle, melodies, and storytelling sensibility of traditional Celtic music. It's a little embarrassing to think about now, but I could barely speak coherently after that show. I scoffed when a then-stranger (not so much a stranger anymore) at the merchandise table told me I should come along on their trip to Ireland, but, well, I've already mentioned how that turned out.

When I saw that they'd be playing an hour and a half away, I went, and that show turned into another, and another. I started meeting people - other people who showed up at multiple shows and seemed to share my penchant for driving considerable distances for live music. I checked out the website and found a fan forum where there is discussion of a wide variety of topics, band and otherwise (which I rarely check anymore, as its function has mostly been replaced by FB and chat, but I digress). I started meeting people before the shows for dinner, and hanging out afterward, then carpooling, then crashing at their houses and sharing hotels. If you show up a couple of times and talk to people, you start getting invited to the after-show brunches, and the mass camping for festivals. We've wiled away late nights chatting, been there for each other in crisis, spent holidays together. I've made good friends and traveling companions.

No offense to the band - they're fantastic musicians, of course - but it didn't take me long to start traveling, not for them, but for my friends. What the media doesn't mention is that we don't so much "follow the band around" as use their performances as the center of social gatherings with a great soundtrack.

The energy of the shows is kind of addictive. The exhilaration is definitely a break from the humdrum of the everyday, which is probably part of why we keep planning our gatherings around their shows. But there are other bands that provide that - many of whom I've come across through my ETH-related travels, and a couple of whom I've also been known to trek long distances to see. Maybe other bands have groups of fans like this too, and I just don't know about them, but the Haggis Heads seem to me to be peculiar. We are a found family, wacky and dysfunctional, and usually not living entirely in harmony with one another, but a family nonetheless.

As it happens, I am on a bit of a Haggis hiatus at present. The money, time, and drama involved has gotten to be a little much. I've seen the band so many times now that I take the performances for granted. I've been a little disillusioned with them as of late. I need a break (which will probably not last long). Despite the respite I need at the moment, I don't regret the last couple of years of mania. Good times, good music, good friends, a little infamy...what more do you want?

Useful - More Reflections on Haiti

2010-01-15T13:15:00.009-05:00

Yesterday's fashion post is a fairly good example of what happens when there is too much heaviness on my mind: my brain explodes into frivolity. I am not good at holding onto sorrow or anger - which is in some ways a strength. But the flashes and spurts of my emotional life are a post for another day. During this time, I am very conscious that the ability to deal with the tragedy in Haiti in small doses, to think about it and then put it away in favor of lighter topics, is a luxury.

Many of us are feeling the pull to help somehow, which is great. The organizations on the ground in Haiti have made it easy for us to do so, by providing us with online mechanisms to donate, and lists of items that can be sent. However small our contributions, the people there can definitely use them. 54% of Haitians live on less than $1 per day; 78% make less than $2 per day, and according to these statistics (the surveys vary a bit), the gross national income per capita is $480.52. Your $10, $25, $50 donation goes a long way there. We're collecting donated items at church to assemble baby kits and hygiene kits. I have no doubt these things will be used.

I'm not sure what more I could do right now; I can't jump on a plane and hop down there right this minute, which is probably the only solution to the uselessness I feel toward this crisis. A solution to my feelings of uselessness is not necessarily a solution to the needs in Haiti. As someone with basically no medical or construction skills, I wouldn't be all that useful there, either. What I have is the ability to give a bit of money, collect donations, and keep the people of Haiti in my prayers and thoughts, which I guess I can do just as well from my cozy living room.

When I was there in 2000, I was not any more capable than I am now. I nailed a few tin sheets onto the roof of the school we were building, but aside from that, I let my teammates handle the "real" work. I held children, blew bubbles, painted fingernails, exchanged basic words in English and Kreyol, let the older girls braid my hair into cornrows (which, if you have seen my straight, fine hair, probably sounds pretty comical...and was, according to the pictures). I don't know that it was really any more useful than what I'm doing right now. The money spent on that trip could have fed people. But it felt more real to be there, to hold hands and try to work out how to communicate, to hand out shoes and t-shirts from my suitcase before I left and go home with only the clothes I was wearing.

The big question I can't really even begin to address is the "why?" I have, in the last few days, discussed a number of times the injustice of this situation, and the question of, if God exists, what on earth is God thinking, or doing? I know, according to the assumptions about clergy, I'm supposed to have answers for all of this, but I don't. And please, let us consider for a moment some of those who have thought that they do. I'll stay far away from that road, thanks. Instead, I share with you the text of a hymn that was sent to me today.

In Haiti, There is Anguish

ST. CHRISTOPHER 7.6.8.6.8.6.8.6 (“Beneath the Cross of Jesus”)

In Haiti, there is anguish that seems too much to bear;

A land so used to sorrow now knows even more despair.

From city streets, the cries of grief rise up to hills above;

In all the sorrow, pain and death, where are you, God of love?

A woman sifts through rubble, a man has lost his home,

A hungry, orphaned toddler sobs, for she is now alone.

Where are you, Lord, when thousands die—the rich, the poorest poor?

Were you the very first to cry for all that is no more?

O God, you love your children; you hear each lifted prayer!

May all who suffer in that land know you are present there.

In moments of compassion shown, in simple acts of grace,

May those in pain find healing balm, and know your love’s embrace.

Where are you in the anguish? Lord, may we hear anew

That anywhere your world cries out, you’re there-- and suffering, too.

And may we see, in others’ pain, the cross we’re called to bear;

Send out your church in Jesus’ name to pray, to serve, to share.

Tune: Frederick Charles Maker, 1881

***A late addition: a reflection on the question of where God is in the midst of this tragedy, and more pictures from Port-au-Prince.

On a Less Serious Note, a Word About Fashion

2010-01-14T16:00:00.005-05:00

Something strange and disturbing has happened in fashion in the last year or two. Are we longing for the greater economic stability of the Reagan years, by chance? Because in fashion, the 80s have come back with a vengeance. And much as I would not be pleased to see a return of Reaganomics, this fashion trend is not one that gives me great joy. I thought we realized the first time around that tapered pants and pleats were almost universally unflattering, and yet, there they are on the clothing racks again. Long tunics and oddly-cut tops abound. In Old Navy yesterday, I was greeted by the sight of a mannequin in a blinding combination of tennis ball yellow and a very bright aqua. Ow.

Rather than despair, however, I have decided to experiment with developing a new personal style. I refuse to go near skinny jeans or tapered pants. I will continue to wear my boot-cut jeans and wide-legged trousers, thank you very much. But some of these things, I may be able to adopt as my own. I am particularly fond of the abundance of scarves that are now available, and have decided that I officially love this scarf and big, fun earrings combination. I am trying out thin, drape-y layers, and I have given way to the long cardigan trend. Going for basic, neutral colors and garments with a bit of flow to them, with pops of bright color here and there. It's not very rockstar, nor is it the more tailored look I have gone toward professionally in the past, but I kind of like it...

....even though I am walking dangerously close to the earth mother look that so many clergywomen have adopted, of which I am not at all a fan (for me. I am mostly neutral on whether other people go that route, at least when I am being the best, least judgmental version of myself).

This is the scarf that I bought last night. I do believe it is *gasp* a floral. What is the world coming to?

Haiti

2010-01-14T11:47:00.004-05:00

I was in Haiti in the summer of 2000, nearly a decade ago. I had never seen, and have not seen since, such devastating poverty, although I have been to a number of other places with terrible conditions. It was something straight out of one of those commercials asking you to sponsor children in third world countries: people living in shacks thrown together from cardboard and corrugated tin, drawing drinking water out of the same stream where they bathed and animals defecated. The only animals that thrive there are the goats, because they eat garbage. It's not uncommon to see children with yellow hair above their mahogany skin, because they were too malnourished even before birth for the pigment to develop. Meanwhile, these children with their distended stomachs and huge, hungry eyes wanted to touch my hair; ironically, blond hair is supposedly lucky.

Today I am sitting at my desk, in my office that is bigger than almost every house I saw in Haiti, giving the end of my microwaved beef stew to my dog because I have the luxury of having too much food, and thinking about the earthquake, and about that country that was so hard to love but which I found myself loving anyway.

Other people are thinking about it too, I know - thinking about how things like this can happen to people who have already suffered so much. (On a side note, is it just me, or has the NY Times been talking about religion and faith an awful lot lately?) Most of the people I met in Haiti did believe that their poverty was their punishment for some sin, that the corruption and the machine guns pointed at them on the streets were a sign of God's wrath toward some vast corporate wrongdoing. I don't believe in that angry God, but the pictures of Port-au-Prince in rubble and flames help me understand why they do.

There are all sorts of organizations offering assistance, and plenty of opportunities to help. I've been keeping up with the updates on the RCA website, and my church is sending donations through Reformed Church World Service. Regardless of who you go through, please consider sharing your abundance during Haiti's time of even greater need.

Instead of a poem today, song lyrics: "Haiti" by the Arcade Fire.

Haïti, mon pays,
wounded mother I'll never see.
Ma famille set me free.
Throw my ashes into the sea.

Mes cousins jamais nés
hantent les nuits de Duvalier.
Rien n'arrete nos esprits.
Guns can't kill what soldiers can't see.

In the forest we lie hiding,
unmarked graves where flowers grow.
Hear the soldiers angry yelling,
in the river we will go.

Tous les morts-nés forment une armée,
soon we will reclaim the earth.
All the tears and all the bodies
bring about our second birth.

Haïti, never free,
n'aie pas peur de sonner l'alarme.
Tes enfants sont partis,
In those days their blood was still warm

Copyright Laws?

2010-01-13T14:35:00.001-05:00

It occurs to me that I may be engaging in copyright infringement with all this poetry posting. Anyone know? Doing some research now...

Lot of Lust

2010-01-13T13:41:00.006-05:00

A few days ago, a woman in my congregation and I were discussing relationships. It is crazy, by the way, how fast women can bond over this topic. Drop the word "relationships" or make a comment about how difficult men are, and you're instant BFFs. The discussion of men's foibles (women's foibles are fine fodder too, if your relationship is of the same-gender variety, but nothing galvanizes the female bond quite like criticism of men), and of the inner workings of relationships, melds us together in a vast, slightly insane sisterhood - but at least we always have something to talk about. Anyhoo, this woman, who looks sort of demure and grandmotherly, shared with me her formula for what successful relationships need: laughter, loyalty, and lust.

I believe she may be the only person to ever tell a minister about the necessity of lust.

When I told her so, she laughed at me in that "Aren't you a cute little remnant of the Victorian era" way, told me that ministers are people too, and wished me a "lot of lust." Crack me up.

I am, in this way, completely spoiled by my crazy progressive church, where there is very little expectation that ministers' lives will be any more "holy" than anyone else's. No one watches my house to see who comes and goes. I don't think most of them know exactly where I live. They don't freak out if they run into me at a bar (which is good, since being in bars is part of what they hired me for). Walking down the street with a guy does not cause a near-apocalypse. The fact that I sing with a rock band is vaguely interesting, but not the least bit scandalous. It's nice. And rare. I've been enough affected by other congregations where that is not the case that I started a bit to hear this woman even use the word "lust," let alone in a positive sense. Guess there's more repression in there than I thought.

Now that I have been educated on the subjects of love and lust, today I begin what I suspect may become a series of installments with no particular regularity, which I am going to call Love Poems for the Jaded. Or perhaps, ______ Poems, for We Who Can't Bring Ourselves to Say the L-Word.

"In Paris with You" by James Fenton

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful

And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.

I'm one of your talking wounded.

I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.

But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled

And resentful at the mess that I've been through.

I admit I'm on the rebound

And I don't care where are we bound.

I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre,

If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,

If we skip the Champs Elysees

And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room

Doing this and that

To what and whom

Learning who you are,

Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of

The little bit of Paris in our view.

There's that crack across the ceiling

And the hotel walls are peeling

And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of paris.

I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.

I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,

I'm in Paris with...all points south.

Am I embarrassing you?

I'm in Paris with you.

P.S. - I'm pulling many of these poems from Garrison Keillor's collection, Good Poems for Hard Times, a book which keeps reintroducing me to my love for words.

Fry Yourself

2010-01-12T15:08:00.004-05:00

So, last spring I made a fairly major screw-up with church stuff by assuming (and we all know what happens when you assume) money would appear for something I thought was important, and starting to make arrangements before checking with the necessary people. I'm just getting used to this whole checking with the necessary people thing, which I suppose is kind of a late lesson, but what do you do? Anyway, the whole saga is rearing its ugly head again, and turning out to be an even bigger deal than I originally thought, which I can hopefully solve by 6:30pm. Ha. In the meantime, while I wait for the necessary people to call me back and help me solve this conundrum, blogging seems like a good idea.

By nature, I am not particularly inclined toward considering all factors or risks before making major decisions. I am of the, "It seems good, I'll do it, and deal with whatever goes wrong as it comes up" school of decision-making. This doesn't really go over well with people who are more wired to look for and avoid potential disasters before they happen. Nor is it usually comfortable for people who are affected by my spontaneous planning. I'm getting better, but I have to really work at making myself slow down and go through the proper steps.

On the other hand, one of the things I rather like about myself is my willingness to risk, and not worry overly much about obstacles or consequences. So far it's worked out for me. I've done some dumb things, but nothing incredibly stupid or disastrous. I've had to dig out of some fairly large holes, and that has developed in a me slightly more of a think, THEN act inclination. But on the whole, it's also led to a really interesting life. (Boredom being one of the few consequences that does regularly occur to me and dissuade me from certain courses of action.)

I guess what I'm saying is...it's good for me to learn to work within an institution and not throw off the whole system or freak everyone out with my randomness. I don't need to be a maverick ALL the time. On a personal level, though, I don't ever want to be someone who is so afraid of pain or struggle that I won't take chances. I want to feel, and move, and live fully. I want, as today's poem says, to want something badly enough to fry myself. Which will make more sense after you read it.

"the lesson of the moth" by Don Marquis

i was talking to a moth

the other evening

he was trying to break into

an electric light bulb

and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows

pull this stunt i asked him

because it is the conventional

thing for moths or why

if that had been an uncovered

candle instead of an electric

light bulb you would

now be a small unsightly cinder

have you no sense

plenty of it he answered

but at times we get tired

of using it

we get bored with the routine

and crave beauty

and excitement

fire is beautiful

and we know that if we get

too close it will kill us

but what does that matter

it is better to be happy

for a moment

and be burned up with beauty

than to live a long time

and be bored all the while

so we wad all our life up

into one little roll

and then we shoot the roll

that is what life is for

it is better to be a part of beauty

for one instant and then cease to

exist than to exist forever

and never be a part of beauty

our attitude toward life

is come easy go easy

we are like human beings

used to be before they became

too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him

out of his philosophy

he went and immolated himself

on a patent cigar lighter

i do not agree with him

myself i would rather have

half the happiness and twice

the longevity

but at the same time i wish

there was something i wanted

as badly as he wanted to fry himself.

In Which I Shamelessly Plug My Friends

2010-01-10T12:54:00.004-05:00

I spent yesterday recording with some friends of mine who comprise a band called Cliudan. They are of the Celtic genre, broadly speaking, and describe themselves as "driven progressive Celtic," which is a pretty good description once you've heard them, but probably doesn't mean much to those who haven't. Think traditionally-influenced melodies and the storytelling sensibility common to Celtic music, but with an earthy, percussion-driven intensity. Anyway, you should pop over and listen to them. Or you could wait until this album comes out next month and hear my small contribution, but why wait?

Recording is an interesting process of thinking you have everything all worked out, and then watching as things come together in quite a different way than you had planned. In this case, it was made more interesting by the fact that, although we have talked music a lot, we had never played together before, and two of them hadn't really ever heard me sing. How you get invited to sing on an album with people who have never heard you, I don't know, except that they must have taken me at my word that I can sing. I got to do one of my favorite things, which is figure out harmonies on the fly to songs I've never heard before. It all worked out shockingly well, and I ended up doing harmonies for four songs instead of the planned two. I can't wait to hear how it comes out.

All of this was helped considerably by having Glenn Forrester doing the recording and mixing. I guess I should wait and hear the final results before giving an unabashed plug, but he was pretty amazing to work with. I've worked with several sound engineers before, and none of them have had the ear that he does, or been so adept at making sure we have all the necessary tracks, done right, without over-managing the music or making everyone do eight gazillion takes.

So, this process has me thinking about those of us who are part-time artists of one sort or another, who squeeze our creating into the small spaces between "real life." I am fortunate to have a vocation that I also love, and that I would never give up for music, but I think most of us have fleeting thoughts of running off to devote ourselves to our art, and I was definitely in that zone yesterday.

I am not a poet. I write music, but that is not quite the same thing, and my brain is far too literal and linear to be truly poetic. But today, while searching for fodder for the wedding and vespers service I am doing this evening, I found this poem, which reminded me of daydreaming artists (and the potential pitfalls of being or working with one).

"To a Frustrated Poet" by R.J. Ellmann

This is to say

I know

You wish you were in the woods,

Living the poet life,

Not here at a formica topped table

In a meeting about perceived inequalities in the benefits and

allowances offered to employees of this college,

And I too wish you were in the woods,

Because it's no fun having a frustrated poet

In the Dept. of Human Resources, believe me.

In the poems of yours that I've read, you seem ever intelligent

and decent and patient in a way

Not evident to us in this office,

And so, knowing how poets can make a feast out of trouble,

Raising flowers in a bed of drunkenness, divorce, despair,

I give you this check representing two weeks' wages

And ask you to clean out your desk today

And go home

And write a poem

With a real frog in it

And plums from the refrigerator,

So sweet and so cold.

Save the Ta-tas

2010-01-08T15:07:00.002-05:00

I don't want to ruin anyone's fun, really I don't. I don't want to be that person who makes a big issue over something that was intended to be harmless - and I am pretty sure this was intended to be not only harmless but positive. However...

Yesterday as I figured out what was going on with all the women on Facebook posting colors in their status updates, I first thought, "That's kind of cute." But then the colors started expanding into fabric descriptions: "silky," "lacy." If the chain message had ever been a secret amongst the females of Facebook, it couldn't have stayed one for long with all the postings of "nude," "natural," and "hanging free!"

Now, I've read other comments about the lack of modesty displayed. I don't fall into that camp. I'm pretty sure the obsession with breasts in our culture is related to our repressed Victorian attitude about them, and I do not believe that telling someone the color of my bra is inherently scandalous, or even immodest. However, I was a little disturbed by the updates that had more to do with the titillation factor than the cause of curing a disease. Are campaigns like this and "Save the Ta-tas" effective at getting attention? Sure. But for what purpose? "Save the Ta-tas" does actually go the extra step and use that attention to raise awareness about breast cancer and research toward a cure. This Facebook thing has yet to go there. Even if it does eventually explicitly connect with breast cancer awareness, however, it still gives the impression that we are most concerned about this particular form of cancer, not because it kills people, but because it might diminish women's sex appeal. Because death is but a small concern if our breasts are intact (and firm and perky besides).

I didn't play the game, although I'll happily tell you the color of my bra (beige...not very titillating). I just have no desire to be reduced from a person to a body part - or even two body parts - even for the cause of curing cancer. Also, I don't find cutesy games involving "secrets" from half of the population you're allegedly trying to reach to be a particularly effective way to raise awareness.

In honor of breasts everywhere, and the women of whom they are but a small part, today's poem comes from the Song of Songs (JPS translation) chapter 7.

Turn back, turn back,

O maid of Shulem!

Turn back, turn back,

That we may gaze upon you.

"Why will you gaze at the Shulammite

In the Mahanaim dance?"

How lovely are your feet in sandals,

O daughter of nobles!

Your rounded thighs are like jewels,

The work of a master's hand.

Your navel is like a round goblet -

Let mixed wine not be lacking! -

Your belly like a heap of wheat

Hedged about with lilies.

Your breasts are like two fawns,

Twins of a gazelle.

Your neck is like a tower of ivory,

Your eyes like pools in Heshbon

By the gate of Bath-rabbim,

Your nose like the Lebanon tower

That faces toward Damascus.

The head upon you is like crimson wool,

The looks of your head are like purple -

A king is held captive in the tresses.

How fair you are, how beautiful!

O Love, with all its rapture!

Your stately form is like the palm,

Your breasts are like clusters.

I say: Let me climb the palm,

Let me take hold of its branches;

Let your breasts be like clusters of grapes,

Your breath like the fragrance of apples,

And your mouth like choicest wine.

"Let it flow to my beloved as new wine

Gliding over the lips of sleepers."

Kindness to Snails

2010-01-07T14:19:00.004-05:00

It's funny how your blog traffic picks up when you actually post things. Hello, readers, whomever you may be. I'm taking a brief break in the midst of a very long, very busy - but very productive, hooray! - day to try to keep up this discipline.

I have worked with youth pretty much since, well, since I was still one myself, and have often felt the uneasy gap between the hard truth of what is strictly reality, and the way I hope young people will be able to see the world as long as they possibly can. Not that I want to shelter kids from clarity about the world...but I do want to encourage the best possibilities within them, which sometimes means they don't have to be told all the gory details of adult life. For example, the minute they start really thinking about the fact that my time with them is my job, my credibility is shot. I spend quite a bit of time in the gap, wondering about how to be honest with the youth I work with, while holding the fact that they are still youth with honor and care. Anyway, I think that is why "For a Five-Year-Old" by Fleur Adcock is one of my favorite poems ever:

A snail is climbing up the window-sill

into your room, after a night of rain.

You call me in to see, and I explain

that it would be unkind to leave it there;

it might crawl to the floor; we must take care

that no one squashes it. You understand,

and carry it outside, with careful hand,

to eat a daffodil.

I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:

your gentleness is moulded still by words

from me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,

from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed

your closest relatives, and who purveyed

the harshest kind of truth to many another.

But that is how things are: I am your mother,

and we are kind to snails.

Jesus Wants to Save Christians

2010-01-06T12:34:00.004-05:00

In the continued Quest to Be a Better Stacey, today I picked up a book that I ordered ages ago and haven't yet read, which is completely against my personal conviction that books are meant to be read and that if you're not going to read them, you have no business owning them. I may be revising my opinion, however, because Jesus Wants to Save Christians is giving me a headache. Dear Rob Bell, I think you have some marvelous things to say, and your way of presenting biblical narrative is pretty remarkable,

but if you don't

stop writing your books

like this

I may be forced

to come to Michigan

and hurl them at your head.

If you've read any Rob Bell, you know what I'm talking about. There is this thing called a paragraph with which I wish he would get better acquainted. Perhaps this is an attempt to keep the attention of the ADD generation whose communication happens almost entirely in the 140 characters or less world of Twitter, Facebook, and text messages. I live a fair amount of my life in that world too, but sometimes it's nice to read something a little less frantic.

That said, the book has some interesting and challenging ideas, not necessarily new to me, but good reminders. Like, as Christians, how happy should we really be that the U.S. military is occupying a Middle Eastern country "until peace can be restored," when Jesus was a Middle Eastern man who lived in an occupied country and was killed by a government that claimed it was trying to restore the peace by doing so? Not that I was actually happy about this to begin with, but I'm having a little situational cognitive dissonance over it at the moment. It also mentions the multi-billion dollar business of keeping us "safe," which has long bothered me. I'm not really sure what that air puffer in the airport is supposed to do, or why my tax dollars pay for it, or why I submit to it when I don't know what good it does and have ethical questions about the company that produces it and thus makes a ton of money off of the fear of the American people. Probably because I would rather avoid the full-body pat down or missing my plane than make a fuss. Fuss is just so inconvenient.

More broadly, it is a book about the Church as an exiled people, strangers in a strange land. Which makes one wonder if we are strange enough (yes, I know, most of you think I am already plenty strange).

And so, in the spirit of cultural resistance, the poem for today is "1991 - I" by Wendell Berry.

The year begins with war.

Our bombs fall day and night,

Hour after hour, by death

Abroad appeasing wrath,

Folly, and greed at home.

Upon our giddy tower

We'd oversway the world.

Our hate comes down to kill

Those whom we do not see,

For we have given up

Our sight to those in power

And to machines, and now

Are blind to all the world.

This is a nation where

No lovely thing can last.

We trample, gouge, and blast;

The people leave the land;

The land flows to the sea.

Fine men and women die,

The fine old houses fall,

The fine old trees come down;

Highway and shopping mall

Still guarantee the right

And liberty to be

A peaceful murderer,

A murderous worshipper,

A slender glutton. Forgiving

No enemy, forgiven

By none, we live the death

Of liberty, become

What we have feared to be.

Food

2010-01-05T13:40:00.003-05:00

It's certainly not news to anyone that the holidays are generally bad for our waistlines, but this year has been a bit much. You know when you buy a skirt halfway through December and have to worry about whether it will fit by New Year's Eve, you're in trouble. Mind you, it's not like I go out and buy junk food with which to stuff my face. And yet, on my desk at this moment are: two dozen homemade shortbread cookies, a bowl full of holiday-wrapped candy, a gift bag of granola, a tin of assorted cookies and fudge, and a shipped assortment of something I know is food and therefore am afraid to open. In addition to the actual food I've received this year, I also got a number of gift cards - all to restaurants.

I could interpret this one of two ways:

1) I have grown so fat that people assume I will not enjoy anything so much as more food; or,

2) I am not yet fat but people are conspiring to make me so.

Either way, kind of disturbing.

Of course, it doesn't help that I've become a lazy, cold-fearing slug who hasn't gone running in a month. I am so averse to being outside right now that I briefly considered buying the AbCircle, which may be one of the most absurd exercise devices I've ever seen. I would have bought it, too, if it had really been only $14.95, as advertised. The nearly $40 shipping and handling charges must be in the small print on the commercial. So, no circling abs for me, which is unfortunate, because if I ab-circled, I might be able to justify another one of the shortbread cookies that is staring at me.

On that note, a poem for the day.

"The Goose" by Muriel Spark

Do you want to know why I am alive today?

I will tell you.

Early on, during the food shortage,

Some of us were miraculously presented

Each with a goose that laid a golden egg.

Myself, I killed the cackling thing and I ate it.

Alas, many and many of the other recipients

Died of gold-dust poisoning.

The Quest to Be a Better Blogger

2010-01-04T11:10:00.006-05:00

You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.

So many are alive who don’t seem to care.
Casual, easy, they move in the world
as though untouched.

But you take pleasure in the faces
of those who know they thirst.
You cherish those
who grip you for survival.

You are not dead yet, it’s not too late
to open your depths by plunging into them
and drink in the life
that reveals itself quietly there.

~Rainier Maria Rilke (as translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy)

I'm not really a big New Year's Resolution person, but it seems as good a time as any to do something new. So, I have made the tiny resolution to be in this new year a bit closer to the person I'd like to be. To be more intentional about my daily decisions. To work smarter. To be healthier. To be a little more zen about the complicated, uncertain, sort-of-maybe-relationship in which I find myself, and a little less prone to snarky, mean comments in general. To read more poetry and books of substance. To write more, in music and words.

It's kind of a tall order.

Nonetheless, I kind of like the thought of reading more poetry, and my writing sorely needs some practice, so step one of Be A Better Stacey is to start posting more often here again. When I have nothing to write (and sometimes even when I do), I'll just share a poem that I like. Today we begin with Rilke. Speaking of which, this translation is quite a bit different than some of the others floating around. I prefer this translation, but it makes me want to read the original. Anyone know where I could find/order that? Off to Google I go...

P.S. - The internet is grand; I have found it here.

Tradition

2009-11-30T11:36:00.002-05:00

If you're looking for someone to cleave to tradition, I am not your girl. This year, the closest I got to traditional Thanksgiving fare was turkey tacos at the outdoor Mexican feast I shared with friends between Wednesday and Thursday concerts. My other favorite Thanksgiving involved lying around like lumps with two of my friends who are also pastors, scrounging leftovers from their fridge, and finally emerging in the evening only because we decided we needed pie. Pie is a tradition I can get behind.

I feel similarly toward Christmas traditions. If I show up at a Christmas Eve service and no one mentions the birth of Jesus, I'm likely to be a bit perturbed. Other than that, no biggie...although I do like the candles. I've put up trees a month before Christmas, and on Christmas Eve, and not at all. I've had Christmases with my family, Christmases with my "eastern family," Christmases with friends, and Christmases curled up on my couch watching movies with my dog. They've all been good. They have been what worked with whatever situation I was in at the time.

My family was never terribly attached to tradition; we had some sort of gathering with extended family at Christmas, but that shifted as people moved, got married, had kids, etc. We often went to church on Christmas Eve, but the when and where were debatable. I never got used to a particular rhythm of how the holiday was "supposed" to go, or specific rituals that made it feel like Christmas.

Liturgically and theologically, I appreciate tradition. It connects us to the larger Church, and provides a theological standard for our worship services. But I tend to hold tradition in one hand, and relevance and functionality in the other. If our liturgy doesn't work, either in that it doesn't connect with people or that it doesn't work logistically, I'm likely to use the tradition to inform a new way of doing things. In Velvet Elvis, Rob Bell uses the metaphor of doctrine as a brick wall or a trampoline: you can choose to build up a solid edifice of doctrines (which may very well collapse if one is pulled out), or you can use doctrine as a jumping off point. When it comes to tradition, I'm more likely to bounce than pull out the mortar.

What all of this adds up to is that, as a minister, I have a small lacking when it comes to understanding how many people feel about traditions. Intellectually, I know that tradition is important to people, that it's comforting, that it gives them security - but I don't quite get it. Hence, I am forever running up against it. This year, we are having the Drama of Christmas with the youth, several of whom are quite annoyed at me for changing the Christmas Eve youth service so that they "don't feel like it's Christmas anymore."

I don't want to be the person who steals Christmas from kids. Good grief. I certainly don't want them to be angry at me (which they are), or to feel like they're being disrespected (which they do). But...I also don't want to foster church members who believe that the importance of worship hinges on everything going exactly as they want, and exactly as it always has. I don't want to be a part in turning these teenagers into elderly parishioners who hold the church in an iron grip and won't allow for necessary change. I don't want their faith to develop like a brick wall that will fall apart when one part of it gets pulled out later. We're compromising on the Christmas service, but it isn't going to look like it has for the last several decades. I want them to be able to bounce.

Breeding Dysfunction

2009-11-24T12:50:00.002-05:00

In one of the strange little corners of my life, I have a group of some mixture of acquaintances and friends, some of the acquaintances being a few women who insist on acting like we are all still in junior high. The malicious gossip (yes, I think there is good gossip), back-biting, and "you sat at the lunch table with the boy I like so I'll hate you forever" behavior gets to be a bit much. I've been dealing with this for a couple of years now, and tolerating it because, if I want to spend time around my friends and hear one of my favorite bands, I also have to put up with the fact that these people are present. Such is life. I generally just try not to be sucked down into the prepubescent vortex (and believe me, it would be way too easy to be drawn into the drama and scream or throw cake at them or something). Since a fair deal of the negative talk and behavior is directed toward me, there's not a whole heck of a lot I can do to change the situation.

What really irks me is that the irrational, juvenile behavior has been tolerated and even encouraged by the people in this group who are sane, mature adults. They don't want to be mean, they don't want to step on their friends' toes, and so they quietly stand by while said friends act in absolutely horrific and ridiculous ways that are deeply hurtful to others.

Personally, I don't get it.

But I've been thinking about this in relation to other areas of my life as well - the prime example being the church (not my church in particular, just "the church" in general). People are pretty routinely allowed to verbally abuse, slander, manipulate, and blame their pastors and each other. Rarely is anyone confronted with so much as a request that they behave in a decent and courteous way. I don't think I've ever heard a sermon or teaching about taking responsibility for our own behavior (hmm...ideas for the future). We let bad behavior slide, thinking we are being loving and accepting. But who is being left in the wake?

Re-entry

2009-10-27T14:24:00.003-04:00

One of the things that tends to happen (to me, anyway) after traveling to foreign countries, particularly highly impoverished areas, is that I return with an extremely low tolerance for stupid, petty drama. Eventually I am certain to fall back in with the people around me and return to having stupid, petty drama of my own. In the meantime, let's say you complain to me about things including but not limited to: people's mildly thoughtless comments, bands not playing where you want them to play, church services not happening exactly as you would like them to, some church activity not being quite as exciting as you hoped, or your own self-centered neuroses. What I will be thinking about is: hungry children, AIDS, corrugated tin houses, racism, political prisoners, and how ridiculous some of the things we worry about are. Just so you know.

Fear

2009-09-28T13:53:00.003-04:00

A friend asked me this morning about the predictions of the world's end in 2012.

I don't know any more than anyone else about when the world will end (or if it will end, or what ending means...I'm a believer in new creation rather than ending). Maybe the Mayan calendar (although how they came up with the modern calendar date of Dec. 21, 2012 from the Mayan calendar, I'm not sure) and the Bible code (something I'm fairly sure is completely made up and could be manipulated to say whatever one wants to predict) and the many other sources that allegedly claim this as the date of ultimate destruction are right. I have no idea. What I do know is that this sort of sensationalist panic-mongering is not helpful. Okay, "not helpful" is not strong enough. What I really mean to say is that it is destructive, possibly as destructive as the cataclysmic event it is predicting.

I am reminded of the Y2K predictions. First of all, they just didn't come to fruition in the way that people expected - and they were to some degree founded on reason and information about computer functionality. Second, as far as I can see, they didn't do anyone any good. Did any of us spend 1999 making amends to those we had hurt, or spending more time with those we love, or reordering our priorities to spend our potential last days as kinder, happier, more compassionate people? If we did, I didn't notice. If there was any life change at all because of those predictions, it seemed to be hunkering down and collecting the material goods we thought might give us a shot at surviving the crisis. I did not see a lot of people feeling more appreciative of life or making the most of every moment. What I saw was fear.

People live in fear of all sorts of things: fear of death, fear of losing someone they love, fear of instability or insecurity or lack of love. The healthcare debate is motivated greatly by the fear that providing for some people's care may negatively affect our own. The "War on Terror" seems to me to be better named the "War of Terror," as it was incited and backed by an immense collective fear of attack by some faceless, relentless, purely evil enemy. Cancer research has made us afraid of Nalgene bottles, aspartame, cell phone radiation, and deodorant. Swine flu is currently making us afraid to shake one another's hands in church (I can't imagine what we're going to do next week for Communion).

I suppose the capacity for fear is part of human nature. Some level of fear is a survival instinct. But fear that runs our lives is destructive. It strips us of the ability to experience all the wonderful things of life: joy, love, peace, hope. It reduces us and robs us of our quality of life. Ironically, the desperation to preserve our lives ends up stealing our lives from us.

Fear is unavoidable, but what it creates within us is a choice. I for one do not want to live my life under the confines of fear. I choose hope.

South Africa

2009-09-27T22:57:00.001-04:00

Just stopping by to say that I leave for South Africa on October 8. Yikes and hoorah! You can keep up with our adventures on our new blog, Taplogo Bound.

A Different Kind of Liberal

2009-08-31T12:43:00.003-04:00

I am pro-choice pretty much down to the marrow of my bones, not because I'm a big fan of abortion in general, but because there are too many possible circumstances in which I think women need to be able to make their own decision about whether to continue a pregnancy. That said, I think this article about Eunice Kennedy Shriver - whose death, two weeks before her brother's, was considerably less noted than his - is pretty interesting. As someone who would defend the legal right to abortion down to the ground as a principle while being fairly uncomfortable with the practice in reality, I can appreciate someone whose beliefs tied together a tireless advocacy for the developmentally disabled and anti-abortion activism. Not to mention that at present, with so much of our political culture focused around polarization and labels, and with everyone's stance on every issue being immediately assumed the moment they identify with a party, the idea of a true liberal who is not pro-choice is kind of a novelty.

Sermon - Ezekiel 34, Matthew 10:1-8 - Aug. 30, 2009

2009-08-30T13:03:00.004-04:00

During my freshman year of college, after twelve seizures and as many visits to doctors, I was diagnosed with epilepsy. Still under my parents' insurance at the time, I shelled out co-pays - which, at $25 a pop, were plenty taxing on my student budget - but was otherwise blissfully unaware of exactly how much all of those office visits, tests, and medications really cost. Then I graduated, and independent adulthood greeted me with an unpleasant surprise: I had joined the ranks of the uninsured, and all those bills were suddenly my sole responsibility. So, I used tips from my waitressing job to pay full price for the refills on my prescription and nixed further visits to the neurologist.

Shockingly, my religion and philosophy degree did not springboard me into a world of secure and meaningful employment, so I ended up in a corporate customer service job, complete with a cubicle all my own and an insurance plan partially funded by the company and partially by a significant chunk of my $17,000 salary. I was pretty excited about this whole insurance thing, and scheduled my overdue brain check-up. Then the bill arrived. The amount the insurance covered was exactly zero dollars. And so the term "pre-existing condition" entered my vocabulary. That bill only took five years or so to pay off.

About the same time my epilepsy was finally covered, I went off to seminary, otherwise known as the land of no insurance. My health care policy became, "pray that nothing really bad happens," which I guess might be considered an appropriate leap of faith for someone entering the ministry, but it meant that I virtually stopped seeing doctors, and even stopped buying my medication for a while - not a smart move. After seminary, I entered a new job as a college chaplain, with a new insurance policy and new declaration of delayed coverage for pre-existing conditions. A few months gap between that position and my first call in a church meant yet another delay in coverage for my only significant health problem. But I lucked out, and by the time I had another seizure, the RCA health plan had kicked in.

Even under my fairly good medical plan, I still pay hundreds of dollars every year in copays and deductibles for the neurologist and neurosurgeon that I visit more often than my general practitioner, the bi-annual MRIs and annual EEG, and the medication that keeps me from falling over and twitching and generally scaring the bejesus out of everyone around me. But I'm doing pretty well these days, and relatively, it's a small price to pay.

I tell you about my adventures in health care not to make you feel bad for me - my story isn't really that traumatic - but rather to explain a bit of what I think about when I hear the health care reform debates that are so prevalent these days. I've been that person who just couldn't go to a doctor, even when I really needed to. And if even the slightest little thing had gone wrong at some point, my life could be very different right now. If that seizure had been a couple of years earlier, I'd still be paying the bills now. If it had happened in 2000, I would have lost my job, because you can't drive after you've had one, and my insurance as well. At just the time when I lost my income source, I would have gained several thousand dollars in medical bills, leaving me the choice of being untreated for a serious but easily correctible condition, or being trapped in an endless debt cycle.

What bothers me about this, however, is not how easily it could have happened to me. I've been lucky, and I'm also fortunate to have people in my life who could and would back me up if I was in a tight spot. What bothers me is that this could happen to nearly anyone, and is in fact the ongoing reality for many people in our country. 15.3% of American citizens are uninsured according to the 2007 census. 11% of children in the US are uninsured. These numbers may not seem terribly high, but look around you. If this room was an accurate representation of the country's population, thirty or so of you might be wondering right now whether that nagging cold or the pain in your stomach is worth the expense of a doctor, or worrying about that persistent headache but knowing that going to a doctor may mean not being able to pay the rent. More than one out of every ten kids in our Sunday School and Youth Groups would be without proper check-ups, vaccinations, medication, and dental care.

Those figures were from 2007. In a system where health coverage for the majority of the public is tied to employment, the number of uninsured people continues to rise. That means that more and more people neglect preventative care and don't have the treatment they need when they're sick. Meanwhile, people with some of the most secure and comprehensive health care plans in the nation debate whether making health care accessible and affordable to all is a good idea.

Now, I realize that I am blatantly flouting the recommendations of my seminary professors and many wise ministers who advise us never to bring politics into the pulpit, and I may come to regret it. But I believe that if our faith can't help us address the relevant issues of our time, it is meaningless - and if ever there was a relevant issue that needed a faith perspective, this is it.

Fortunately, I stand on the shoulders of a number of people who brought faith into political life. You might recognize some of their names: Elijah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, John the Baptist, Jesus...But today, in light of this issue that is everywhere in our national life and news right now, I'd like to draw your attention in particular to this passage from Ezekiel.

He uses the language of shepherds and sheep, which is not quite how we tend to think of our political leaders, but that's exactly who he is talking to. And their system was quite a bit different from ours, especially in the fact that it was one based on a common religion. But the point of government remains the same. The leaders are charged with the care of the public. But something about that responsibility had gotten lost in Ezekiel's time:

"Ah, you shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the fatlings; but you do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not brought back the strayed, you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them."

Something had gone terribly awry. Instead of tending to the people in their care, the leaders of Israel had turned to self-indulgence. They were living the high life while their people suffered poverty, hunger, sickness, and injury. Any of this sound familiar? Ezekiel doesn't mince words: clearly, this is not God's vision or hope for the world, and God does not look kindly upon those who are supposed to be shepherds - leaders and caretakers - of God's people but use their power to trample on the sheep.

Fast forward 2500 years, and here we are, embroiled in what is called a debate over health care reform. Now, I am quite certain there are people in both parties who are genuinely concerned with the people they represent. But frankly, much of what is being said seems to have more to do with one party wanting to chalk up the win for a new administration, so badly that they're willing to make concessions that render reform almost useless, and the other party wanting to prevent reform so they can point out how badly the president they didn't vote for failed when the next election comes around. It's fueled by misinformation and paranoia-inducing rhetoric like "death panels," and it has almost nothing to do with actual people who are suffering for lack of adequate health care. People argue that we already have the best healthcare system in the world, but we pay more for healthcare than almost anyone else in the developed world, and yet rank 42nd in life expectancy. Clearly something is awry. The debate as it stands is all about who wins, and if it continues this way, the real losers will be the sheep - the weak, the sick, the injured, those who for whatever reason don't have access to good healthcare.

Although my own party preference is pretty much plastered on my sleeve here, this doesn't really have much to do with party affiliation. It has to do with being followers of Jesus Christ. I think that as people of faith, we can hold varying views about the proposed health care legislation, and we can and should discuss whether the points of the legislation are really the best way to provide health care for the American public. The means by which we do that are a good and necessary conversation. The ends, however - the ability of all people to access good health care - does not seem to me to be up for debate. Not for disciples of Jesus, who sent his first disciples out on their first mission with the instruction to cure the sick. Not for believers in a God whose most frequent criticism of humans in the Bible is that they neglect the weak and sick. Whether everyone should have good health care should not be a question for us, and it is up to us to reframe the debate so that it's about people instead of political gain.

Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean health care needs to come through the government. But if we're going to oppose government funded universal health care, we as the Church had better be willing to step up and provide for those who can't afford it. However we go about it, through political advocacy or church run programs, through our votes or with our own volunteer efforts, the vision God gives us is for a world of wholeness and health, where the well-being of all is cared for. The call God gives to us is to strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strayed, and seek the lost. And through that work, may God's covenant of peace be with us and with all people.

Soapbox Preacher?

2009-08-28T14:52:00.003-04:00

I don't generally do "topical" preaching, where you decide what you're going to talk about and then find Scripture to go along with it. We were taught in seminary that topical preaching is Bad, and I'm prone to agree. Usually. But this week I am preaching about health care. I have thrown the lectionary out the window. I don't really know what I'm going to say, as there is a difference between spouting forth my opinion on the issue (which I could easily do) and preaching about it (which I wish to do, and which is more complicated). That said, Ezekiel 34 isn't exactly subtle, and I probably won't be either. Now....what to say?

More ranting, but less political

2009-08-27T12:21:00.003-04:00

We all know that I'm not always the world's most diplomatic person. My filter has improved greatly over the years, but I am still prone to blurting without thinking, expressing my opinions without much in the way of warmth or compassion, and telling people things about themselves that they haven't asked to hear.

That said, I think I've come a long way. I don't always have the energy to keep the filter fully functional when I'm on my off time (that's why it's called "off"), but in a professional capacity, I've more or less learned to mediate my tendency to spout off. I've learned that verbally plowing people down isn't generally the best way to go about forming good relationships, or even getting people to do what you want.

So, this is my question. Is it too much to expect that other people whose jobs involve dealing with the public, in this case denominational staff, would show signs of similar learning?

And yes, I have my hackles up right now, but I do not appreciate heavy-handed edicts coming down from on high. Staff are not bishops. We don't have bishops, and if we did, that wouldn't be them. I do not appreciate indirect communication that travels through multiple people instead of coming straight to me (and I would be engaging in direct communication myself instead of blogging about it, except that I can't seem to get a response either by phone or email). I do not appreciate being told what to do by someone who has made no effort to grasp the realities of the situation. And even though my filter has improved, if you're trying to get me to become as stubborn and abrasive as I can possibly be, all these tactics are a good way to go about it.

I try hard to believe our staff are doing their best to do what's best for the denomination. I really do. But I hear them complain and wonder about the distrust and dislike people have toward them, and then I think that maybe that situation would improve if some of them stopped talking to the rest of us like we are their minions.

A small rant about something I read today

2009-08-25T13:13:00.002-04:00

I don't post about politics very often, but this just rankled me so much that I can't resist:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/25/health/policy/25georgia.html?th&emc=th

I am as irritated as anyone by the possibility of the government funneling money into an inefficient, ineffective health care system that, instead of giving more people access to good and affordable care, reduces the standard of care for those who already receive it. However, I just cannot fathom this man's arguments against national healthcare legislation. Health care could be rationed, his wife could be on a waiting list...I guess that is possible. But by that logic, health care is already rationed: it is allotted to those who can afford it out of pocket, or who are fortunate enough to have employers who cover it, or who qualify for government programs. He's not upset about rationing health care, he's upset that the rationing might skew away from him. An understandable concern, but let's be honest about what the real concern is.

In response to the possibility of losing his own job, and thus the insurance that covers his wife's treatments, Collier mentions the need for a safety net for those who can't get insurance. But there's a caveat: "...I don’t want that safety net to catch too many people."

This pretty much sums up my problems with opposition to universally accessible health care. How many people are "too many?" What is the limit on how many people should be allowed a chance at being healthy? How do we decide who gets that chance? And why, when it's up to us to decide, does it always seem to be us who gets the chance (whichever "us" is speaking), and someone else who doesn't?

When we start trying to orchestrate the health care system to make sure we're always the ones under that umbrella while others are out in the rain, it seems to me that we're making a potentially fatal mistake - literally. I just wish people would realize that it's entirely possible that someday it could be their umbrella that gets yanked away.

Of Friends, Bands, and Smashed Windows (not in that order)

2009-08-24T13:43:00.004-04:00

It's been a rough summer. Strange and frustrating things have happened at church, and I've had a lot of plates to keep spinning with one colleague gone all summer and the other on frequent vacation. Being on a staff in a large church is MUCH different than being a solo pastor, one of the main differences being the levels of policies, communication, and authority. It's not a bad thing; I just find myself tripping over it from time to time. On top of feeling a little prickly toward work, I really didn't expect, at thirty-one years of age, to still be figuring out how to differentiate between friends and crazy people who emotionally sponge off of you for months and then suddenly decide to fly off the handle and act martyred over something you didn't actually do. Not that I have a particular situation in mind.

However, my general mindset shifted when, of all things, my car window was shattered and my GPS was stolen. As I sat there, waiting for Schenectady's finest to arrive and write up a report, it occured to me: this sucks, but it is not life-ending. There is glass everywhere. It's inconvenient to have a bag over my window. It's annoying to go without my GPS for two weeks, and to incur the unexpected expense of replacing it. But it's not a crisis. Things break. It's been two weeks, and I cut my hand on a stray piece of glass yet again. Sometimes the broken pieces stick around for a while. But such is life. Things break. We vacuum it up, call the glass repair company, order the replacement, make do in the meantime with what we have, bandage up the cuts when the sharp edges show up again later. We move on.

I'm not really sure what that looks like, especially as summer festival season wraps up and I no longer have an endless series of concerts to attend for distraction. We're about to stretch out to one every month or two instead of something nearly every weekend. That means I also have to figure out what to do with myself now that my friends in town have dematerialized. Fun. This includes trying to come up with some sort of pleasantly diverting birthday plan. Despite all temptation to be lamely passive-aggressive and sit around waiting for someone else to care enough to put something together, it is part of the Stacey Rule of Life that you just don't set yourself up for depression.

The redeeming parts of my summer have largely been music-related. For those of you who are musically inclined, I thought I'd give a run-down of the highlights.

Best festival - musical lineup: Celtic Fling in Mannheim, PA. I didn't even get to stay for the whole thing, but Enter the Haggis (we all know I love them, probably no need for further plugging), Scythian (the band that may be usurping my affection for ETH through the sheer enjoyment of watching them play), Albannach (Scottish tribal drummers whose performances are positively primal), Rathkeltair (otherwise known as Neil Anderson and his mad piping skillz), Brother, Icewagon Flu, Ceann, the Town Pants...there were some epic performances, especially when the bands joined forces. I now understand why the Fling ceilidh is legendary, and I was sorry to miss Sunday. We had to leave Saturday night to get me back for church; getting home around 5am didn't leave me much sleep, but it was worth it.

Best festival - dance therapy: Grassroots Festival of Music and Dance in Trumansburg, NY. I've gotten used to Celtic festivals, so certain things about this fest took me by surprise. How very out of place I felt having come in my work clothes, for one example (bare feet and loose, flowy, minimal clothing being the order of the day). The utter lack of Guinness or bagpipers, for another. The distinctive haze in the air. The abundance of vegetarian food. I had sort of forgotten about hippie folk festivals, but this one was great fun, even for the short time I was there. And the dancing - well. No one beats this crowd for kicking up dust, and the free love vibe meant there wasn't a moment of hesitation when Scythian stirred up their signature arm-locked, synchronized leg kicking.

Best festival - setting: Hunter Mountain International Celtic Festival. This place is SO beautiful, surrounded by mountains. Good times with my boys Cliudan, who I hadn't seen in a while. Saw the Young Dubliners and Black 47 for the first time, and of course got to catch yet another ETH show.

Best festival - general good times: Great American Irish Festival, Herkimer, NY. I would love to see a little more variety in their band lineup (and this was only my second year), but I can't really complain about seeing ETH and the Elders together again. ETH even pulled out a one-time Rage Against the Machine cover, much to my delight - and Trevor, usually the "sensitive one," did quite the amazing and convincing job with the metal rap (except for the gleeful giggle in the middle). But for me, this one isn't really about the music; that's a fortunate excuse and great soundtrack for one of the best weekends of the summer. The odd little community we call the Haggis Heads shows up in full force and sets up a sprawling, all-hours camp with the most amazing brunches EVER. Too much fun.

Best single-act show: Scythian's Live CD release concert in Sellersville, PA. Some combination of the company, the venue, and the even greater than usual energy of the band made this one really special. Maybe it was their joy over the "baby" being born. These guys can always be counted on for good, straightforward fun, by the way. If you need a little pick-me-up, I strongly recommend that you find their nearest show immediately, or at least pop in the CD. And follow them on Twitter so you can join me in laughing at the pictures they post from the road.

Most unusual show setting: The Rock 'n Blues Cruise with Hot Day at the Zoo and Enter the Haggis. It's a little strange to watch a band while you sway back and forth with the rhythm of the waves rather than the rhythm of the music, but it was great fun to enjoy the music and the views of Boston Harbor, and I was pretty impressed with Hot Day's bluegrass/jam band vibe.

Most disappointing show: O.A.R. at Saratoga Performing Arts Center. I saw them two years ago at the same venue and had a fantastic time, but then, I was in about the tenth row and they played with Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers, who I love. Now I am wildly spoiled by great, high-energy, smallish-venue bands. If I can't see them well, it's because I've chosen to sit back from the stage and relax a bit away from the speakers, where the sound is better. They connect with their audiences, partially because they can actually see us. If I want to ask them a question about their music, I just walk up after a show and ask. It's just a different performance experience than the large venue shows, and I can no longer claim to be a fan of paying megabucks to sit 800 miles from the stage and listen to something that could be piping from a CD for all I can tell. Makes me a little apprehensive about the Weezer show I'm considering for next week.

That's all for the recap of the Summer of Fests and Frustrations. Back to prepping for the fall.

Hermitage

2009-08-07T13:12:00.003-04:00

I have been quite the introvert lately. That almost never happens, and is usually a forced condition. In this case, it's been a result of fairly significant life shifts, especially those in the social realm of my life, and a little bit of situational depression. People I thought were my friends clearly aren't. The lifestyle that used to energize me now exhausts me. I'm trying to be healthier, to find friends who are less draining and more mutual, to figure out what my life looks like if I'm in bed before midnight. So, I've been more or less a hermit, for me anyway, which means you can usually find me at home by 9pm, and I haven't sung karaoke in weeks. No wonder I'm depressed.

However, there are some things I've learned in my reclusive state:

- I feel better when my house is reasonably clean. Rushing around like a maniac and only being home to sleep and shower is not conducive to that.

- The best carpet odor remover ever is baking soda. All hail the wondrous power of baking soda, which has eradicated months of gross dog smell from my front hallway.

- Even when I'm home a lot, it still feels like a waste of time to cook real meals for one person.

- My dog is really happy when I'm a hermit.

- I need to run. I forgot how much better I feel when I do it, even though my body aches unbelievably.

- My dog does not get as tired as I expect from running. Instead, she becomes more energetic, and still needs to go to the dog park, where running has caused her to morph from Crotchety Old Aunt of the pack to Miss Social. Fortunately, the dog park is a good social outlet for me as well.

- Helium.com is addictive. I've been writing random articles, and it fuels both my writing impulse and my competitive streak. I get irrationally irritated when my rankings fall, though.

That's all for now. I'll try to direct more of my writing here instead of Helium, now that my creative juices seem to be flowing again.

Cyclical

2009-07-17T13:51:00.003-04:00

It is really hard to be a kind, loving person when you feel unloved. This is my learning for the week, as I struggle against my inclination to draw inward and pull a tortoise maneuver against a general sense of being the opposite of loved, cared for, valued, etc. - all those words that describe how most of us would like to feel. I am in this place that I love and where I have always felt loved, but I'm not feeling it this year. Whatever. This too shall pass and all that. In the meantime, I'm realizing that this is true for other people, too: it's just hard to be nice when you feel wretched. So maybe the fact that they're not treating me as I'd like to be treated does not actually reflect any particular feeling toward me, but rather their own feelings of unlovedness (or whatever). Which doesn't make me feel any better about my own stuff, but does keep me aware that being equally mean or negligent isn't going to help them, or me either.

2009-07-03T12:54:00.002-04:00

I am watching "Marley and Me," a movie that I know is about to end in much weeping, because I read the book. On the way back from Obama's inauguration, I dissolved into tears after laughing so hard through most of it that my fellow passengers wondered if I was quite sane.

I do not have the world's worst dog. Not even close. But I did have the puppy who bashed her nose against the bars until she bled when I tried to crate train her, who chewed windowsills and furniture legs, who opened the fridge and ate a pound of hamburger among other things, who routinely escaped while I was busy washing dishes and went upstairs to visit the neighbors. I still have the dog who cannot be allowed to be off-leash in an area within a mile of a road, because even though she doesn't want to be out of sight of me, her hound nose is bound to distract her. I have the original vengeance pee-er, who has a bladder of steel but will stand just out of reach, look me in the eye, and mark the floor if she thinks I should be paying attention to her. I know what it's like to come home to shoes torn to bits, carpet ripped up, claw marks in the door, unexpected puddles, and strewn garbage - all things I thought we conquered back in those puppy days, but which resurged when we moved to this apartment, which clearly did not quite suit her.

Laila is six years old now, middle-aged in the dog world. She's become mellower with age, which means she doesn't jump on EVERYONE she sees, and can generally be walked without shoulder dislocation. She's gotten crankier with other dogs, less tolerant of pestering and quicker to snarl a warning at those who come near her toys or treats. I expected less separation anxiety as she aged, but instead she's developed separation depression, which doesn't bode well for the two weeks I'll spend in South Africa in October. She's still so trim and spry that she gets mistaken for a dog half her age, and her vet tells me she's as fit as a working dog. I'm not sure how that happens when I am so very untrim, unspry, and unfit. She's almost absurdly patient with kids, who leap on her, smack her, and pull her fur and tail without repurcussion. She is a total pastor's dog, as evidenced by the fact that a church pew is one of her favorite places to sit in the entire world.

There are children crying over their dog in this movie. How's that for a double shot of heartbreak? I have always cried over dying dogs, even before I had a dog; as a child, I read Where the Red Fern Grows over and over and sobbed every time.

Laila mostly likely has several years ahead of her, but I have to admit, I've started to watch for the first signs of a hitch in her step. For now, though, I'm the only one with an aching back and the beginnings of hearing loss, so I think we're probably okay, as long as I stay away from movies about dying dogs.

Housecleaning

2009-07-02T13:00:00.004-04:00

When my internal life needs re-ordering, I start obsessively cleaning and organizing my living and working spaces (which - as those of you who know me know well - is not usually a priority). My schedule is compulsively organized; my space is not.

In the last two days, the following tasks have been completed:

- Damaged hallway carpet torn out; floor underneath cleaned and partially refinished

- Rest of carpet vacuumed and steam-cleaned

- Livingroom dusted and reorganized; months of old mail and magazines sorted and tossed.

- Bathroom windowsill stripped, de-moulded, and repainted

- Actual food purchased; expired food discarded; fridge reorganized

- Organizer rack for bedroom purchased and assembled

- Laundry from last two trips done

- Office cleaned

On the docket for the rest of the week:

- Filling the aforementioned rack with things currently strewn across my bedroom floor

- Sorting boxes of stuff still unpacked in the guest room after a year and a half of living here

- Donating or tossing about a third of my stuff

- Deep-cleaning the kitchen and bathroom

- Beautifying porch

I don't think I need a therapist to tell me that the internal waters are troubled.

Healing the Healer

2009-06-23T11:59:00.002-04:00

An article in the NY Times today discusses the difficulty for senior psychiatrists in finding therapy for their own stability's sake. The article asks, "Who does the helper go to for help?" My first thought was, "Maybe they should find a pastor...." My second was, "....and vice versa."

As I read about how the difficulty of finding someone to turn to increases as psychiatrists age, I couldn't help but think about ministers. In seminary we're put into processing groups, encouraged to see therapists, set up with mentors. In the early years of ministry we tend to seek lots of collegial support, from peers and more experienced ministers. With the big emphasis on self-care in ministry these days, I think all of us know that we need to be intentional about seeking space where we can work through our own issues. But then life happens. We get busy. We think we're okay, so we stop talking to people (which of course means that when we're not okay, we're not sure who to turn to). For me, though, I think the biggest factor has been falling into a pattern of always being the helper, and never being the helpee.

I've noticed this lately with my friends around here. I feel like I spend a considerable amount of time listening to them and helping them work through their stuff. This doesn't feel like a burden to me; it is who I am, and it's one of the things that makes me a pastor. Generally I don't really have much that I absolutely NEED to talk about, so we get into a pattern of talking mostly about them. But then there is the odd moment in which I really need someone to talk to, like a few weeks ago when I was seriously questioning my vocation for the first time, or a couple of weeks ago when a personal event threw my emotional state into a complete tailspin. People asked how I was doing, but I barely got two sentences out before they had shifted into talking about their own stuff. I realized as I sat there with tears streaming down my face while one friend rattled blithely on about her week and another completely cut me off when someone else approached her - something is seriously wrong with this picture.

One of the things that might be wrong is some of my choices of friends. I like them to hang out with, but I can't count on them to be there for me. But the other problem is that it becomes increasingly difficult for me, the longer I am the helper, to ask others for help. I've never been good at needing people, and now I am just WAY out of practice.

Tech Insanity

2009-06-22T12:07:00.004-04:00

"You’ll have half the participants BlackBerrying each other as a submeeting, with a running commentary on the primary meeting. BlackBerrys have become like cartoon thought bubbles."
~ Phillipe Reines, a senior adviser to Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton

I have a confession: I have terrible technology etiquette. There are certain places where I draw the line; for example, I don't answer the phone or check my text messages in the middle of serious or sensitive conversations, and I don't type emails or texts while my friends are trying to tell me things, even though I am perfectly able to listen and type at once. That's not the point. It's alienating to have a conversation with someone who is staring at a screen instead of looking you in the eye. But my list of technology etiquette breaches is far longer than a list of my virtuous abstinences would be. I do check my calls and texts when I'm in a group and people are not talking directly to me - as if they won't notice that I've checked out momentarily. I text through meetings. And if there's wifi in the meeting space, forget it. My ADD goes full-bore, and while I can do useful things like looking up information and keeping notes, I'm generally also chatting with a friend or two, checking my email, and playing Wordscraper on Facebook.

All of my tech gadgets have in some ways been good for me. It's actually easier for me to pay attention in a meeting if I also have a side line of thought going on to keep me from drifting during boring or frustrating moments. The ability to text a friend from a meeting has kept me from many an unwise comment that may have otherwise slipped through my verbal filter. All of this probably speaks more to my lack of self-discipline than to the benefits of technology. And I know I'm not the first to wonder this, but I've just been thinking lately about the distance created when we're all so very connected through all of these technological media, but basically unable to maintain an in-person conversation in which we don't turn away to a screen at some point. I'm grateful for the ability to stay in touch with friends and family across vast distances, but I'd hope that when we're in the same room again, I could actually be there with them, and not off in the ether somewhere.

Further Adventures in NoDak

2009-06-18T18:59:00.002-04:00

I've managed to avoid any further run-ins with bison carcasses (although the prairie dogs are abundant) and aggressive wild horses. I did, in standard graceful fashion, take a nosedive into a massive mud puddle just before going to dinner (Pitchfork Fondue - yowza) with my family. It has rained on and off since we've been here, which is unusual for this area. Hence all the green. Today it only poured once; we're hoping the next cycle holds off long enough for us to have dinner at the campsite rather than fleeing to a restaurant. We are so not equipped for actual camping. I would like to be doing more hiking, but the rest of my family is not equipped for that, either. Come to think of it, I'm not either, really...and that's what comes of packing at 2am for a 6:30am flight.

But all of that is side commentary on the main thing, which is that even though I sometimes wish for a bit more time away from the family, or doing something other than what we are doing, I really love it here in the badlands. I grew up visiting here, and even more so having the love for it nurtured in me through my dad's stories about it. It's really hard to be frustrated or cynical when I'm looking up at these hills, and that, I suspect, is about as much vacation as anyone can expect.

Badlands

2009-06-17T12:15:00.003-04:00

It's hard to think of the North Dakota badlands as "bad" right now; there has been so much rain here that everything is green. The wildlife is having a heyday, I'm sure.

North Dakota isn't exactly a tourist destination for most people, but here I am, on the Great Family Vacation Adventure. So far we've mostly spent our time running around Medora and trying to keep our things dry. Yesterday, my brother and I took a hike out into the national park, which proved to be fairly interesting. We took a trail that turned out to be a game trail rather than a human trail, then went back to the real trail and found a dead bison lying smack in the middle of the trail, walked through a creek bed to avoid it, took another trail that ended up being mostly made for guided horse rides, were chased by curious wild horses, somehow managed to avoid running into a herd of bison, and emerged from a rock face onto the park road with very little idea of how to describe to our panicking father where he should pick us up.

Good times...who knows what may be in store for today?

Tales of My Reeling Head

2009-06-10T12:29:00.003-04:00

Last night I returned home from a week at General Synod, my denomination's annual meeting. This was not, as one staffer remarked, my "first rodeo;" I've been around GS eight times now in some capacity or another (although I confess that a couple of times, my role was GS Lurker and Delegate Distraction). It was, however, my first time as a participant with significant responsibilities beyond deliberating and voting.

Much to my great surprise, my report for the Commission for Women went swimmingly. Our two recommendations - gender dynamics training for staff and a funded coordinator of women's ministries - passed by significant margins. I was so surprised, in fact, that I didn't realize they had actually passed until I left the platform and got to the back of the room, and people started hugging me. Despite having watched the results come in, I had apparently prepared myself so well to lose gracefully that it didn't register that I didn't have to.

But I guess nothing should have shocked me at this GS. We voted to adopt the Belhar Confession, which means it only has to be passed by 2/3 of the classes to be official. Frankly, I did not expect this to pass. At best, I expected it to barely squeeze through after all the bruhaha over whether it would be used to advocate for full inclusion of LGBT persons. Thank God, people decided the larger vision of the Belhar was worth more than fear about what they might have to work through because of it.

Those were amongst the highlights of GS for me. Others included:

- Marlin Vis' closing sermon....even though I was herded out to catch the bus and missed the end.

- Finally getting a roommate whose sleep habits did not involve waking up around the time that I was coming in at night.

- Catching up with friends, and meeting new ones...just when I thought I already knew everyone in the RCA.

- Good, intelligent, funny, enlivening, late into the night conversation, sometimes made even better by the addition of good Scotch.

I was sad to leave, which I suppose is a bit odd given that it was a week of long, intense meetings and sleeping on a dorm bed for about four hours a night. But we did some significant work this week, and I got to spend time with good people, and it all just made me happy to be there.

Balancing out the week, there were of course a few things of which I was not so fond. Parts of GS that I hope will not reappear next year include:

- Celebrations of everything and anything. I know, I know, I led one of the celebrations. But I would not have asked for as much time if I had realized that we would spend so many hours recognizing this or that that we wouldn't be able to finish the actual business at hand.

- Lengthy resolutions when we're already late. I missed the end of the sermon and communion for THAT?

- Early mornings. Yeah, I know, they're probably not going to start on my time schedule anytime soon, but this 8:00am business kills me.

- The abundance of people who just really like to hear themselves talk. Also unlikely to change, as we are a bunch of ministers.

So, now I am home, with a few days to catch up and reorient myself before I leave again - this time on vacation with my family to the North Dakota badlands. Yes, you read that correctly: North Dakota. It would not have been my choice. That said, the badlands are absolutely gorgeous, in a stark and brutal sort of way. I plan to do a lot of hiking, and a lot of playing with my nieces, who I only get to see a couple of times a year.

Drive-by Blogging

2009-06-07T12:43:00.002-04:00

Stopping my my poor, neglected blog to direct you to my other, less neglected blog about goings on at General Synod.

Spring Things

2009-04-28T14:58:00.002-04:00

In honor of the absolutely beautiful weather - which some people keep complaining is too hot and humid, bah to them - I return to my blog with a couple of random observations.

Drama is relative. I have a couple of friends to whom my life seems terribly chaotic and full of drama. Here's news: I've got nothing in the drama department. I have minor ridiculousness, but I am surrounded by people whose entire lives are DramaRama. It gets tiring, especially when I have to babysit them in the midst of their insanity, and their insanity never ends. I'm trying to cultivate friendships with people who are not quite so draining.

With the coming of warmth, I have returned to life. Seriously, I become an entirely different person when I can sit in the sun after the long winter. I always thought seasonal affective disorder was a big of a crock, but I'm starting to believe that I may need a UV lamp or something, because I have clearly been in a haze for the last two months or so.

The sun is disappearing, and I am still in the office. Gotta go.

Four-footed Grace

2009-04-09T10:02:00.002-04:00

My dog was just a puppy during the year when I served as a college chaplain. Well behaved she was not; back then we were walking 5-10 miles a day just to make her tired enough that she would sit still for fifteen minutes. But when a freshman girl died in a car accident, Laila was my "assistant" as I sat with her friends and floormates. She provided a kind of support that I couldn't, snuggling her furry little body up against sobbing young women and giving them another living creature to just hold on to. Somehow, she intuitively knew to be still, to be cuddly even though she generally isn't, to simply let people cry into her fur.

It's been a rough week around here. The fourth teenage girl in two months committed suicide, and it's just starting to come out that they may all be related, and that there have been several other attempts that also seem to be part of the same plan. It must be terrifying to be a parent right now, or to be another kid at that school, wondering which of your friends you'll have to see in a casket next.

I've also been dealing with a couple of marriages on the rocks, a homeless teenager, a couple of young adults with serious illnesses, and some emotional wackiness on my own part. I've been trying to take a lesson from Laila. I don't need to solve it all. I don't need to have the answers. I don't need to overtake the world with my brilliant plan to heal all things (which is good, because I don't so much have a plan, brilliant or otherwise). Sometimes just being there and letting people be upset and not asking anything of them is doing something.

In the midst of all this, there's been the general busy-ness of life: youth stuff, meetings, wedding season, and, oh yeah, Holy Moly Week. I think I'm managing to pull it off, but when I stop moving, I'm feeling a little weary, shell-shocked, beaten, and sad.

Meanwhile, I've noticed that Laila has been much more of a lap dog this week than usual...

News from California and Iowa

2009-04-03T13:07:00.004-04:00

As some of you may know, I serve on the board of an organization called Room for All, which advocates for the full and equal participation of LGBT persons in my denomination, the Reformed Church in America. A couple of pieces of news came my way this morning from other members.

The first is a video you should watch. It represents some of the 18,000 couples who were married before Proposition 8 was passed - and whose marriages and families will be declared legally void if Prop 8 is upheld. I'm not a weepy type, but I bawled my eyes out at this one.

The other was this article from the Des Moines Register. It seems that, back in my old college stomping grounds, they have unaninmously ruled that limiting the definition of marriage to one male and one female is unconstitutional. I can't say that I expected Iowa to be the third state to allow same-sex marriages (hello, New York?), but I really wish I was there to celebrate with them. The ruling itself, once you wade through the legalese, is pretty powerful...but sadly, I cannot figure out how to attach it to this post. If you want a copy, drop me a comment with your email and I'll forward it to you.

Here is the joint response from Senate Majority Leader Mike Gronstal and House Speaker Pat Murphy. Makes me proud to have once been an Iowan.

Sometimes Things Implode

2009-04-01T15:38:00.002-04:00

This week, for me, it was my coffee pot. I thought I was doing a good thing. It never occurred to me that scrubbing a bit of dried coffee out of its bottom held the potential of disaster. But with a loud bang, the interior of the carafe shattered. Bye bye, coffee pot.

I enjoy being melodramatic about my very minor traumas, but the truth is that I've been surrounded by more serious implosions all week. Half the world seems to be in divorces or relationship breakups this week. The other half is losing their jobs, homes, health, and loved ones. Of course, there is often overlap there, like the woman who said to me, "I've lost everything I ever had, even my hope."

I can buy another coffee pot. You can't buy trust, love, stability, or a time delay on mortality.

I guess I'm just thinking about the inner resources it takes to pick up the pieces after an implosion. A couple of the people I've talked to this week...well, I'm not actually sure they are going to come through. I'd like to give them hope and help them live again, but all the answers just seem cheap and too easy - not to mention completely unhelpful. My vocation has made me more prepared to listen than some, and that's never a bad place to start, but there are still times when I wonder if there shouldn't be more I can do than that.

Connectivity

2009-03-31T13:33:00.002-04:00

I am not exactly the world's biggest technology geek, but I can generally hold my own. However, there are times when having a new gadget throws my world into flux.

Enter, my new phone.

Two years ago, this phone probably would have been considered quite the swanky thing. Now, it's only marginally less antiquated than my previous phone, which didn't even have internet, for Pete's sake (By the way, who is Pete, pray tell, and why does so much happen in the world for his sake?). So, now I have a phone that also sends me my email. It has a web browser, but I'm not even going there right now. I am already completely befuddled by the fact that my email now follows me around; I do not need to pay more money so that I can be chased around by the interweb.

I love to feel connected. I really love to feel conveniently connected. I was excited about the potential of this phone, that I would not need to carry my computer while traveling, that I could more easily be out of the office without worrying that people couldn't reach me. What I don't love is the feeling that the amount of gadgetry I have is inversely proportional to the amount of time I spend in actual, quality conversation. I'm getting sick of sitting with people at restaurants and bars and having them constantly looking at their phones, and I SO do not want to become one of those people.

My fancy phone may mean that I'm in contact with more people. It might mean I'm connected, whatever that means. But it doesn't mean that I'm growing in depth in relationships with people. Let's just hope it doesn't mean the opposite.

Catching Up

2009-03-30T16:38:00.008-04:00

I am a lame and delinquent blogger. If you're still checking here, thanks for sticking with me. I have nothing particularly profound to say today, but I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing, so I'll catch you up on a few things I've been listening to/reading/doing lately.

Listening:
***(beware, this may actually be an advertisement cleverly disguised as a life update)***
You can listen to the whole thing, and since you will inevitably want to buy it, why not do so from itunes, preferably on Wednesday? Some of us are trying to boost them past some monks into spot #1 on the world music charts.

I just made a week-long mad dash around Canada to go to three of their shows, and I have to say that the best way to hear them for the first time (and many times thereafter, if possible) is live. You can't duplicate the energy, showmanship, humor, and graciousness of the live experience on a recording. That said, the album is fantastic. Their lyrics just keep getting better with time, and while the increasing addition of other musical influences has rubbed some of their more traditional Celtic fans the wrong way, I'm a big fan of the diversity. There's no room for boredom when you combine Celtic roots with hints of bluegrass, jazz, prog rock, folk, sea shanties, and power ballads and stadium rock a la 80s. Highlights for me:

- The Litter and the Leaves: an epic, beer-slinging, mayhem-with-a-message...well, it seems cliched to say it because it's in the song, but the only word I can think of for it is "anthem." It causes me to periodically burst into choruses of, "You can find me in the gutter!" and that's no small feat.

- Noseworthy and Piercy: the story of two fishermen from Newfoundland, set within a musical arrangement that makes you feel the wind, the waves, and the anxiety of being lost at sea. It's not easy to pull off that sea shanty feel without lapsing into cheesiness, but they more than manage.

- Suburban Plains: in case they weren't working with enough influences, let's throw in a beat that sounds straight from the Caribbean beaches (although the promo materials say it's African).

- Murphy's Ashes (which will forever be known in my mind as the March of the Zombies): I'm not usually the world's biggest fan of instrumentals, but seriously, this is freaking brilliant.

- Sea of Crutches: I confess that my love of this song probably comes almost entirely from my extreme jealousy of Miranda Mulholland, who got to record the wonderful harmonies.

Lest you believe me to be completely uncritical (ha), I am not crazy about "Lights and Cars." They have changed it quite a bit since its original (saxophone - ack!) days, but I still expect Rob Lowe and Demi Moore to walk out of a bar every time I hear it (sing along with me now, "St. Elmo's fire..."). If another band played it, I'd probably think it was a fine song, but from ETH, I just find it boring. Also, as a whole, I can't help but wish the album sounded a little grittier. I've heard others call it "overproduced," but I suspect that's a misunderstanding of the term. It seems to me that more of the songs are driven by the keyboards as opposed to the fiddle, or by acoustic guitar rather than a crunchy electric, and so many of the songs come off with a smoother, more polite sound. I prefer my music a little rougher and more urgent...but since I get that in spades from "The Litter and the Leaves" and "Murphy's Ashes," I'll deal.

Reading:

I'm in a Palahniuk phase. I prefered Survivor, which had me on a constant cycle of cringing and laughing out loud. Choke was more graphic - the detailed descriptions of anatomy, sex, and other bodily functions were endless. It was also less amusing; the humor seemed more forced, as though the author keeps saying, "Look how dark and warped I am." But it was still a provocative look at addiction, insanity, invention, and the difference between people's emotional needs and what they think they want - and are comfortable with wanting.

The part of the book that has stuck with me most clearly is a passage about criticism. Essentially, criticism enables people to participate in something without taking the risk of actually creating something and putting it out into the world. I've been thinking about this in relation to my own music and writing, and how much easier it is to criticize than to get off my duff and produce something of my own. That hasn't stopped me from writing this blog post, though.

Doing:
Working. Trying to get church members hooked up with not-for-profit agencies that enable them to use their interests and gifts. Directing the energies of our youth, who came back from Louisiana all fired up to volunteer locally. Being frustrated at the fact that I so often get requests for resources that I know exist, but that are not accessible except within very narrow requirements. Suddenly getting a run of people in relational crises who want to talk (which just goes to show you that when people are in crisis, they don't consider whether they should maybe talk to someone else...like someone who actually knows anything about relationships, but whatever). Getting ready for wedding season. It begins this weekend, and will continue to usurp my weekends throughout the next three months.

Traveling, for work and play. 2009 has already included Vegas, a couple of trips to New Jersey, Pennsylvania, NYC, Massachusetts, the aforementioned Canadian road trip extraordinaire, and Camp Fowler. Coming up in the relatively near future are Michigan, Minnesota, and the North Dakota Badlands. Note the tragic lack of Scotland, Ireland, Norway, or any other destination across the pond in that list. All the travel of the last few months has begun to wear on me, though; I'm starting to actually like hanging out in my apartment. Weird.

Music. Somehow, I'm managing to play solo gigs with relative regularity, and keep up rehearsals with the band. It's been too long since we've had a gig, and I have not had time to focus on booking. Boo, hiss, I need someone else to do these things. I also need to do some writing, because I would like to get a real CD out in the next year or so, and I need to have more to choose from before I can do that and like the results.

Whew. That's all for now.

Bar Ministry

2009-03-04T03:26:00.003-05:00

When I started doing what is now called "bar ministry," it was more like sitting in a bar - because I happened to have bartendeded for longer than I had really been around churches, and bars felt more comfortable than churches, and had beer - and happening to talk about Jesus from time to time. Now it seems that bar ministry is more en vogue in the church crowd, so I thought I would write a brief post about what bar ministry is usually like for me.

You sit in a bar. Sometimes you sit there for hours. You drink beer and chat about stupid things. Eventually, you think, "Well, that was fun, but I'm not sure it qualifies as work/ministry." You notice that it's getting really late. Then you think maybe you'll pay your tab and go home. About that time, someone sits down next to you and says, "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about." They start to talk about surface-y things. They buy you another drink that you don't really need or necessarily want. And then they start to spill. All kinds of things come out. It's then that the more obvious ministry part usually happens.

The difficult thing is, you never know whether they're really serious about the things they say, or whether all of this is just coming out because it's late and they're drunk. After this happens a couple of times, you have to choose whether to be cynical about the drunken confessional aspect of it all. But if you really want to do this thing people now call bar ministry, you sit there and listen anyway, because there's grace in someone being there at the moment that you can finally say what you need to say, even if it's alcohol fueled and you won't remember it in the morning.

I know some people who do bar ministry in other ways, who go to bars but don't drink alcohol while they're there, who stay only a short time, who introduce themselves to everyone as pastors and talk from the very beginning only about religious things. Maybe that works for them, but all that has ever worked for me is the time that I've spent talking about stupid things, that enables people to sit down and have those late night crazy discussions about the real things.

Advice

2009-02-01T20:20:00.003-05:00

I live a life of themes. Maybe this is true for other people, too. I go through phases of having all sorts of people in different areas of my life talk to me about the same topic. Or perhaps I go through phases of noticing. Anyway, those of you who have been reading for a long time may remember a time when it seemed that I could go nowhere without hearing about "boundaries." It was irksome. I think I really was hearing more about boundaries then, because now I hear people say the word occasionally and I no longer want to vomit, although I frequently disagree with their conclusions.

So, those of you who remember the no-B-word days also know that I have been known to use this blog to vent about themes, and say in a generalized way the things that would be rude to say to particular people when I know they are well-intentioned and just haven't thought about how it might feel to hear their statements from the other side.

This is one of those posts.

I have recently been subject to an abundance of relationship advice. Not that I am actually in a relationship, mind you, but I guess that seems to be the thrust of the advice. I know that all of these people have in their minds a wish for me to be happy and fulfilled, and for them that means that I should be partnered. I am at a point in my life when I think that I have a more positive feeling toward being partnered than I have at most times in the past. That is to say, the idea of being in a relationship doesn't make me want to run screaming.

My mistake is expressing this to people, for then they get the impression than I have suddenly embarked on a rampant date-hunt. People, I don't have time for a rampant date-hunt, and even if I did, welcoming the possibility of a relationship is not the same as desperately searching for it. And even if it were, some advice is simply not helpful. For example, the ever-useful, "You just need to put yourself out there." I am out there. That doesn't mean that the perfect person is going to magically appear.

Also, I have become convinced that people in relationships don't really know any more about relationships than anyone else. They claim the authority of their marital status when they say things like, "You just need to be more open and willing to take risks, and not expect everything to be perfect." And then when that doesn't pan out exactly the way they envisioned, they claim equal authority in saying, "You just need to let it go and move on; you don't need to deal with that kind of obstacle." If I followed the advice I've been receiving lately, I would have thrown myself at someone in a mad display of affection, proceeded cautiously, made major career decisions based on a mere chance, written off a friendship, made an ultimatum, and dashed away to the next guy...all in the span of a day.

I'm being more open, and taking more risks with my heart, but that means I'm going to get bruised a bit. And I need to be the one to make the decisions about what risks I'm going to take, and when, and with whom. I'm going to do that anyway, but I'd prefer to do it without people shoulding all over me.

Blogging, the Inauguration, and Other Such Things

2009-01-22T11:52:00.004-05:00

Lately I have been pondering the lack of blogging energy I've had over the last few months. I just have not been in a writing mood, it seems; apparently I have enough verbal outlets these days that I don't feel the need to write. When I had less human interaction - when I didn't have colleagues, and had to drive a half hour to meet people socially - I needed to write. My extrovert brain, which barely thinks if it's not spewing something forth in verbal or written form, would have exploded during that period if I hadn't learned to blog.

Now, the human interaction in my life is fairly constant, and writing has taken a backseat. Such is life.

Anyway, what I really meant to blog about is the inauguration. I was there, standing near the Washington Monument, obviously unable to see a thing except via the jumbo-tron, packed in shoulder to shoulder with so many people that I feel certain that all the attendance estimates are way too low.

Many emotions were flying around on Tuesday, but the one I felt the most was relief. Relief that I can now listen to the president of my country, not because I feel obligated to or because I want to know what the comedians are talking about for the next month, but because I feel interested in and inspired by what he says. Relief that my reflex is no longer to apologize for my citizenship. Relief that I finally feel hopeful rather than angry, embarassed, and overwhelmed.

Of course, relief can turn quickly into complacency, and I worry that nothing will change at all - that people will be lulled into a false sense of peace and justice. The fact that we've elected a non-white president doesn't mean that racial injustice has come to an end. The fact that he talks about equality and unity across divides of religion, race, and sexual orientation, and that people cheer about it, doesn't make it the reality. These things seem more possible now, but they take work, not just from the president or from his administration, but also from us, the people who stood on the Mall and sat in front of TVs on Tuesday, feeling better about this place that we live and the people who now lead us.

Compromise

2008-12-31T02:18:00.003-05:00

"Five and a half years we have lived together. You and me, babe...we're in this together."

I found myself uttering this sentence to my dog tonight. I have officially become one of those people, the people who talk to their pets as though they are people. I'm sure she completely understands, so shut up.

Having a dog is better than living alone. I am not someone who easily adapts to the living habits of others, but she makes sure that I have to do so. We negotiate. She does not eat my underwear if I put them in the laundry basket, or strew garbage across the house if I don't let the trash overflow, or pee on the floor if I take her for a walk before I leave. So, my bad single person behavior is limited by the presence of this other being who depends on me to do certain things in order to keep her from destruction.

This is scarily like other relationships I know that are between two humans.

I still leave work papers all over the coffee table, scatter shoes everywhere, and wait too long between dishwashings, but we don't need to talk about that. These are not things that disturb my dog, after all.

I think people with pets make better friends and partners, because they're used to adapting. Some things about our pets are simply not going to change, and we seem to be much more accepting about that in dogs and cats than we are in humans. In fact, unless we are the Dog Whisperer, we go out of our way to work around certain personality aspects that can be annoying and inconvenient. I don't give nearly as much leeway to humans, which is perhaps one of the reasons I am still single. But I suspect it's good practice to have this dog around, who gets more upset when I leave than I wish she would, who barks when I want her to be quiet, and who occasionally rips up my carpet without consideration for my security deposit.

In case it's not obvious, I'm starting to feel like it might be okay to have a human partner. Laila and I have done pretty well for quite a while, but I'm having some empathy with Adam; the dog is great, but she's not quite the right fit as a partner. Unfortunately, the dating game most people seem to play makes me want to rip my hair out, and I don't know that I'm really suited to having another person around all the time. I really like people...but I also like having my own space.

Because nothing can ever just be easy...

2008-12-12T00:36:00.002-05:00

I spent over three hours on the phone tonight talking to various customer service representatives. Technically, I guess I spent a lot of that time waiting to talk to them and listening to unfortunate versions of Christmas songs.

Round one was an attempt to connect my new laptop to the wireless internet in my apartment. I think I uttered the phrase, "I just need the password for my wireless network" approximately twenty-eight times. Nonetheless, we went through every possible troubleshooting technique that did not involve just giving me the password or telling me how I could find it. After an hour and a half on the phone with three different representatives from my internet provider, they told me to call the company that made my wireless router.

So, we began again: "I just need the password for my wireless network." The call probably would have been shorter if the heavy Indian accent and excessive background noise hadn't required repeating every sentence three times. We did everything conceivable to my computer before he gave up and told me I need an ethernet cable. In a fit of desperation, I asked if there was some way to reset my password via my old computer, which was already connected to the internet. He gave me directions to get into that website, and while he was still giving instructions about WEP and WAP and all manner of other things I don't understand, I discovered that the password is displayed right there on the site. Bingo! I had to interrupt him to explain that I I had entered the password and was online. After the fifth time I promised him that I really was online, he finally believed me and bid me farewell.

Then I went online to check out the flight I was supposed to be on tomorrow. Today I got a call that it had been cancelled because of weather, but there it was on the online departure list, allegedly on time and everything. Oddly, I was still also booked on another flight for Saturday morning. So, I called the airline, and after explaining the situation to three different people, managed to ascertain that the flight had been reinstated. Alas, my spot on it had not. One more agent, and we appear to be golden. Since I am infamous for having issues with airlines, we'll see how that goes tomorrow. If all is as promised, at this time tomorrow, I will be in Minnesota. Hoorah!

Blog Hibernation

2008-11-26T14:36:00.002-05:00

It seems to have been about three weeks since I posted anything here. I am a blogging delinquent - or perhaps just really, really busy. Or both. Anyway, here's what I've been up to:

- Junior high retreat. Many preteen girls, one rather frightened preteen boy, a very wet hike, enough junk food for two armies, and lots of a sound that can only be approximated in print in this way: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

- Trip to Mecca (i.e. Grand Rapids - denominational headquarters) for a consultation about the future of global mission.

- Being sick. Came back from Chicago with sickness, got better, went to jr. hi retreat and returned with more sickness, went to Michigan and came back with another sickness, worked like a crazy person trying to catch up from all the traveling and ended up sick again. Clearly I have no immune system.

- Drama. Personally, I am a drama-free zone at present, as I have no relational issues to cause drama. I don't know whether I just don't care enough about the relational possibility that exists right now, or if I've just reached a point where relationships don't have to be a big hairy deal, or what, but I'm drama-less. Which is good, because all of my friends around here seem to be having major relational drama. I feel like I have fallen into the emo version of Sex and the City, in which 30-something women are constantly having breakups, being depressed, and lacking in comic relief.

- Work. It's good. Busy, crazy, and great. I sometimes suspect I've married my job...which could explain the lack of relational drama.

- Dog. We've discovered the best thing ever: doggie daycare. Laila loves it, and I can watch her on the webcam. Even after she's boarded there, she still gets so excited to go that she nearly wags right out of her skin. It's good to have a place to leave her where I don't have to feel guilty or worry that she's going to get depressed or act like a freak when she comes home.

Are We There Yet?

2008-11-04T14:43:00.003-05:00

This morning I stood in line behind two young people who were voting for the first time - and their father, who was trying to videotape the momentous occasion. He didn't realize that it would be illegal to point his camera at his daughter's legs beneath the voting booth curtain. All three of them were just so excited; it brought me back to my first election. I registered to vote approximately the minute I turned eighteen, and I registered in Iowa - where I went to college - rather than in my home state of Minnesota, because it just seemed so anticlimactic to send in an absentee ballot when I could actually stand at a voting booth and flip the dials. Plus, I was dying to be involved in precinct caucuses.

I suspect I was kind of a weird kid.

I'm excited about today's election too...but the excitement is less of the jump-for-joy-and-get-ready-to-celebrate sort, and more of the give-me-an-ulcer-and-keep-me-from-sleeping variety. That first election was different. It was pretty much a sure thing, first of all. If the wrong candidate had come out on top, I would have been greatly disappointed, but I wasn't terrified of what would happen to my country if he won. And, well, I was eighteen and slightly less jaded than I am now. This election is looking pretty good in the exit polls, but after the last fiasco, I don't trust exit polls one bit. I don't even trust the popular vote. It's a nail-biting day for me. Or it would be, if I hadn't just given myself a manicure in hopes of curing myself of that particular habit.

The Microwave

2008-10-29T10:08:00.003-04:00

My microwave appears to have nearly outlived its usefulness. I have to tack a good couple of minutes onto any heating instructions, and even then, I often find small frozen patches in the middle of my Lean Cuisine. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; microwaves probably aren't made to survive thirteen plus years of moving and, well, heating.

Yes, this is the microwave I got as a high school graduation present. It bears a sticker that says "Choose or Lose 1996" - a sticker from another election, ages ago, when I was happily campaigning my little heart out for Clinton's reelection, and when I was excited about the political process rather than exhausted by it. It was a different time, before eight years of Bush. I wanted Clinton to win, obviously, but I wasn't afraid of what might happen to the country if Dole won. I didn't have dreams about going through customs in Scotland, fleeing the country after the wrong candidate was elected. Now I do.

I should probably get a new microwave soon, one that actually works. But I don't really want to give up the reminder of a time when I was more hopeful.

Things I Enjoy...and Don't

2008-10-21T17:20:00.002-04:00

There are things I enjoy about traveling. I enjoy being reminded that there is life outside of the one-mile radius around my apartment, and seeing new places or places I haven't visited for a while. I enjoy seeing old friends. I enjoy, in the case of my recent travels, participating in denominational goings-on, although I enjoy some of the goings-on more than others.

I do not particularly enjoy living out of a suitcase, dealing with irritating airline procedures, or being away from my dog. I also do not enjoy returning to what seems like 8 gazillion emails and phone messages that have accumulated even though I have done my best to check both my email and voice mail several times while away.

I am lost in catch-up land with only a mile-long to-do list to be my guide.

A Few Thoughts from Chicago

2008-10-18T15:53:00.002-04:00

I have spent a good part of this week at the annual meetings of the General Synod Council and the various commissions, and there are a few things I have observed that I'd like to share with you.

1. It is bad form to stereotype people based on their ethnic heritage. It's even worse to do so when you're leading an anti-racism training.

2. Telling someone to go into the next room with all the "other colored people" at the same training: also bad. Letting people define their own racial identity: good...but that didn't so much happen at this particular training.

3. My denomination has decided to focus on racial reconciliation and multiculturalism. I'm in favor of this, as we are definitely lacking in that area. However, many of the things we covered in the training overlap and relate with issues of sexism, and I'm not sure we can deal with these issues entirely separately. We're going to encounter one small problem if we try to combine them as a broader issue of injustice, however. While the Bible was once commonly used to reinforce racism, someone who used it that way now would be regarded by most people as an antiquated, ignorant, hate-mongering ninny. Using the Bible to support sexism, however, is seen as a perfectly legitimate hermeneutical point of view.

4. People are now being asked in my denomination, "Where do you experience racism?" I'm glad for them, and I can see the relief on their faces when, for the first time, they don't have to jump up and down and demand to be heard. I'm glad for all of us, that we're finally listening. I'm glad we have a commitment to being challenged and stretched this way. I also wish that we had a similar commitment to hearing women's voices and experiences.

5. Can you tell that I serve on the Commission for - come on, you know you can guess it - Women? Two days of talking about gender discrimination has apparently gotten me a little hot under the collar.

6. My dog has spent the week at a kennel with webcams, so I have been able to watch her running around with other dogs and looking generally happy and well-exercised. I think this is one of the coolest ideas ever - so much so that I'm not even angry at the absurd amount of money that I'm paying for her to staying there. That might change tomorrow when I actually get the bill. But then, she may never want to come home, either.

2008-10-14T13:46:00.003-04:00

There's something about being without internet for two days that is incredibly freeing.

And then there's something else about it that leaves you reeling with missed meet-ups, bills paid just a day too late, hundreds of emails to wade through, and the general sense that your life has frayed around the edges.

Gotta love technology.

2008-10-08T03:24:00.002-04:00

I recently caught an episode of the Gilmore Girls in which Luke was having his "dark day." No one seemed entirely sure of why he had a dark day; they all just acknowledged that it happened, and that he would need to go away by himself and be away from people.

October 9 is my dark day. The problem is, it starts to hit a couple of days in advance, when I look at my planner and realize that October 9 is coming. It's a terrible day for me to be dark. It's my brother's birthday, and at least one of my friend's as well. But it's also the day on which someone I loved died. It's the day when I drink Bud in a can (and I hate Bud, and I hate beer in cans), and if I'm anywhere near Indiana, I sit in a cemetery and have a weird little chat with someone I haven't seen in four years.

I'm not anywhere near Indiana. I will not be sitting in the cemetery this year.

I will drink my Bud in a can here in New York, not alone, but with friends who have been warned that this will not be a pretty day for me. I will try to convince myself again that it wasn't my fault; once a year, I feel like it was. All things considered, once a year isn't bad. Even if it lasts a week rather than just a dark day.

Please forgive me while I unpack a bit of emotional baggage...

2008-10-05T00:38:00.002-04:00

Okay, so there won't be that much unpacking here. Prior experience has taught me that unloading via the internet is not wise or safe. But it is late-ish, and none of my friends seem to be out or online, and I am full of a variety of angst that I have not experienced in quite some time, and sleep is sure to evade me until I release just a little bit of it into the universe.

Part of it is that I just said goodbye to a dear friend who is leaving the country for two years. I know there will be email, and snail mail, and the occasional text message. And I know that it's not like we talked constantly or lived in the same place anyway. But even so, it makes me sad to think that she won't be around to share the occasional wine-and-dish session. As she said this evening, "our awesomeness is not the same, but it is complementary." I do not wish my complementing awesomeness to be on the other side of the globe, even though I am excited for her in her new adventure. I'm not entirely sure where Samoa is, but I'm looking into plane tickets.

Another part of it is that I'm in an unresolved situation that is frustrating me. I am the Queen of Unresolved, life is generally unresolved in my experience, and I should be used to this by now, but I'm not, and I don't like to miss people, especially not when I don't know why I miss them or whether I even should miss them. I realize that probably doesn't make sense, but it's all I can say here.

And then there is the unexplainable part, which has made me feel cranky and slightly sick all week. I have snapped at people and flown off the handle and blown off a variety of things. It's not entirely unusual for me to have less than gracious reactions to people, but throwing tantrums and not getting things done isn't really my way. I am irking myself. And thus I am going to go to bed, so as to decrease my chances of snapping at more people in the morning, when I am supposed to be the Most Gracious Version of Myself.

Joe Six-Pack and the Soccer Mom

2008-10-03T22:56:00.002-04:00

I will not vote for John McCain, so perhaps this is a moot point, but I find myself in despair over Sarah Palin. I wish I could like her. I really do. I like the idea of female candidates for office. When she was chosen as McCain's running mate, I knew very little about her, and I hoped for a strong, smart woman. There are so few women in high government offices that part of me suspects that all women are in some way judged according to those who step into that limelight. If that is indeed the case, I wish to be better represented. I realize that I'm biased, and that I'm unlikely to agree with much that any Republican says. But I at least hoped for someone I could respect, and someone whose views I would be interested in hearing.

Instead, when I watch her in interviews or in last night's debate, I encounter this person who doesn't seem to actually know much of anything, and who tries to cover it up with evasive answers, folksy expressions, winking, and references to soccer moms. I am hard pressed to distinguish the real person from the SNL parody of her. I don't care whether she can shoot a moose or see Russia from her backyard. We've seen for the last eight years what voting for the down-home factor does for us. I want her to answer a question directly and demonstrate why she has such a high approval rating in her home state, but I have yet to hear either of these things. The only positive observation of her I have is the kind of thing I hate hearing, because it's something that is only noticed about female candidates. She has good taste in shoes.

Weddings

2008-09-25T11:27:00.003-04:00

I have been getting a ton of requests to do weddings since I moved to this new gig. Some of them come from people who attended a wedding I've performed; that's pretty flattering. Some of them come because I work in a large and beautiful church, and people like the idea of having their ceremony in such a place. These weddings get divided up between the three ministers on staff here, depending on our willingness and availability.

Then there are the other requests - the ones that come from the list at city hall. I have no idea how my name even got onto that list. Clearly someone knew about me within a couple of weeks of my start date. I get at least one call a week from someone who doesn't know me from Eve (or Adam...often, they're expecting a man to answer the phone), and probably doesn't know (or care) what church I work for. They often give extremely short notice; yesterday someone asked if I'd have time to do a wedding tomorrow. Usually this cuts out the possibility from my end right away. My fee is the same for these weddings as it is if you get married in the church and want in-person consultations and a rehearsal beforehand. That usually puts the kibosh on it from their end.

But sometimes it doesn't.

And then I wonder about these 'random' weddings. I wonder about what they're thinking, why they want a minister instead of a JP when they don't seem to have a relationship with a church or minister otherwise, what it is that they think a minister will bring to their wedding. I wonder whether I should participate in these weddings at all. Before I was ordained, I did not envision performing weddings for strangers who were utterly unconnected to the church. But I also think it's a mistake to turn down opportunities for the church to be part of people's sacred moments, as it may be one of the only times they ever feel a need for it. It's an odd predicament.

Not so cranky, but still in the mood to share random information

2008-09-24T13:43:00.002-04:00

There must be an entire dog living in my computer. That is the only reasonable explanation I can think of for the insane amount of hair that came out of my keyboard when I decided to clean it today. I'm surprised I have been able to continue typing on this thing.

Last night I went home at 10:00pm, fell into bed, was asleep by 10:30, and slept like the dead until 9:00am. I am not a big sleeper; I usually feel quite happy with 5-6 hours most nights and then one morning a week when I can just sleep in and get a full 8 hours. It is extremely rare for me to go to bed before midnight, and then I'm usually reading my insomnia into submission for an hour or two. The fact that I slept more than ten hours last night makes me a little concerned, because the only time I sleep like that is when I'm getting sick. But I feel pretty good today, so maybe I just needed the rest.

I am researching potential mission trip locations for the youth group. I would really like to go on one of these pre-planned trips on which I would just have to make sure we all get there, and then could step back and let someone else organize and lead the details. However, I seem to be having some difficulty finding such trips that are not run by people on the opposite end of the theological spectrum from myself and my church. We wish to go somewhere and serve some people in the name of Christ. We do not wish to do door-to-door evangelism. Personally, I do not wish to subject my youth group to fundagelical craziness, not least because I have no desire to spend the next several months answering questions like, "What is this rapture business they kept talking about?" Where are the mission trips for progressive churches? I suspect I am going to have to do all the organizing myself. Which is fine, but a tidge daunting.

It seems that I have fallen into an entire world of Celtic music. A year ago, I had never been to a Celtic festival or heard more than a snippet of any sort of Celtic rock music. However, an absurd amount of my free time in the last year been eaten by concerts, festivals, and trips to Scotland and Ireland. I'm certainly not complaining. I've been having a blast. But it's a little weird. The closest thing to Scottish or Irish blood I have is whatever we share from my Viking ancestors, who did their share of raping and pillaging all over said countries. Anyway, the Celtic music world is much like my denomination: small and interwoven to the point of near incestuousness. The musicians ALL know each other. Once you know one band, you sort of fall into knowing them all. It's fun. And it makes me wonder if I should be making a shift from alternative to Celtic music...

...but for now, I'm sticking with my band. Which, by the way, is playing at the Union Inn in Schenectady this Friday from 7-10pm. They're having a big tent party thingamabob. In case anyone is interested.

Because I am in a bit of a cranky mood...

2008-09-17T12:52:00.003-04:00

...and feel the need to vent about things that aren't actually the cause of my crankiness...

A Few Random Things I Really Dislike:

- Mayonnaise. I don't even want to look at this disgusting substance, let alone discover that it has entered my mouth, courtesy of my otherwise delicious turkey club.

- Handbags with their designers' logos splashed all over them. Yes, Louis Vuitton and your 800 copycats, I mean you. I want my handbags to say "Beautiful and Classy!" through their style and construction, not by the fashion equivalent of Cate Blanchett running the streets screaming "Don't you see how famous and important I am????" Which of course she would never do, because she actually is beautiful and classy.

- Signs plastered everywhere demanding, "Clean Up After Your Pet," and no garbage cans within a 10 mile radius. I'm happy to scoop the poop, but I'd just as soon not haul it around with me for the next hour.

- My own forgetfulness.

- People getting defensive for no reason, taking credit for my work, driving like idiots, and not returning urgent emails.

Okay, those last two do actually contribute to my crankiness.

***Later additions to the list (i.e., my day isn't getting better, and I need to vent more before I go out and face people I might distress with my irritated demeanor)***

- Long, poorly-run, boring meetings.

- Sarah Palin.

A Cleaning Interlude

2008-09-11T17:03:00.003-04:00

Rarely do I get excited about anything related to cleaning, but yesterday I bought this:

And I know that it's probably not all that exciting to anyone else, but I steam cleaned my entry hallway today. Buh-bye, signs of canine separation anxiety!

Keeping Up

2008-09-09T16:57:00.003-04:00

There is only time for so much.

Let's back up. Birthdays are a good time to take stock. What have I done? What am I doing? What do I need to do? What would I like to do? What needs to be cut back? What needs to be eliminated? I've been asking myself these questions, although not in any organized sort of way.

I'm re-prioritizing at work. Some of the things I originally set out to do are not proving to be as worthwhile as I once thought. They're fine things, but they're not the most necessary or effective things. After a summer of basically just trying to keep my head above water, well, things are not calming down around here, but I need to take a day or two to focus on the big picture rather than plowing through my daily tasks. Somewhere this week I heard the phrase "our capacity for myopia." I feel myopic at the moment. As someone who has worn contacts for nineteen years, I understand my need for corrective lenses; without my contacts, I can only see clearly about six feet in front of me. This summer I've lapsed into only being able to see the day immediately before me. My life lenses are in need of some tweaking.

The rest of my life is similarly feeling a bit haphazard these days. I like to be In Control. Failing that, I at least like to be reasonably mindful of how what I do on a daily basis affects the trajectory of what I'm doing in a longer-term sense. The willy-nilly-ness of my life has been fun, but not so much productive. Adjustment time.

So, I spent today catching up with some things that have been neglected. Planning and publicity for things at church - because it has seemed like these events were SO far away, but now they are rushing toward me at roughly the speed of an SR-71 Blackbird jet. Personal emails and friends' blogs - because people who are not standing in front of me at a given moment somehow seem like they can always be put off for another day. Looking seriously at my calendar for vacation time - because I am never going to be less busy, and I need to get the rest of my vacation on the calendar before the entire year is sucked into oblivion.

But it occurs to me as I catch up that there is simply not time for everything. I can't do everything that I'd like to do or even everything I think needs to be done at work. I can't spend all the time I'd like with my friends live and in person here and also keep up with every movement of my friends and family who are scattered all over the world. I can't be present for every single thing at church and take two more weeks of vacation which I sorely need. Decisions must be made. Including the one to get off of my blog now and go to the consistory meeting.

31

2008-09-02T01:33:00.002-04:00

It's my birthday.

I'm 31.

Thirty was the best year yet, so I have no reason to believe this year will be otherwise, although I am not booking a flight to another country tonight. Yet.

I don't feel old enough to be thirty-something. But I know those lines between my nose and the corners of my mouth mean I've laughed a LOT.

Perhaps you know you're thirty-something when the most exciting part of your birthday is that you get to sleep without setting an alarm. Most people probably have to work on their birthdays, but that's what I'm doing for mine. It's been a stressful few weeks. I need a few days off, and this seems as good a time as any to take them.

I'm also going to drive a go-cart, and go out for a fancy dinner. It was pointed out to me tonight that these activities might require a wardrobe shift, but I'm going to drive the go-cart in my fancy dinner dress, because that sounds like more fun and less hassle.

I was out when I turned 31, and people kept asking me how I felt. I thought that question was over last year, when I turned the big 3-0, but I guess I was busy last year, getting a tattoo and playing a gig, so they ask me now that I am 31. How do I feel? I feel old, and young, and tired, and ready to stay out all night. I feel glad to be alone in my house at the end of a very good night, and sad that there isn't anyone else here to share it with me. I feel glad that my life is what it is, and annoyed at my dog who won't stop barking. I don't know. I guess I feel thirty-one.

A Few Snippets From My Life

2008-08-31T22:14:00.003-04:00

I seem to have vanished into non-blogging world lately. Life has been a little nutty, and the part of my brain that has been able to put together coherent statements has been occupied with things like sermons. So, lest I entirely forget that I have a blog, here are a few of the highlights from the past few weeks.

1. My colleagues were gone again this Sunday, so I was on my own again for the service this morning. Adding to the fun was the fact that we were picketed by a particularly nasty anti-abortion group. Regardless of your opinion on the issue, I'm fairly certain that waving disgusting posters, shouting Scripture verses (exegeted poorly, in my opinion), and cursing people to an eternity in a lake of fire isn't really the best way to go about expressing it. If I had been hovering on the edge of changing my mind, having "Baby killer!" screamed at me that many times would have pushed me back about 1,000 miles inland. One oddly fortunate thing was that they didn't seem to recognize me as a 'real' minister, despite the fact that I was clearly the one wearing the robe and standing in the pulpit, so most of their rage was directed at our senior pastor - who is currently out of the country.

Speaking of this whole incident, if you find pictures or videos of me floating around the internet on anti-abortion sites, do let me know. I'm not sure why, but these people have been photographing and taping me all week. Good thing I got my hair cut recently.

2. My street has apparently fallen off the deep end. A couple of weeks ago, my dog went nuts because of the sirens going off outside. We walked out the door and found a huge brawl taking place on the street, complete with beer bottles being thrown at cops, and a guy lying in the street bleeding from being stabbed with a fence post that had a nail sticking out of it. Tonight, I came home from church and walked practically into the middle of a domestic dispute in the lawn next door. By the time the police responded to my 911 call, the woman had been dragged screaming into the house, and I have no idea what happened. There is also someone living on the corner. At least I assume someone is living there, as there is a bathroom etagere set up against a tree and filled with personal possessions, a lawn chair, a bed roll, and a shopping cart.

On a lesser note, we also have a skunk, which I believe to be rabid, because it hisses at me and runs toward rather than away from me whenever I see it.

3. I've officiated at two weddings this month. One was in a creek.

4. My social life is not suffering despite all the insane busyness of church, in case you're wondering. My dog is not being neglected either (she might debate that point). What is being neglected is: a) sleep, b) housekeeping, and c) anyone who isn't right here in front of me. When I get busy with things that demand my attention immediately, I am terrible about responding to emails and phone calls from people far away, and even when I return them, I am either distracted or exhausted.

5. My birthday is this week, so I have taken a few days off. I'm looking forward to catching up on the neglected items listed above.

A post from a couple of weeks ago that I apparently didn't actually publish...

2008-08-13T00:33:00.002-04:00

My colleagues have been on vacation, and I've been managing the church on my own for a couple of weeks now. It's that weird combination of stressful and good that ministry often is. I sort of feel like my head could come flying off at any moment, and yet I'm enjoying the chance to get to know the church in a different way - and it is different, when they can't go to the senior pastor or the associate who generally handles all the pastoral care situations. My position here is so different from what I did as a solo pastor that it's probably good to be reminded that I'm still a minister, who is fully capable of visiting the hospital, conducting worship services, preaching, and calling visitors. Life is good. And yet, I'm very glad that my colleagues are returning soon.

I really like having colleagues. I'd probably feel differently if we didn't get along as well, or if I were over-managed, or if I didn't trust them to do their jobs well, or if there wasn't freedom for me to contribute to the whole life of the church outside of my job description. But we do get along well, and they treat me as an equal, and we have that good balance of trusting each other to do our own jobs but collaborating on the things that affect the whole church. So, I miss them when they're gone, not just because I find myself doing things that don't quite fit in my job description, but because I've grown used to consulting them and working together. Also, I just like talking to them. It's weird when I can't shout down the hall at them, or hit a button on my phone and yap at them. Although, I'm kind of glad they can't see what a mess my office is right now.

Also, I could really use a vacation of my own now. I had yesterday off, and that was good, but it wasn't quite enough.

Feet

2008-08-04T20:52:00.003-04:00

I know I said this blog wouldn't get much attention this week, but it's just such a darned good way to blow off steam when my head feels like it's about to explode. It is NO FUN being the only pastor around in a church that is accustomed to having three. I need to be writing one of the three sermon-like things I'll be preaching this week, but instead I'm opting for a momentary diversion to something completely unrelated.

Yesterday I wrote about relationship-building via the internet. I have a high proportion of friendships I've either started or primarily maintained online, so I guess it's safe to say that I'm sold on the medium. Internet dating, however, has eluded me. I don't trust it, for me. I know people who have done it well. I just cannot bring myself to make an earnest attempt at it. I'm not serious enough about dating for the "match you with your soul mate" sites, and not casual enough about it for the pick-up sites.

I did go on one date in college with a guy I'd met online. In the first five minutes, he said, "I just really want to get married, settle down in a small town, and have a bunch of kids." I said, "I want to travel a lot, move around, live in cities, and never have kids." We spent a lovely, pressure-free dinner together, because it was clear that this would never work. I also once created a free eharmony profile. I found myself cringing every time I got a "You've been matched!" email, and deleted it. Thus endeth the internet dating.

However, given the pool of people I meet in person, I can understand why people take that route. I was recently the recipient of the unique but creepy pick-up line, "You have beautiful feet, but you should paint those gorgeous toenails of yours." When I said I was going home to write a sermon, he said, "Could your feet use some pampering while you write?" Um, no.

Community and such

2008-08-03T15:50:00.000-04:00

I spent the weekend at an Irish Festival. Yes, the whole weekend; I even took Sunday off, which is something I almost never do unless I've left the country or something. Certainly not when I'm an hour and a half away. But I did for this festival, because this massive group of friends were converging upon the Frankfort Fair Grounds, and there was no way I was going to miss it.

We are an odd group, ranging across a broad variety of ages, backgrounds, and hometowns. We only know each other because, at some point, we came across this band, and something about them struck us as special enough to visit the website and find the message board, or keep going to shows until we began to know the other people there. It doesn't take long. They - or we, I guess it is at this point - are a peculiarly welcoming group. The first time I met some of these people, they said, "You should come to Ireland with us!" And I did...although at the time, I walked away thinking that was the most ridiculous idea ever.

I'm usually a little reticent to tell other people how I know this particular group of friends. I hate the idea of being a groupie, and besides, it's come to feel so much less about the band than about the odd family that comes together around them that "groupie" is just not the right word. We are not swooning teenage girls. Well, some of us are, but that's just accepted as one more of our various eccentricities. I also hesitate to tell people that a significant group of my friends are people I know primarily online. Despite so much of our lives being connected to the internet, that still rings of the pathetic, and I find myself wanting to defend the fact that I have a real life, an in-person life, and that this, too, is part of my real life.

I've moved a lot in the last thirteen years, and I know I'm not the only one. Nearly everyone I know is at least somewhat transient. We go where school or work calls us; we move to get closer to family or to distance ourselves from them. Social circles shift constantly. I've never had trouble meeting people, but even I have to admit, it's often hard to find real friends - and then you never know when one of you is going to move again. Community doesn't just happen by virtue of geographical proximity and familial connections anymore; it's an effort. But it's something people long for. We are not created to be alone.

I have suspicion of the internet on some levels. It's so easy to misrepresent yourself, and so easy to avoid the difficulty of dealing with the foibles and disagreements that crop up in face-to-face interaction. But I also depend on the internet, to keep in touch with the people I've known in the multiple cities where I've lived, for the network of other young clergywomen who support each other in what is still a somewhat unusual life, and yes, to help me build community with odd groups of people who connect over things as small and seemingly meaningless as a band. Though we seldom get to share a meal, as was and is so important in the lives of Jesus' community, the weirdness of the internet makes it possible for this diverse group of people to occasionally sit down over a fabulous outdoor brunch the morning after a show. For that, I am thankful.

B is for Busy

2008-08-02T22:06:00.003-04:00

I just realized that I've been neglecting my blog. Things have been a bit busy around here. I took last weekend off to go to an Irish festival, which was fabulous, and I have about half a post done about the odd and fun little community with whom I camped there. That post got set aside, however, when the realities of work set in, and I found that I had to a) catch up for the time I was gone, b) do all my normal job things, and c) kick it into gear for the next two weeks, as both of my colleagues are gone and I am going it solo. Suddenly I have to do things like visit hospitals and write sermons. Yes, these are things ministers usually do. Yes, I did these things for three years. That doesn't mean I've quite wrapped my head around getting back into that routine yet. I've slipped quite easily into my non-profit liaison/bistro chaplain/youth worker role, and it's not the easiest thing to yank myself back into "Oh, you mean I have to preside over the entire worship service?" mode.

So, I'm preaching tomorrow for the first time in...a while. I'm also leading the liturgy and presiding at communion. Oh, and I'm singing. This could be interesting. I am envisioning a blur of black robes, green stole, and blond hair. I keep reminding myself that I used to do this all the time, with no colleagues to assist. Fortunately, the sermon is finished.

However, I also have to prepare for Jazz Vespers for tomorrow evening. And then there's next week, in which we are hosting a summer lunch program and holding VBS, and I will be doing a wedding Friday, preaching Sunday, and leading our very first Chamber Vespers service. Wheeeeeee. I do not expect this blog to see much action.

Time for another discussion of my favorite "B" word

2008-07-24T13:19:00.003-04:00

My old church has issued a call to a new minister. I'm excited for them, and glad they didn't have to go through such a lengthy process this time around. It will be a different sort of arrangement, for them and for the new pastor, since they've decided to share the call with another congregation. It's a little weird to think that soon there will be a pastor of that church floating around Synod things who is not me. It's also weird to realize that I'm going to have to leave my clergy network, because it's likely that he'll be joining it, and that would just be too odd. I'm not entirely certain that I could restrain myself from giving him all sorts of completely useless advice, put into a support situation like that. I want him to have the ability to process his experience in the congregation without ears as biased as mine. So, provided he wants to join, I'll get out and make space for that.

I've found myself wondering about relationships between former and new pastors lately. One of the most helpful things in the beginning of my first call was when a former pastor (not the most recent) who was in touch with a particular family went with me when the woman died. He knew them, so he could be a better comfort to them, and I got to watch someone who had years of pastoral experience under his belt react to a difficult situation. He helped with the funeral, although he was careful about making sure that I was The Minister in the service. It was great to hear his perspective on the church - even though some of it I didn't find accurate to my time there or applicable to my mode of ministry. Hearing his points of view reminded me that the ways people sometimes acted, both good and bad, were often not at all about me.

We're discouraged from having relationships with the people who proceed us in a call (this is where the "B" word comes in), and in many ways I understand that. It would be easy to pass on negative attitudes toward certain people or programs...but that's assuming that the old pastor can't mediate the way they speak about the church, and that the new pastor is going to absorb everything the old pastor says without any sense of differentiation. Personally, I found it helpful whenever I got a chance to talk to the former ministers of that church.

I'm not going to go seeking a friendship with this new minister, and for a variety of reasons I suspect we would not be BFFs anyway. But I am going to see him around. I'm a half hour drive away. This is a small synod in a small denomination. I think it would be odd to pretend that we didn't know the same people, or that he wasn't living in the house where I once lived. It would definitely be odd to turn around and run the other way every time I saw him, which is pretty much what my predecessor did to me. So, I think I'll just be me, and see how that goes.

On and Off the Clock

2008-07-22T14:09:00.003-04:00

I am aware that I have one of the strangest ministry jobs on earth. People are not usually quite sure of what ministers do anyway, other than show up for that hour or two on Sunday, and I don't even do very many of the typical minister things anymore. A lot of my job involves "hanging out," being available, and trying to develop the kinds of relationships in which something significant can happen.

The funniest thing about this is that it makes my job/life boundaries even more porous than "normal" ministers. For example, there are seven days in a week; I'll give myself one hypothetical evening at home, just for the heck of it. Now, let's say I go out five nights a week, intentionally thinking of myself as fostering relationships and being a sort of bistro chaplain. In those five nights, I might not have a single thing happen that feels the least bit like something most people would recognize as ministry. I might even start to question whether the time I'm spending there is really doing what I hope it will do. Then there comes my day off, on which I decide to just go out and have a couple of drinks with a friend I haven't seen in a while. I don't plan to even talk to anyone else. Of course, it is on this night that I encounter a wide variety of people who need to talk or eat or be admitted to shelters for abused women.

Day off, schmay off.

But the thing is, I don't really mind this. I mostly think it's kind of humorous. Here I am, always trying to plan when things will happen, marking out categories of activities in my calendar. And yet, there things go, happening in whatever timing God darned well pleases. Those of you who know me in person or who have been reading this blog for a long time know that I'm no great fan of the strict-boundary system that seems to be encouraged amongst clergy. I will add to that by saying that my favorite thing about my job is that it usually doesn't feel like a job at all. If last night hadn't been a little on the tough side, I probably wouldn't even have noticed that I seemed to be doing work-like things on my day off. Most of the time, it just feels like life.

A few things from the last week or so

2008-07-21T11:27:00.003-04:00

I spent last week as the volunteer chaplain at a camp in the Adirondacks. I heart junior high students...but they are exhausting. We're up, we're down, we're nearly adults, we're still small children, we want to try everything, we're scared, we're ecstatic, we're sullen. Their reactions to me vary by the minute; one moment I'm the coolest person in the world because I'm an adult who's not their parents, and the next they realize that I'm an adult and therefore in the same category as their parents (and not all that far apart in age from their parents, for that matter - eek). Nonetheless, this is my favorite age group at camp. Their attention spans and mine are about the same, which is convenient. They're old enough to really talk about things, if you can hook into something they care about.

I've become convinced that the most formative experiences of camp come from the scary or difficult moments. When we arrived and there was a massive line of kids and parents waiting to register, it started pouring rain. Everyone was drenched. And yet, there was something about us all being soaked and uncomfortable together that shifted the mood so that we all started the week just accepting that we'd be okay and have fun, whatever may come. Much like when we lose power at church, something about not having control over basic factors of life, like weather, loosens people up. So, when a storm blew up on Wednesday and we had to haul sailboats and kayaks out of the water with great haste, everyone just pitched in. Again, we were drenched, but so what?

My other favorite thing about camp is watching kids click when they hear a particular Bible story and realize that they relate to it, and that they can see the people in it as real people not all that different from them. I'm a big fan of the Bible, so it's great to get the chance to put it in such a way that kids really get it.

On the other hand, I have realized that I am an almost completely oral/aural person. We try to do a lot of things at camp with multiple intelligences, but the fact is that I do not think visually or kinesthetically. I talk, or listen, or sing. I enjoy visuals and movement, and I do occasionally think spatially in terms of worship, but mostly I'm a sound and word person. This is a real limitation when it comes to working with kids, so many of whom are visual learners (and very accustomed to the visual stimulation of TV, video games, etc.). For next year I'm thinking of trying to recruit another minister who is more visually gifted than I am to team up with for this chaplaincy thing.

On another note entirely, yesterday was the five year anniversary of my ordination. Ironically, it was a pew-sitting day at church for me. In some ways, it feels like approximately yesterday that I was hearing my friend and colleague preaching from Amos and asking me if I were sure, taking the vows, and kneeling with all those minister hands on my head and shoulders. In other ways it seems like I've been wearing those vows and doing this minister thing for ages. I suppose that's typical. Five years is long enough to feel substantial, but not long enough to qualify as a long time. But, you know, it's a sixth of my life, and I've been working in churches for over a decade. A third of my life. I still have ambivalence about churches, but it seems that after a decade, it's probably time to admit to myself that this is where I've landed. For all their problems, I also still believe that God uses churches to embody and proclaim the Gospel. I'm thankful for these years of getting to participate in that.

2008-07-13T03:03:00.002-04:00

It's 3:00am. I have church in seven hours. I leave immediately after church for camp. Am I packed? No. My laundry is still drying. Do I have my planning for camp done? No, of course not. Am I feeling even remotely ready to leave civilization for a week and be the camp chaplain? Nope. Good times. I'll probably be out of the internet circuit for the next week, so you'll all just have to soldier on through without my randomness.

The Saga of the Change of Cars

2008-07-03T12:41:00.004-04:00

As my last post might have suggested, I bought a new car this week. A NEW new car. Some of you will recall that I have said on multiple occasions that I would never buy a brand new car again. They're too expensive, they depreciate the second you drive them off the lot, blah blah blah, etc. Nonetheless, I now have this 2008 Hyundai Accent parked outside the church.

I was quite loathe to give up my old car, a 2000 Chevy Cavalier, despite its many issues. It had nearly 180,000 miles on it, and those were my 180,000 miles. I bought it in 1999 as a graduation present to myself, when it had eleven miles on it, six of them from my test drive. It has been a reliable car for nine years, but it's been going rapidly downhill for the last six months of so. I reluctantly started searching for used cars, but found nothing in a reasonable price range that was as comfortable, fun, or fuel efficient as my car. It seems that everyone is currently looking for used, small, fuel efficient cars, and therefore the prices have been jacked up into ridiculousness. The financing terms they were offering were pretty ludicrous as well. Maybe it's just me, but buying a car on credit card-like interest didn't seem like such a hot idea. After several trips to car lots that involved me sitting at a desk and asking, "Are you kidding me?" I gave up and decided to try putting some money into the old car instead. Good idea, right?

Yeah...no. Two mechanics informed me that I'd have to drop at least $2,000 for my car to even be safe to drive. Back to square one.

Through a series of miscommunications, I ended up at a dealership to which I did not intend to go - a dealership selling only new cars. Hrm. Ah, what the heck, I'll test drive a few and see what I like. A few spins around the block and one really remarkable deal later, and I left the lot with my brand new car, which was cheaper than most of the used cars I looked at, and has a crazy warranty and much, much better financing terms than any used lot was willing to give me. I'm pleased, even though I was told that it's a "minister car" (sigh), and even though I discovered today much to my irritation that it doesn't have cruise control, which is what comes of buying a car quickly and unexpectedly. But I can deal with both of those things, because it's cute and kicky, gets fabulous gas mileage, and the manual transmission means I can drive it like a race car wannabe.

Annoyance

2008-06-30T14:44:00.004-04:00

Keeping good records has never been one of my strengths, so I guess I should not be surprised that I cannot find the title to my car. However, one might think that I'd at least remember whether I ever received the title. I paid off this car years ago. I went through all manner of craziness moving it from state to state. You'd think I'd notice that the title never showed up when I finished paying off the loan. Apparently not. Also, Indiana still seems to think my title is registered there, and the New York DMV line has been busy all day, so I can't ask them if it was ever transferred. I am annoyed.

Probably not remarkable in anyone else's life, but...

2008-06-29T22:59:00.003-04:00

Tonight I went to the grocery store and bought actual groceries. Groceries that were not Lean Cuisine meals and South Beach breakfast bars (standards in the Life of Stacey). As in, produce not packaged in a convenient microwave steamer bag, eggs, milk, and fresh fish.

Also - hold onto your hats - I am in the process of using said produce and fish. I am making one of my favorite foods in the whole world: ceviche. There are many versions of this dish, but I am making my own variation, because even though I have been told that "real" ceviche does not include tomatoes, I like tomatoes in mine.

So, there is tilapia marinating in lime juice in the fridge, and there is a mixture of onions, tomatoes, peppers (jalapeno and a tidge of habanero), cilantro, and salt waiting for it. I am so excited for tomorrow to come so I can eat it.

'Roid Rage

2008-06-26T14:30:00.002-04:00

My blog has been pretty lame lately. For quite a while, really. The sheer boringness of the blog has caused some people I know in real life to ask if I'm okay. FYI, the alternating silence and blogging about inane things is not indicative of any negative stuff going on in my life. On the contrary, I'm just not sure what to write about, because my life is pretty doggone good lately. Sprained ankle aside, things are fabulous. I love my job and the people I work with. I'm not all angsty about things going on in church. Just about everything going on at church right now is exciting and positive, and for the most part, it's not my job to deal with the complaints anyway. If I were feeling angsty, I'd have friends to talk about that with, because, well, I have friends here - real live ones whose faces I can see, who are not connected with my congregation.

I started this blog as a way to process things, but I just don't need it for that right now. So, perhaps my blog is having an identity crisis. I'm sure someday my little happy streak will come to an end; no one can have it this good for long, right? But for now, random, pithy updates on my life may have to suffice. And now for one of those...

Yesterday, the weather was gorgeous, and I decided to take my dog to the patio of one of my favorite hangouts for a leisurely dinner. I was reading a book and minding my own business when a huge, steroid-enhanced man emerged from the bar and vomited in front of the door. Lovely. I was happy to keep reading my book and pretending this was not happening while his equally muscled wife tried to get him cleaned up.

Another guy brought him a cup of water, which apparently riled him further, and he began to get quite unruly. Laila, being such a fan of large, hostile men (not), stood up and barked at him - once. Suddenly the guy was charging our table, threatening to kill me and my dog (actually, the threats varied; everything from biting my dog's derriere to smashing my sprained ankle to strangling both of us). Then he was kind enough to throw his glass of water at us.

As I'm sure you can imagine, this made Laila quite pleased. She is a skittish dog anyway, and she gets defensive when men come at me, for which I am generally grateful. But I'm sure her snarling didn't do much to calm him.

So, we're wet, Laila's somewhere between irate and terrified, and I'm trying to dial 911 without him noticing. Finally his wife drags him away...but no, it's not over there. He stands in the middle of the street so that multiple cars have to stop. One of them revs his engine at the guy, who responds by sidestepping and punching the car's windshield, which shatters everywhere. Then he and his wife get into their car and drive away, just before the cops arrive, of course.

A couple of thoughts...
1) No one has screamed or thrown things at me since I was a bartender. It was a little strange to deal with that situation without the barriers of the bar and the job.
2) Usually you only see this sort of thing late at night, not at 7pm. If it had been late at night, there would have been a bouncer and other assorted large men there to help me out, rather than just the mild-mannered businessmen who admitted that, while they wanted to step in, they were pretty sure they'd have the pulp beat out of them.
3) 'Roid rage is an ugly, ugly thing.

Worship in the Dark

2008-06-22T19:11:00.003-04:00

Thunderstorms in the area meant that we had church this morning minus electricity. Ours is not a naturally bright sanctuary. It's stone, with stained glass windows that are fairly opaque and small in proportion to the walls. The minister emeritus was there to preach for the first time since he retired two years ago, which might have created some weirdness. We'll never know, because the lack of lights put us in an "I guess we'll just do our best and see how it goes" frame of mind. The organist moved to the piano and played by candlelight. All the reading and speaking happened from the floor rather than the raised chancel and pulpit. We ditched the assigned hymns because no one could read the hymnals in the dark, and instead sang "Holy, Holy, Holy" and "Amazing Grace." It was fun.

Having had some experience with uncontrollable disruptions to the way worship is normally conducted, I notice that our "interrupted" services often feel the most joyous, and maybe even most genuine. There's less critique, and more recognition that we're all just there being imperfect together. (However, it seems to take a big interruption. Little glitches just bring out the worst of the griping.) From time to time, we need to be interrupted that we're not in control...and also that it doesn't take lights, a sound system, and everything running flawlessly for us to worship God.

Getting Around

2008-06-20T09:55:00.003-04:00

It's been an interesting week. I am terrible at being sick or injured, and basically want to jump right back into doing exactly what I usually do as soon as possible. This tendency leads to many mornings of waking up in pain and wondering what I was thinking the day before. On a positive note, my arms and shoulders are getting quite accustomed to the whole crutch thing. Instead of that "Aaaiieeeeeeeeee, I've ripped every muscle in my upper body" feeling, I now just have a constant, generalized ache.

On a related note, hobbling around on crutches has given me a little insight as to how difficult it would be to be handicapped. I don't know how on earth people do it. I thought it might be a good idea to go grocery shopping this week, as my house is utterly devoid of food. When I arrived, I discovered that being on crutches means that a) I can't push a cart, b) I can't carry a basket, and c) the limit of what I can carry even if I put it in a bag that goes over my shoulder and thus works with the crutches is somewhere in the 5-10 lbs. range. More than that completely throws off my balance and threatens to leave me with a matching injury on the other leg. I bought ramen noodles (light and compact) and then gave up and took myself out for dinner.

I have never noticed before how many places have stairs, uneven or slippery flooring, and heavy doors. It takes me eight years to get anywhere. People will hold doors for me and then sigh at how long it takes me to get through. Yesterday I went to see the Sex and the City movie (more on that later), and the snotty girl taking tickets started asking me for mine when I was still about ten feet away from her. "Do you have your ticket?" "Yes, just a second." "Do you have it with you?" "Yes, just a second." "Can I see it?" "Yes, if you can wait until I get to you so I can stop walking and have use of my hands, thanks."

Basically, it's just a huge pain to try to do anything without help, and since I generally do almost everything without help, my whole life is a huge pain. Hence I'm trying to be a good invalid today and staying home for a while with my idiot foot elevated and iced again.

A brief note on SATC, trying not to give a spoiler. I found this movie to be kind of traumatic. It was not funny enough to counteract the constant emotional tragedies - which was the beauty of the show. It ended well, but I left the theater feeling like I had been through a two and a half hour wringer. Not all that different from trying to go to the grocery store.

When the Treatment is Worse than the Injury

2008-06-16T12:28:00.004-04:00

The ankle still hurts, but do you know what hurts more? My hands, arms, shoulders, and back. It is not easy to propel oneself around on crutches. Fortunately, it is my day off, and I am going to spend most of it lying on the couch, with cold on my ankle and heat on my back, reading magazines and working my way through "The Tudors," courtesy of iTunes.

Stupid Ankle

2008-06-15T13:12:00.002-04:00

I write this from my couch, where I sit with my legs stretched out across pillows and a bag of frozen peas settled on my left ankle. Yes, folks, I have managed to give myself the worst sprained ankle I've ever had - and I've had a few in my time, although it's been several years since the last one. I'm making up a variety of interesting stories to explain how this happened, but the real brilliance of the situation lies in what I did afterward.

I knew something was wrong, more wrong than that twinge that comes when you turn an ankle slightly. But I was in the midst of walking somewhere to meet friends, and didn't have much choice but to continue walking. So, I figured I'd walk it off. As I sat with the friends, I realized that my ankle was swelling and in more pain than it should have been. It seemed wise to go home. It would have been even wiser if a) my car or home had been less than a half mile away, or b) I asked someone to take me home. Sadly, the former was not true, and the latter didn't happen. I walked home. It was painful, but I didn't feel like I was dying. No, that was reserved for the morning, when I couldn't move or put any weight on my foot, and my ankle was almost twice its normal size. Sweet.

You know, it is really quite a pain (sometimes literally) to live alone when you're injured. Imagine, if you will, what I must have looked like as I alternated crawling and hopping through my apartment to acquire the necessary food, pillows for propping, and ice packs. Elegance all the way, baby. But none of this had any comparison to my attempt to "walk" the dog.

Also, at this point, my car was a mile away at the church, so I had to take a cab to my car, so that I could drive to the pharmacy and procure some crutches and a compression bandage. After nine hours of elevating and icing my ankle, I managed to hobble into Rite-Aid and find the crutches, but that was the limit of my pain quotient. I ended up unwrapping the crutches right then and there and using them to get myself out of the store.

The real fun of being injured is relearning how to do everything without the use of a foot, and in this case generally hands as well, since they're pretty absorbed in maneuvering the crutches. A purse I can manage; a coffee cup, not so much. The dog-walking continues to be interesting. Everything happens slower when you're gimping, and I have to actually ask for help, which is something I don't usually do. Should be an entertaining week.

Dreams

2008-06-06T14:58:00.002-04:00

I know I'm feeling stressed out when I remember my dreams. Last night I dreamed that it was Youth Sunday (which is this week), and none of the youth showed up for the service. Then the service ended and it was time for the congregational picnic...but there was no food, because it turned out that I was in charge of the picnic but never knew it. So, we were all milling around in the church lawn, looking for hotdogs, and they were nowhere to be found. I woke up in a panic, wondering where I was going to find a grill and hotdogs for 400.

Having reminded myself that I am not actually in charge of the picnic, I went back to sleep, and this time dreamed that I was the one who missed the service.

I hear that other people have more subtle dreams, full of plots and symbols begging for interpretation. Mine pretty much just say whatever it is my subconscious has to say.

I have resorted to more random late-night blogging

2008-06-06T00:43:00.004-04:00

Is it just me, or has my font changed? From this vantage point, it's kind of hard to read. I didn't do it, I promise. Not really sure what to do about that.

Today I met with a woman whose job is to walk around the streets of the worst neighborhoods in my city and offer resources and services to prostitutes. She spoke fairly casually of the potential that she would be shot or otherwise harmed. Sometimes I realize that my job is not so edgy.

Late Night Notes

2008-06-05T01:16:00.003-04:00

Wahooo!!!!!!

That's all I have to say about that.

I think I might have been confusing in my last post, given some of the comments. I forget that not all of you actually know me in person, and therefore have a perception of me shaped mostly if not entirely by the often self-deprecating things I say about myself in my blog. For the record, I have worn and do wear high heeled shoes. They have yet to catch in my robe, although I had to remember to walk around the grate in the aisle of my last church. I wear them less now because my church has a stone floor, and the heels make a somewhat distracting clacking sound. I make fun of my own klutziness, but I actually manage surprisingly well in "the big girl shoes," as they are referred to by Carrie Bradshaw. I will wear a robe when it seems to be necessary, but I prefer not to do so. It makes me feel separated from the congregation, and I'm a ministry-from-and-of-the-people sort of person. And I have had pink hair. Some members of my congregation did too, and that made it even better. I'm contemplating some pink or blue streaks for summer. I don't expect my entire congregation to show up with pink hair now, but if a few people showed up with hair outside the natural spectrum of color, I'd be delighted.

Whatever shall I wear?

2008-06-04T10:55:00.003-04:00

Dear readers,
Please do my friend a favor! Pop over here and take a brief survey on clergy apparel and appearance. Everyone is welcome to take the survey, although personally I'm more interested in what the non-clergy among us think. Will my bright fuschia nail polish in open-toed shoes be too much this Sunday? How much do you really care whether I wear a robe? And about that pink hair...

Things I Thought Went Out With the 80s

2008-06-03T11:49:00.002-04:00

Chain letters? Seriously? Coming through the actual postal service? Please. And back then, they came from people you knew, not from strangers who bought your name and address from some service that sells them preprinted onto labels. Good grief. I thought the return of pleated pants and shorts to the clothing racks was quite deja vu enough for me, thank you very much, but this is a blast from the past that is just plain irritating.

Solo

2008-06-02T17:01:00.003-04:00

The longer you are one thing, the harder it becomes to be - or even imagine being - something else.

I am pondering this today because I am in full Day Off Mode, which for me involves a number of what I suspect are Single Person Behaviors. On the rare occasions on which I have a true day off, I tend to flop out of bed at about 11am, tie a bandana over my crazy sticking up hair, and put on my glasses. This appearance discourages me from going any farther from my house than my doorway, where I stand while the dog takes care of business, scanning for neighbors who might see me looking like this. I wash about five of the dishes in the sink while waiting for the coffee to brew. Then I lie on the couch for a while and watch bad reruns while playing a particularly mindless computer game called Snood and drinking an entire pot of coffee. At some point I usually get up and clean something, just to make myself feel slightly less lazy.

Then, as a reward for my productivity, I watch a sappy chick flick. (***Spoiler alert...but you could probably guess this one on your own anyway***) Because I am a geek even while I'm being lazy, I then analyze the ending, and whether it might be better with or without a wedding, and what the ending says to and about women regarding relationships, and I start to get irritated at movies that end with weddings or pairings-up, and then I realize I'm getting irritated and begin to analyze my own reaction and wonder whether I am too cynical...or perhaps even too sappy and idealistic, because there was part of me that was happy that the girl got the guy and the dress and overpriced flowers. Because what kind of terrible person isn't at least a little heart-warmed by people falling in love?

Meanwhile, I eat nothing but microwaved convenience foods all day, and don't shower until about 6pm, when I finally get grossed out by myself and realize that I have to be cleaner and better-dressed than this, even if it's just to walk the dog. And I contemplate unpacking the second wave of moving boxes that have been sitting in my apartment for nearly a month, but contemplation is about as far as that goes.

I supposed paired people could engage in these behaviors, but I can't imagine ever allowing someone to actually view me in this state. Although, since I apparently don't mind people knowing that I do these things and choose to publish them on a blog, one never knows.

All this is to say that I sometimes wonder about my solo state. I am a conflicted person. I have been a single person all of my life. I've dated people, and I've had some relationships of varying lengths, but in hindsight I realize that I have never actually thought of myself as paired. I've lived with my dog as my only roommate for five years. And I'm happy this way. I like the freedom of my life. But it worries me a little, because I don't actually believe that people are meant to live alone, and I wonder about my own ability to function well in a partnership or a community. My extreme extroversion is bolstered by weird single person habits, and I just don't know whether I'm willing to either give them up or let someone else into them. On the other hand, I'm pretty glad that I like my life the way it is and am not pining around for some other state of affairs, so maybe I should just leave well enough alone.

This Crazy Weekend

2008-05-26T12:44:00.003-04:00

The wedding:
Even better than I hoped. It was wonderful, and I came away with that amazing, "I love my job" feeling.

By "came away," I really mean "drove an hour like a bat out of hell to get to an Irish Festival at which Enter the Haggis was playing." Yes, festival season has begun, which means a series of jaunts around the northeast is in my future. Oddly, a year ago I was pretty much unaware of the existence of Celtic festivals, being not Celtic in my own heritage. Then I stumbled upon this particular band, and their particular (and peculiar!) group of fans, and suddenly I was in Ireland with them. Now, the band really is great, don't get me wrong. I've now seen them umpteen times in the ten or so months I've known they existed, and I'm not bored of them yet. They're still some of the best musicians I've ever heard, putting on one of the best shows I've ever seen. But at this point, mostly they are a really terrific soundtrack to our roadtrips and social gatherings. As I said to one of the band members yesterday, "Every time I leave town to visit friends, this group of guys shows up and starts playing music."

You might have noticed that I said "yesterday" there, when the Irish festival was Saturday. Yes, I also went to Saranac Lake yesterday for performance #2. It was such a beautiful day, and an incredible drive through the Adirondacks. Good friends, good show, good times, noodle salad. On the down side, it was also full of absolutely idiotic drivers. On the way there, I had to veer onto the non-existent shoulder to avoid a head-on collision with an SUV that apparently decided that lane markings didn't apply. On the way back, people seemed to think it was fun to follow me with their brights on. Despite being exhausted and half-blind, I did eventually make it home.

And now, it is Memorial Day, and I have been lazy all morning. I am supposed to be at a picnic in a very short amount of time, and I am not even showered...so, I'm going to go remedy that now.

Wedding

2008-05-24T15:18:00.003-04:00

I am terribly cynical about love, and thus far completely unable to sustain a relationship, so this may be a strange thing to say, but...

I love weddings.

Despite my mixed feelings about the whole institution of marriage, and all my personal issues with commitment, I love weddings. There is something so daring and beautiful about two people taking those vows, looking at the future and knowing that the odds may well be against them, but standing together and promising to try to make it work anyway. Relationally speaking, I'm not in a good place right now. But I'm performing a wedding in two hours, and I'm just really delighted to get to participate in this moment in this couple's life.

2008-05-22T01:16:00.001-04:00

Also, I'm just really cranky and set in my ways, and being tired, cold, and sore can apparently instantly set me into selfish mode. Good to know.