So much has been written and discussed about how we pass on the faith to the next generation. As well, it seems like there is a multitude of writing on 'where is the next generation?'...they seem to have deserted the church, if not faith itself. I am certainly no expert, and have done no formal studies. But of course I can write and think from that gut place within me that seems to have its own opinion on just about everything!
My husband and I are no good as examples. Between us we have five children. Only two of these remain active in the church. One of the others may have some faith; I cannot tell. The other two are devout atheists. I secretly harbor the hope that love, life, and children of their own will set questions stirring in their hearts that only faith can 'answer' or at least acknowledge. It seems to me that part of the problem lies right there; in the neglected heart. Our education systems are set up to deal with the head only. And of course, faith is a matter of the heart and the head. But if you have evaluated everything in your life using only your head, well you may have a problem with faith.
I am puzzling over these things this week because my nephew just spent five days with us. He is the cutest, cleverest, sweetest three year old you could want for a nephew. We waited a long time for this little guy. One brother and I had our children years ago. They range in age from 17 to 25. After all those years, my youngest brother added this guy to the family. Needless to say, we are all captivated by him.
And I found myself marveling all week at how much of my brother I see in my nephew. In fact, I might say I am seeing my brother for the first time, with new eyes. But what makes this all the more interesting, is that my nephew is adopted, from Korea no less. He looks nothing like our Irish ancestry. But you would know he was my brother's child in an instant! His mannerisms and ways of speech are dead ringers for his father's. He uses the cutest expressions, that I never realized until I heard him say them, are really my brother's. I heard my brother over and over in his son's speech this week. Even his arm movements, his calm approach to everything (what three year old do you know who says "maybe not" rather than "NO"?). And of course there was his mother as well! "Chocolate...?!" said as half question, half wish, half demand. "It's tough" he would say when it was too hard to connect the truck pieces...just like his mother. I could just hear her intonation "oh, that's so tough"....I wonder if they see themselves mirrored so wonderfully in him...
But as I say, this is what got me puzzling over the next generation of the faithful. Here is this little guy who is mimicking, mirroring, copying his parents to such a degree that you miss the physical unresemblance (is that a word?) and can only see the strong resemblance he has to his parents. Picked up just by living day in and day out together. By observing, by loving, by being tended to in the most ordinary ways that then become extraordinary. His heart and his head are tended to by these two loving parents. And in return, we get to see them in him. He looks just like them!
Without trying to simplify the faith/church issue, I could not help but wonder if this was part of the problem. As adults, has church and faith become a sideline for us? Does the next generation not see us practice our faith enough, in day to day, ordinary ways, that then become embedded in extraordinary ways? Have we given in to the idea that faith and church are just one of many choices in our days? Are we encouraging the head-aspects of the rest of life to the expense of the heart-aspects? Music and art programs are the first to get the kick out the door when money is tight. None of this has any research or backing behind it....just a three year old who got his aunt to thinking about how God is continually passing on life to the next generation. What's our role as the church?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Come to the Table
I've been musing on ecumenical 'stuff' of late. In January I sat for the PC(USA) Ordination Exams. A bigger feat than I had anticipated. I had about 10 days to study and prepare. And in those 10 days I was newly reminded of why God has called me to this particular tradition. That alone was worth all the time and effort! This is not to say that I do not value and treasure my Catholic past, I hold that part of me near and dear.
I like to say (and think!) that I have been given a unique opportunity to "walk on both sides of the street of Christianity." Indeed, my journey has given me the chance to study and know rather deeply the theology of both the Catholic side of the street as well as the catholic (Protestant) side of the street. What strikes me is how much more we have in common from the view of the middle of the street, rather than just one side of the street. As well, I am continually struck by the role language plays. I used to quip that I needed a "Catholic/Protestant dictionary" and that remains true. What one side means by sanctification, the other side means by a life of holiness. What one side means by confession, the other side means by creed. What one side means by sanctuary, the other side means by church. And on it goes.
But what has been perhaps the greatest gift, is to read the theologians of each tradition, and understand as well as appreciate, how they came to their way of thinking. And while they come to very different conclusions in many cases, my personal gift has been the chance to see, understand, and accept the truth that lies in each argument, in each conclusion, in each doctrine or confession. And what this has done for me personally is to deeply expand my ecumenical thinking.
Of course, for most traditions, deep conflict arose in the 1500s over the theology of the table. What is communion? What does it mean to partake of the body and blood of Christ? What happens in that sacrament? The two traditions I have been most closely related to take a very similar and a very different approach to these questions. For the Catholics, Christ is most really and physically present in communion. So much so, that the elements of bread and wine don't really exist after the consecration at the altar. For the Presbyterians, Christ is most really and spiritually present in communion. So much so, that the mystery of the table is undefinable. Both traditions land in a place of saying this mystery of Eucharist binds all Christians together across time and space. They are bound to each other and bound to Christ. Both traditions land in a place that understands that we are nourished at the table in a way no other meal can feed us. But for the Catholics, this difference is one that they feel must be respected at the table; only those that hold their belief and understanding can partake. For the Presbyterians, there is a more open approach that invites all baptized who believe in Christ Jesus to come to the table. And at the end of the day, I ask, who can really truly KNOW how Christ is present in communion? But at least for me, both these traditions affirm the belief of a real presence of Christ at the table. Both of these traditions affirm the miraculous mystery and sacramental nature of Eucharist.
Last November the Vesper's planning team decided to celebrate communion following our traditional fellowship Thanksgiving meal. The idea was to move from the secular table to the sacred table, all in the same evening. We decided we would actually build the communion table and set it as part of the Vespers service. The hope was that these activities would highlight the nature of community that is present in the sacrament. Once the table was 'set' we would sit down, gathered around it as if at home. We would share the stories of communion from our faith history, much as we all share beloved family stories at our Thanksgiving meals at home. A time for sharing and remembering all that God has done for us in this sacrament. And then we would celebrate and share communion together.
Building and setting the table proved to be the chaos I had hoped for. The gathered community decided to build the table running up the center aisle of the church, with a 'T' at the head. That way we could all sit together and all see each other. We then set the table with white cloths, candles, yeast sprinkled around, grapes, bread, wine, cup and plate. It was stunning when it was complete! I wished I had a camera. The better part was the wonder and awe of the planning team, who had had a bit of a struggle picturing how all this would get done without any pre-plan!
We then sat down together. It was cramped, but we had chairs for all, as well as one extra to symbolize Jesus at the table with us. I had spread scriptures that covered the story from manna in the dessert through the Last Supper and the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus around the table. People would take turns reading the scriptures in order, to tell our faith family story of communion from the earliest days of the Israelites through the resurrection of our Lord. And here is where the Spirit really seemed to enter the room! Children started reading...struggling with the names and some of the words, but eager to be the ones to share the story of our faith. A little one no more than five, not being able to read, announced that we should all hold hands. And so around the table we made one big circle of contact as we listened to the scriptures and then shared our thoughts as we heard each story.
As the telling of our tradition unfolded, people kept coming in to join us. At first, I had that 'oh no what will we do?' flip in my stomach. There was barely space for elbows at the table when we started. It was key that we all sit together at ONE table. So as each new person arrived, I quietly jumped up to grab another chair and find a spot. Or my husband at the other end of the table would do the chair addition. And then someone else would come in. And then someone else. And then another. And by then my stomach had quit flipping and I had quietly walked into what the Irish call thin space; that space where heaven and earth meet, and it is hard to distinguish one from the other. And when we were finished, eight new people had joined us, and somehow there was room for all at the table!
I keep going back to this night in my heart and in my mind. I can honestly tell you there was NOT room to add eight more people to that table. And I can honestly tell you we DID add eight more people to that table! A miracle before my eyes. The miraculous mystery of the sacrament; room for all....with the moving of the Spirit. Will we be able to say this as different traditions some day? Will there be room for all at the same table some day? That night gives me the deepest of hopes!
I like to say (and think!) that I have been given a unique opportunity to "walk on both sides of the street of Christianity." Indeed, my journey has given me the chance to study and know rather deeply the theology of both the Catholic side of the street as well as the catholic (Protestant) side of the street. What strikes me is how much more we have in common from the view of the middle of the street, rather than just one side of the street. As well, I am continually struck by the role language plays. I used to quip that I needed a "Catholic/Protestant dictionary" and that remains true. What one side means by sanctification, the other side means by a life of holiness. What one side means by confession, the other side means by creed. What one side means by sanctuary, the other side means by church. And on it goes.
But what has been perhaps the greatest gift, is to read the theologians of each tradition, and understand as well as appreciate, how they came to their way of thinking. And while they come to very different conclusions in many cases, my personal gift has been the chance to see, understand, and accept the truth that lies in each argument, in each conclusion, in each doctrine or confession. And what this has done for me personally is to deeply expand my ecumenical thinking.
Of course, for most traditions, deep conflict arose in the 1500s over the theology of the table. What is communion? What does it mean to partake of the body and blood of Christ? What happens in that sacrament? The two traditions I have been most closely related to take a very similar and a very different approach to these questions. For the Catholics, Christ is most really and physically present in communion. So much so, that the elements of bread and wine don't really exist after the consecration at the altar. For the Presbyterians, Christ is most really and spiritually present in communion. So much so, that the mystery of the table is undefinable. Both traditions land in a place of saying this mystery of Eucharist binds all Christians together across time and space. They are bound to each other and bound to Christ. Both traditions land in a place that understands that we are nourished at the table in a way no other meal can feed us. But for the Catholics, this difference is one that they feel must be respected at the table; only those that hold their belief and understanding can partake. For the Presbyterians, there is a more open approach that invites all baptized who believe in Christ Jesus to come to the table. And at the end of the day, I ask, who can really truly KNOW how Christ is present in communion? But at least for me, both these traditions affirm the belief of a real presence of Christ at the table. Both of these traditions affirm the miraculous mystery and sacramental nature of Eucharist.
Last November the Vesper's planning team decided to celebrate communion following our traditional fellowship Thanksgiving meal. The idea was to move from the secular table to the sacred table, all in the same evening. We decided we would actually build the communion table and set it as part of the Vespers service. The hope was that these activities would highlight the nature of community that is present in the sacrament. Once the table was 'set' we would sit down, gathered around it as if at home. We would share the stories of communion from our faith history, much as we all share beloved family stories at our Thanksgiving meals at home. A time for sharing and remembering all that God has done for us in this sacrament. And then we would celebrate and share communion together.
Building and setting the table proved to be the chaos I had hoped for. The gathered community decided to build the table running up the center aisle of the church, with a 'T' at the head. That way we could all sit together and all see each other. We then set the table with white cloths, candles, yeast sprinkled around, grapes, bread, wine, cup and plate. It was stunning when it was complete! I wished I had a camera. The better part was the wonder and awe of the planning team, who had had a bit of a struggle picturing how all this would get done without any pre-plan!
We then sat down together. It was cramped, but we had chairs for all, as well as one extra to symbolize Jesus at the table with us. I had spread scriptures that covered the story from manna in the dessert through the Last Supper and the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus around the table. People would take turns reading the scriptures in order, to tell our faith family story of communion from the earliest days of the Israelites through the resurrection of our Lord. And here is where the Spirit really seemed to enter the room! Children started reading...struggling with the names and some of the words, but eager to be the ones to share the story of our faith. A little one no more than five, not being able to read, announced that we should all hold hands. And so around the table we made one big circle of contact as we listened to the scriptures and then shared our thoughts as we heard each story.
As the telling of our tradition unfolded, people kept coming in to join us. At first, I had that 'oh no what will we do?' flip in my stomach. There was barely space for elbows at the table when we started. It was key that we all sit together at ONE table. So as each new person arrived, I quietly jumped up to grab another chair and find a spot. Or my husband at the other end of the table would do the chair addition. And then someone else would come in. And then someone else. And then another. And by then my stomach had quit flipping and I had quietly walked into what the Irish call thin space; that space where heaven and earth meet, and it is hard to distinguish one from the other. And when we were finished, eight new people had joined us, and somehow there was room for all at the table!
I keep going back to this night in my heart and in my mind. I can honestly tell you there was NOT room to add eight more people to that table. And I can honestly tell you we DID add eight more people to that table! A miracle before my eyes. The miraculous mystery of the sacrament; room for all....with the moving of the Spirit. Will we be able to say this as different traditions some day? Will there be room for all at the same table some day? That night gives me the deepest of hopes!
Friday, October 23, 2009
Sabbath
I've been crabby all week....really crabby. I have nothing, in the big scheme of life, to be crabby about, but that knowledge doesn't seem to be having an affect on my mood. To be fair, it has been a bit of a tumultuous few weeks. I had a few personal disappointments (sort of big ones, actually), an ER trip necessitated by a sinus infection, and then had to put my favorite dog down last week. And of course, I have been running my heals off for the last six weeks going to school full time and working 12-15 hours a week at the new church.
Part of what kept me going those six weeks was knowing that my dear husband had agreed to take two full days off during his busiest season, so that we could get away with our best friends to celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary. I was in a daily countdown! I even made the decision of when to put the dog down, based on our trip. Well, imagine my joy when my dear husband developed a strep-like infection and we had to cancel our trip. Instead of driving to scenic Michigan on a 60 degree day, we spent it in the Urgent Aid. I felt so badly for him....he just felt terrible to be the cause of the cancellation, on top of feeling just physically horrible! How could I be upset? So I kept plugging away....
The personal incident at the old church popped up again on Monday in a way that frustrated me further. And since I did not go away, I felt I ought to go into my Greek class after all. This is Reading Week at my seminary, a seminary invention to give you a few days to catch up on all the reading and papers that you are so behind on. So I had a few books to read, a big project to work on, and the next Vespers service at church is Sunday evening. The point is, do not equate Reading Week with Time Off. Unfortunately, in my head, I had done just that, so the realization that I was still charging ahead full speed was a bit unsettling.
To cap it off, I have to go into the seminary tonight (Friday, of all nights!) for four hours, and again tomorrow (Saturday, of all days!) for eight hours. This is to complete one of three seminars I am required to take on top of my 27 courses to graduate. I spent last night and this morning trying to convince myself I was sick, so I could cancel. There was NO way I felt like driving into the city tonight and tomorrow. I have too much homework to do, I still am not ready for the Vespers service Sunday, and my ill husband has been back at work and I have hardly seen him since Tuesday noon. Nope, the last thing I need is this seminar!
And the topic of the seminar was driving me nuts: The Spiritual Life of Religious Leaders. It is a required seminar. I don't have time for this right now!
Are you reading between the lines with me, here? Are you seeing God's irony? Can you hear God's chuckle? I must admit, it only hit me 20 minutes ago. I can be so dense. I was doing some homework (!) and all of the sudden I thought "you know, maybe this will actually be ok...maybe even GOOD for you right now. Maybe what you need the most right now, is some time that is NOT about class, or homework, or work, or Vespers, or disappointments. Maybe what you need is Sabbath....and perhaps that is exactly what this will be." Perhaps....
Sabbath....from shavat: to cease (or rest)
What would I need to cease from? Hmmmm...Doctor heal thyself keeps popping into my brain. I am thinking that perhaps God, and the seminary, have the right idea requiring me to attend this seminar! I am thinking that perhaps God's timing on this seminar is (as usual) perfect timing. I am thinking that once again, if I let myself get in the way, I just really mess up God's plans. I am thinking I will go with joy and an open heart tonight and find some healing for myself. I am thinking maybe my crabby mood is disappearing. I am thinking Sabbath!
Part of what kept me going those six weeks was knowing that my dear husband had agreed to take two full days off during his busiest season, so that we could get away with our best friends to celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary. I was in a daily countdown! I even made the decision of when to put the dog down, based on our trip. Well, imagine my joy when my dear husband developed a strep-like infection and we had to cancel our trip. Instead of driving to scenic Michigan on a 60 degree day, we spent it in the Urgent Aid. I felt so badly for him....he just felt terrible to be the cause of the cancellation, on top of feeling just physically horrible! How could I be upset? So I kept plugging away....
The personal incident at the old church popped up again on Monday in a way that frustrated me further. And since I did not go away, I felt I ought to go into my Greek class after all. This is Reading Week at my seminary, a seminary invention to give you a few days to catch up on all the reading and papers that you are so behind on. So I had a few books to read, a big project to work on, and the next Vespers service at church is Sunday evening. The point is, do not equate Reading Week with Time Off. Unfortunately, in my head, I had done just that, so the realization that I was still charging ahead full speed was a bit unsettling.
To cap it off, I have to go into the seminary tonight (Friday, of all nights!) for four hours, and again tomorrow (Saturday, of all days!) for eight hours. This is to complete one of three seminars I am required to take on top of my 27 courses to graduate. I spent last night and this morning trying to convince myself I was sick, so I could cancel. There was NO way I felt like driving into the city tonight and tomorrow. I have too much homework to do, I still am not ready for the Vespers service Sunday, and my ill husband has been back at work and I have hardly seen him since Tuesday noon. Nope, the last thing I need is this seminar!
And the topic of the seminar was driving me nuts: The Spiritual Life of Religious Leaders. It is a required seminar. I don't have time for this right now!
Are you reading between the lines with me, here? Are you seeing God's irony? Can you hear God's chuckle? I must admit, it only hit me 20 minutes ago. I can be so dense. I was doing some homework (!) and all of the sudden I thought "you know, maybe this will actually be ok...maybe even GOOD for you right now. Maybe what you need the most right now, is some time that is NOT about class, or homework, or work, or Vespers, or disappointments. Maybe what you need is Sabbath....and perhaps that is exactly what this will be." Perhaps....
Sabbath....from shavat: to cease (or rest)
What would I need to cease from? Hmmmm...Doctor heal thyself keeps popping into my brain. I am thinking that perhaps God, and the seminary, have the right idea requiring me to attend this seminar! I am thinking that perhaps God's timing on this seminar is (as usual) perfect timing. I am thinking that once again, if I let myself get in the way, I just really mess up God's plans. I am thinking I will go with joy and an open heart tonight and find some healing for myself. I am thinking maybe my crabby mood is disappearing. I am thinking Sabbath!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Dirty Feet
Jesus sends the disciples out to get the lay of the land, so to speak, to try their hand at his ministry. And as a good teacher, he gives them all sorts of packing advice. Actually, it reads more like a list of 'what is not allowed at camp.' It is a list filled with not's; what not to bring, what not to do. One of his instructions to them is to shake the dust from their feet of any place that does not accept them, does not listen to them...and so is not listening to Jesus, in effect!
We studied this text at a Session meeting recently at my internship church. It was a great discussion by the elders, filled with as many questions as observations. And I must admit, it has always been a story that leaves me with lots of questions. But I find myself this time pondering the shaking of the dust part of the story the most. Usually it is the part of the story where he tells them not to take any money...I have some issues of trust and security around money, but that's for another post! No, this time, it was this idea to leave the ingrates behind. Jesus doesn't call them ingrates, that's my editorial comment. But ingrates they seem to me. And so he says to them; don't bother with them, don't waste your time, keep on moving forward, head on to more fertile land. Spend your time where we will reap something for your efforts.
It is interesting that this story is told in Matthew, Mark and Luke and each one of them uses that exact phrase to 'shake the dust' from your feet. Obviously it impressed them! Of course, I think of the dirty part of the dust. But I think it was more for them. It was the actual place where they were...the dust of THAT land, that town or village.
It all sounds great. At first. Just be done with those places that won't have you or your message. But I found myself wondering 'just how easy IS that, Jesus?' And when do you know it's time to shake the dust off? How much dust do you let pile up before you say, hey, it's time to start shaking this stuff off my dirty feet? How did the disciples decide 'enough is enough'? How did they know when to pull the plug and move on out? How much of an investment or price do you pay before you call it quits? Exactly how dirty do you let your feet get?
Jesus paints a not too pretty picture of what will happen to those places of dust that you have had to shake from your feet. Something along the lines of Sodom and Gomorrah, which were smited if you don't remember. The whole towns just up in smoke...just like that. And Jesus says those towns will be better off than the ones that make your feet dirty. Wow...
One benefit Jesus gave the disciples was a partner. There were lots of things he told them NOT to take, but a partner was on the packing list. He sent them off into the dusty terrain in pairs, with another. They were not asked to go it alone. So perhaps that is how they made the decision to stay or not to stay. Another mind, another heart, another one to council and pray with, to make the decision with. It seems to me life is always better with another. But certainly in this case, someone to ask 'how dirty are my feet? Should I keep trying here, or give it up, shake this dust from my feet, and move on?'
We studied this text at a Session meeting recently at my internship church. It was a great discussion by the elders, filled with as many questions as observations. And I must admit, it has always been a story that leaves me with lots of questions. But I find myself this time pondering the shaking of the dust part of the story the most. Usually it is the part of the story where he tells them not to take any money...I have some issues of trust and security around money, but that's for another post! No, this time, it was this idea to leave the ingrates behind. Jesus doesn't call them ingrates, that's my editorial comment. But ingrates they seem to me. And so he says to them; don't bother with them, don't waste your time, keep on moving forward, head on to more fertile land. Spend your time where we will reap something for your efforts.
It is interesting that this story is told in Matthew, Mark and Luke and each one of them uses that exact phrase to 'shake the dust' from your feet. Obviously it impressed them! Of course, I think of the dirty part of the dust. But I think it was more for them. It was the actual place where they were...the dust of THAT land, that town or village.
It all sounds great. At first. Just be done with those places that won't have you or your message. But I found myself wondering 'just how easy IS that, Jesus?' And when do you know it's time to shake the dust off? How much dust do you let pile up before you say, hey, it's time to start shaking this stuff off my dirty feet? How did the disciples decide 'enough is enough'? How did they know when to pull the plug and move on out? How much of an investment or price do you pay before you call it quits? Exactly how dirty do you let your feet get?
Jesus paints a not too pretty picture of what will happen to those places of dust that you have had to shake from your feet. Something along the lines of Sodom and Gomorrah, which were smited if you don't remember. The whole towns just up in smoke...just like that. And Jesus says those towns will be better off than the ones that make your feet dirty. Wow...
One benefit Jesus gave the disciples was a partner. There were lots of things he told them NOT to take, but a partner was on the packing list. He sent them off into the dusty terrain in pairs, with another. They were not asked to go it alone. So perhaps that is how they made the decision to stay or not to stay. Another mind, another heart, another one to council and pray with, to make the decision with. It seems to me life is always better with another. But certainly in this case, someone to ask 'how dirty are my feet? Should I keep trying here, or give it up, shake this dust from my feet, and move on?'
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Do Be a Be Bee
When I was a kid, I loved the Romper Room show. It was a TV preschool for most of us; real preschool was only for the very wealthy in those days! At any rate, I loved to watch this program, and the teacher "Miss Whoever" had a magic mirror that she used at the end of the show to say hello and give special messages to children watching. Now, after a while, I got suspicious of the Magic Mirror. I was not so sure how magic it really was. No matter how much I wanted Miss Romper Room to see ME and say hello to ME, she never did. In fact, she never said anything to anyone I knew. Which made me question just how magic the magic mirror really was! ALL my friends watched Romper Room, but the magic mirror never seemed able to see any of us. Clearly it was broken....or something more sinister was going on!
Miss Romper Room always ended the program with her advice to "Do be a DO bee. Don't be a DON'T bee." Of course, the real message in her admonition was to be positive, have that 'can do' attitude, approach life with the spirit of the Little Engine that Could. But there was also that subtler message....life is about doing. What did you do at school today? What did you do at work? What do I do to make the world a better place? Just plain old; what do you do? Be a DO bee. Do, Do, Do....
Ah, the bane of my existence. I'm so good at 'do.' Task-oriented just barely begins to describe me. It's not that I am a bundle of excess energy that gets a lot done all the time. It is just that my way of approaching life is in terms of what needs to get done. It took me too long in my last church position to realize that time, maybe lots of time, was needed at the beginning of any meeting to touch base, reconnect with people, check in on each other. No tasks allowed right off the bat! To me, this was 'wasted time' time when tasks were not being attended to, time we could have been using to analyze, decide, plot, determine....you get the picture.
Eventually I learned that not many tasks get their due attention until the people have been attended to first. The people; their lives, their dreams, their hopes, their joys, their disappointments, their struggles, their successes. What felt like idle chatter to me was in fact the glue that was necessary for a group of people to be able to face a task and have any sort of success with it. But I was still pretty happy once we finally got to (what I considered) the meat of the meeting!
Now I find myself in a tiny church, without a lot to 'do.' At least by my definition! Yes, I've read a bunch of books on stewardship. I've visited so many websites about emergent worship I could function in place of Google. I preached and formatted worship for July. But the feeling lingers that I am not 'doing' enough. So many days I go home and think 'what have I DONE today?' I don't think I have had one list of tasks to check up on at all this summer.
And then Henri Nouwen whispers in my ear. Have you read Henri? I strongly recommend him; lots of good books out there to his name. But years ago, in a parish far far away, Henri came to my attention through the mother of a severely handicapped child. This mother was forging the way for an inclusive worship community, not just for her son, but for all. She was an inspiration then, and continues to be so. And like so many prophets, she made people uncomfortable. They didn't want her around. Didn't want to include her in meetings or events. Spoke in hushed undertones in ways that intimated 'oh you KNOW about HER.' She made us uncomfortable, and rightly so!
But she was so clear with her mission; the physical church buildings needed to be accessible to all. And she would do all she could to make that happen. And she did. And in that process, she spoke Henri's prophetic words to me: "being is more important than doing." I can honestly say I did not get this at all when she said it. But as in all things God, the words stuck with me and would periodically resound in my brain, just sort of bouncing around in there. Eventually I read Nouwen's In the Name of Jesus and was wonder struck to find these thoughts of his in that book.
The book is the story of his journey both literally and figuratively from the land of thinking to the land of feeling, from mind to heart. In his story, he reveals the struggle of giving up the intellectual, task oriented approach to life as well as the joy and celebration of finally embracing the loving and compassionate approach to living with the world. Henri left the world of high class, upper education (think Notre Dame and Harvard!) for the land of the forsaken. He became the leader of L'Arche, an adult home for the profoundly retarded. Talk about whiplash! For Henri, life became about 'being' rather than 'doing.' Being with others, celebrating with them, crying with them, waiting with them, rejoicing with them, wondering with them, praying with them; entering into their lives in ways that connected him with their hearts, because their minds were not able to connect with his. And for Henri, this is really Jesus Work. This is what ministry is all about. This is what Jesus did.
Of course, for those of us that like the 'do' side of the equation, Jesus did a lot of things as well! He walked on water, he fed thousands with scraps, he healed what seemed like every leper that ever lived, he preached, he taught, he partied! But Henri tells me that the heart of Jesus' mission was not in these things he did, but in his compassionate companionship with others. And indeed, a close reading of the Gospels shows me a Jesus who gets upset with followers who want to focus on these events and not on his identity as the one who defines love and tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves. Hmmmm, Jesus was a Be Bee.
So this friendship I have forged with the 15 year old...is that something I have 'done?' The listening I do twice a week with the sitter for a NA program...what is that? Is that 'being' with her in a way that is ministry? And I have made friends with an 80 year old through weekly visits who has shared so much of her life story with me. She has made me laugh like a toddler more than once. And shown me that life is always the same; joy and pain, laughter and tears, struggle and success, no matter the time in history or the person. All that is required to get through any of it is being with another, companionship for the journey. I have waited (patiently?) while two programs I would like to launch linger in the sides. People who are interested in getting these programs off and running are facing personal issues that prevent them from digging into new ministries at church. And so instead of doing these ministries, I spend my time being with them. I am not 'doing' by my standards, but I guess I am certainly 'being.' To be...or to do....I am learning to be a Be Bee and not a Do Bee. And I don't need a magic mirror to send me the right messages, I just need to pay attention to the Gospels....and to my heart.
Miss Romper Room always ended the program with her advice to "Do be a DO bee. Don't be a DON'T bee." Of course, the real message in her admonition was to be positive, have that 'can do' attitude, approach life with the spirit of the Little Engine that Could. But there was also that subtler message....life is about doing. What did you do at school today? What did you do at work? What do I do to make the world a better place? Just plain old; what do you do? Be a DO bee. Do, Do, Do....
Ah, the bane of my existence. I'm so good at 'do.' Task-oriented just barely begins to describe me. It's not that I am a bundle of excess energy that gets a lot done all the time. It is just that my way of approaching life is in terms of what needs to get done. It took me too long in my last church position to realize that time, maybe lots of time, was needed at the beginning of any meeting to touch base, reconnect with people, check in on each other. No tasks allowed right off the bat! To me, this was 'wasted time' time when tasks were not being attended to, time we could have been using to analyze, decide, plot, determine....you get the picture.
Eventually I learned that not many tasks get their due attention until the people have been attended to first. The people; their lives, their dreams, their hopes, their joys, their disappointments, their struggles, their successes. What felt like idle chatter to me was in fact the glue that was necessary for a group of people to be able to face a task and have any sort of success with it. But I was still pretty happy once we finally got to (what I considered) the meat of the meeting!
Now I find myself in a tiny church, without a lot to 'do.' At least by my definition! Yes, I've read a bunch of books on stewardship. I've visited so many websites about emergent worship I could function in place of Google. I preached and formatted worship for July. But the feeling lingers that I am not 'doing' enough. So many days I go home and think 'what have I DONE today?' I don't think I have had one list of tasks to check up on at all this summer.
And then Henri Nouwen whispers in my ear. Have you read Henri? I strongly recommend him; lots of good books out there to his name. But years ago, in a parish far far away, Henri came to my attention through the mother of a severely handicapped child. This mother was forging the way for an inclusive worship community, not just for her son, but for all. She was an inspiration then, and continues to be so. And like so many prophets, she made people uncomfortable. They didn't want her around. Didn't want to include her in meetings or events. Spoke in hushed undertones in ways that intimated 'oh you KNOW about HER.' She made us uncomfortable, and rightly so!
But she was so clear with her mission; the physical church buildings needed to be accessible to all. And she would do all she could to make that happen. And she did. And in that process, she spoke Henri's prophetic words to me: "being is more important than doing." I can honestly say I did not get this at all when she said it. But as in all things God, the words stuck with me and would periodically resound in my brain, just sort of bouncing around in there. Eventually I read Nouwen's In the Name of Jesus and was wonder struck to find these thoughts of his in that book.
The book is the story of his journey both literally and figuratively from the land of thinking to the land of feeling, from mind to heart. In his story, he reveals the struggle of giving up the intellectual, task oriented approach to life as well as the joy and celebration of finally embracing the loving and compassionate approach to living with the world. Henri left the world of high class, upper education (think Notre Dame and Harvard!) for the land of the forsaken. He became the leader of L'Arche, an adult home for the profoundly retarded. Talk about whiplash! For Henri, life became about 'being' rather than 'doing.' Being with others, celebrating with them, crying with them, waiting with them, rejoicing with them, wondering with them, praying with them; entering into their lives in ways that connected him with their hearts, because their minds were not able to connect with his. And for Henri, this is really Jesus Work. This is what ministry is all about. This is what Jesus did.
Of course, for those of us that like the 'do' side of the equation, Jesus did a lot of things as well! He walked on water, he fed thousands with scraps, he healed what seemed like every leper that ever lived, he preached, he taught, he partied! But Henri tells me that the heart of Jesus' mission was not in these things he did, but in his compassionate companionship with others. And indeed, a close reading of the Gospels shows me a Jesus who gets upset with followers who want to focus on these events and not on his identity as the one who defines love and tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves. Hmmmm, Jesus was a Be Bee.
So this friendship I have forged with the 15 year old...is that something I have 'done?' The listening I do twice a week with the sitter for a NA program...what is that? Is that 'being' with her in a way that is ministry? And I have made friends with an 80 year old through weekly visits who has shared so much of her life story with me. She has made me laugh like a toddler more than once. And shown me that life is always the same; joy and pain, laughter and tears, struggle and success, no matter the time in history or the person. All that is required to get through any of it is being with another, companionship for the journey. I have waited (patiently?) while two programs I would like to launch linger in the sides. People who are interested in getting these programs off and running are facing personal issues that prevent them from digging into new ministries at church. And so instead of doing these ministries, I spend my time being with them. I am not 'doing' by my standards, but I guess I am certainly 'being.' To be...or to do....I am learning to be a Be Bee and not a Do Bee. And I don't need a magic mirror to send me the right messages, I just need to pay attention to the Gospels....and to my heart.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
By and By
I've been musing on the loss of some pretty impressive women lately. The church where I am working lost a dear soul unexpectedly two weeks ago. She was 84, but in pretty decent health and had even been the lector at worship the first Sunday of July. She went into the hospital for a routine procedure, and instead of coming home she went home to Jesus. We are all still walking around in a state of shock. She was a tiny little red head with such a sincere smile and beautiful manner about her. I didn't know her well or long, but still felt the the huge loss, and am grateful to have crossed her path. The words congregants used to describe her during the memorial service were ones any of us would wish to be remembered for.
And this week I sit at my laptop composing a service for my husband's 100 year old grandmother who went home to Jesus in February. Ligouri (what a great name!) had been lost to us mentally for years, but for reasons we cannot know, and maybe should not know, her body lingered on here in this world. We will all gather in San Diego next week to celebrate my mother-in-law's 80th birthday as well as celebrate Ligouri's life. I never met her, but have relished the stories I have heard from her two daughters this week as we plan the service. But I love her, as she is one of the reasons my husband exists, one of the reasons he is who he is. All of us gathered at the beach next week will be there one way or another because of Ligouri!
Our closing hymn at the memorial service will be I'll Fly Away, a toe-tapping, heading-bobbing country tune that is certainly celebratory in it's rhythm. I'm stealing my waving wand idea from the Undignified service in July and enlisting the three oldest great-great grandchildren to pass them out and get the dancing going. It should be a fitting way to end a celebration for a life of over 100 years! We always say a funeral or memorial service is a celebration; I'm hoping we live into that claim next week.
The trouble is, I cannot get the tune out of my head. Over and over it plays.
And that gets me thinking about my own grandmother. She is the only one I can remember who always said 'by and by'....'when are we leaving?' 'by and by' 'when will Mom be home?' 'by and by' I knew what the words meant, but I never really understood how they got the meaning they did. But we will sing them at Ligouri's service and I will know that 'by and by' I will also fly away to Jesus.
My own 96 year old aunt flew to Jesus last August. She was the oldest of the six in my mother's family and perpetuates a phrase from one of my favorite pastors. She was a "strong, fierce Irish woman," in the best sense of every one of those words! She never finished high school, as the depression wreaked havoc, instead leaving home for the city to work in THE department store. But in her 40's she returned to school and earned her nursing degree. At 73 she got her driver's licence! At 92, when the car conked out, she declared that was God's way of saying neither she nor the car should be out on the road, and she gave up her keys. Talk about fierce courage!
And she was the center of so much of the life of our family. She taught my children how to play poker at three years of age (no joke). If Dot was around, a card game was in progress or being organized. She would stock the cupboards with all sorts of delicious junk when my brothers and I were arriving for our annual two week vacation at the beach. And she could literally carry on three conversations at once and still hear all that was going on in that fourth conversation. She always knew her mind, and was never afraid to share it. But she was never mean or complaining or critical. I'm not sure she was a person you got close to in an emotional sort of way, but she was the bedrock of the family. I think even at 96 we were just stunned that she actually died...I think we thought she would be with us forever, or at least outlive all of us. It seemed way too soon for her 'by and by' to have arrived.
As I ponder all of these amazing women in their 80s, 90s, 100s, I am grateful for the gift of their lives and how my own life has been shaped or transformed by them. Ligouri would never know the impact she had on me, but believe me, through my husband's love and partnership, she indeed has influenced my life. My aunt had been with me my whole life; it would take pages to chronicle her impact! And the dear soul in church, well she just makes me want to be a better woman, to hear the things said at her memorial service said at mine! And so next week we will celebrate the centenarian. We will pray, hear scripture, sing, and hopefully dance our thanks for Ligouri's life, and know that by and by others will hopefully do the same when we fly away.
And this week I sit at my laptop composing a service for my husband's 100 year old grandmother who went home to Jesus in February. Ligouri (what a great name!) had been lost to us mentally for years, but for reasons we cannot know, and maybe should not know, her body lingered on here in this world. We will all gather in San Diego next week to celebrate my mother-in-law's 80th birthday as well as celebrate Ligouri's life. I never met her, but have relished the stories I have heard from her two daughters this week as we plan the service. But I love her, as she is one of the reasons my husband exists, one of the reasons he is who he is. All of us gathered at the beach next week will be there one way or another because of Ligouri!
Our closing hymn at the memorial service will be I'll Fly Away, a toe-tapping, heading-bobbing country tune that is certainly celebratory in it's rhythm. I'm stealing my waving wand idea from the Undignified service in July and enlisting the three oldest great-great grandchildren to pass them out and get the dancing going. It should be a fitting way to end a celebration for a life of over 100 years! We always say a funeral or memorial service is a celebration; I'm hoping we live into that claim next week.
The trouble is, I cannot get the tune out of my head. Over and over it plays.
I'll fly away, oh glory, I'll fly away.
When I die Hallelujah by and by, I'll fly away.
And that gets me thinking about my own grandmother. She is the only one I can remember who always said 'by and by'....'when are we leaving?' 'by and by' 'when will Mom be home?' 'by and by' I knew what the words meant, but I never really understood how they got the meaning they did. But we will sing them at Ligouri's service and I will know that 'by and by' I will also fly away to Jesus.
My own 96 year old aunt flew to Jesus last August. She was the oldest of the six in my mother's family and perpetuates a phrase from one of my favorite pastors. She was a "strong, fierce Irish woman," in the best sense of every one of those words! She never finished high school, as the depression wreaked havoc, instead leaving home for the city to work in THE department store. But in her 40's she returned to school and earned her nursing degree. At 73 she got her driver's licence! At 92, when the car conked out, she declared that was God's way of saying neither she nor the car should be out on the road, and she gave up her keys. Talk about fierce courage!
And she was the center of so much of the life of our family. She taught my children how to play poker at three years of age (no joke). If Dot was around, a card game was in progress or being organized. She would stock the cupboards with all sorts of delicious junk when my brothers and I were arriving for our annual two week vacation at the beach. And she could literally carry on three conversations at once and still hear all that was going on in that fourth conversation. She always knew her mind, and was never afraid to share it. But she was never mean or complaining or critical. I'm not sure she was a person you got close to in an emotional sort of way, but she was the bedrock of the family. I think even at 96 we were just stunned that she actually died...I think we thought she would be with us forever, or at least outlive all of us. It seemed way too soon for her 'by and by' to have arrived.
As I ponder all of these amazing women in their 80s, 90s, 100s, I am grateful for the gift of their lives and how my own life has been shaped or transformed by them. Ligouri would never know the impact she had on me, but believe me, through my husband's love and partnership, she indeed has influenced my life. My aunt had been with me my whole life; it would take pages to chronicle her impact! And the dear soul in church, well she just makes me want to be a better woman, to hear the things said at her memorial service said at mine! And so next week we will celebrate the centenarian. We will pray, hear scripture, sing, and hopefully dance our thanks for Ligouri's life, and know that by and by others will hopefully do the same when we fly away.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Happy Meals
The small church I have been serving at this summer is part of an ecumenical association with three other Protestant churches. The last Sunday of July they always gather as one worshipping community at a local park for a joint service. So yesterday was Worship in the Park. It was a glorious day; sunny, bright blue sky, billowy clouds and just the perfect breeze to keep you from getting too warm if you were sitting along side the pavilion rather than in it. One church always provides the musicians and another church provides the children's message. The sermon has been a joint effort from all the pastors the last couple of years.
So we gathered in the sunshine, we sang an opening hymn, and then it was time for the children to come up front for a message created just for them. And we all got to hear about Happy Meals; you know, that wonderful invention from McDonald's that is a McBalanced meal of burger/fries/soda and is topped off with a toy....or prize as yesterday's crowd declared. They talked about the fact that the toy usually ends up broken before the day is out, and the meal doesn't keep your tummy satisfied much longer. But it is still a meal that makes most kids happy.
I'm sure you can see where this clever Director of Christian Education was going! We Christians have our own Happy Meal! Our own meal, created and balanced just for us. But one that satisfies all forever. The hymn Gift of Finest Wheat started playing in my brain . . . do you know that one?
Yes indeed, our own Christian Happy Meal. It was a wonderful morning to reflect upon this amazing gift to us. After we had heard The Word, the feeding of the 5000 according to John, each pastor took a few minutes to reflect upon one person's perspective from this story. And then the feasting began!
We were cleverly divided into four groups, so that you would dine at the table of the Lord with others from this ecumenical gathering, not just your own friends and congregants. Four tables, four sets of communion ware, four pastors distributing the meal. And I kept thinking about the fact that this is one of those miracle stories that is told in all four gospels. I love 'complete' images and ideas like that; so hard to miss God in that perfection!
Communion, Eucharist, Lord's Supper....whatever we call it, this miracle can be so hard to understand. What does it mean? What actually happens when we eat this meal? Why did Jesus leave us this gift? What is this sacrament, really?? I have lived in almost polar opposite traditions when it comes to trying to answer any of these questions. Catholics with their mysticism and transubstantiation (try to define that one!) and Presbyterians with their symbolism and yet also a real presence (what does that mean??). Add in all the arguing that has gone on for centuries over this issue and one can begin to get suspicious that any true unity lies within. We seem, once again, to have taken a gift from God, chewed on it, analyzed it, scrutinized it, and of course anthropormorphized it to death, almost literally in this case.
I really had to make peace with this one when I made the move from Catholicism to Presbyterianism. I can still recall the horror that crossed my being when I first witnessed a wonderful Presbyterian minister 'disposing' of the uneaten bread by scattering it for the birds in the back garden. My Catholic heart skipped at least three beats while the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. Let's not even talk about the time I saw someone drop a rather large piece of communion bread on the floor of the sanctuary. I sat in my pew in suspended time, praying each communicant would careful avoid stepping on it. Ah, the challenges of leaving one tradition behind for a new one! But I loved these people that I observed caring for communion in such a different manner. More importantly, I knew God loved them. And I knew that whatever Holy Communion was really about, at the bottom of it all lay God's love for us and desire to gift us with something very special.
And so I decided none of this mattered at all; transubstantiation, consubstantiation, real presence, symbolism, memory. Whatever the 'truth' is about Communion, that is for God to know and me not to puzzle over. The mystery of your presence Lord, no human tongue can tell. My role is to come to the table and accept the gift. My job is to eat the meal and know that something special and unifiying happens at this table. Has happened for centuries. Will continue to happen. I am healed at this table. I am made whole in a new way. I am filled with grace to continue the journey.
Happy Meals, complete with a prize!
So we gathered in the sunshine, we sang an opening hymn, and then it was time for the children to come up front for a message created just for them. And we all got to hear about Happy Meals; you know, that wonderful invention from McDonald's that is a McBalanced meal of burger/fries/soda and is topped off with a toy....or prize as yesterday's crowd declared. They talked about the fact that the toy usually ends up broken before the day is out, and the meal doesn't keep your tummy satisfied much longer. But it is still a meal that makes most kids happy.
I'm sure you can see where this clever Director of Christian Education was going! We Christians have our own Happy Meal! Our own meal, created and balanced just for us. But one that satisfies all forever. The hymn Gift of Finest Wheat started playing in my brain . . . do you know that one?
You satisfy the hungry heart with gift of finest wheat, come give to us oh saving Lord the bread of Life to eat.
As when the shepherd calls his sheep, they know and head his voice; so when you call your family Lord, we follow and rejoice.
With joyful lips we sing to you our praise and gratitude, that you should count us worthy Lord to share this heavenly food.
The mystery of your presence Lord, no mortal tongue can tell; whom all the world cannot contain comes in our hearts to dwell.
You give yourself to us oh Lord, then selfless let us be; to serve each other in your Name in truth and charity.
Yes indeed, our own Christian Happy Meal. It was a wonderful morning to reflect upon this amazing gift to us. After we had heard The Word, the feeding of the 5000 according to John, each pastor took a few minutes to reflect upon one person's perspective from this story. And then the feasting began!
We were cleverly divided into four groups, so that you would dine at the table of the Lord with others from this ecumenical gathering, not just your own friends and congregants. Four tables, four sets of communion ware, four pastors distributing the meal. And I kept thinking about the fact that this is one of those miracle stories that is told in all four gospels. I love 'complete' images and ideas like that; so hard to miss God in that perfection!
Communion, Eucharist, Lord's Supper....whatever we call it, this miracle can be so hard to understand. What does it mean? What actually happens when we eat this meal? Why did Jesus leave us this gift? What is this sacrament, really?? I have lived in almost polar opposite traditions when it comes to trying to answer any of these questions. Catholics with their mysticism and transubstantiation (try to define that one!) and Presbyterians with their symbolism and yet also a real presence (what does that mean??). Add in all the arguing that has gone on for centuries over this issue and one can begin to get suspicious that any true unity lies within. We seem, once again, to have taken a gift from God, chewed on it, analyzed it, scrutinized it, and of course anthropormorphized it to death, almost literally in this case.
I really had to make peace with this one when I made the move from Catholicism to Presbyterianism. I can still recall the horror that crossed my being when I first witnessed a wonderful Presbyterian minister 'disposing' of the uneaten bread by scattering it for the birds in the back garden. My Catholic heart skipped at least three beats while the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. Let's not even talk about the time I saw someone drop a rather large piece of communion bread on the floor of the sanctuary. I sat in my pew in suspended time, praying each communicant would careful avoid stepping on it. Ah, the challenges of leaving one tradition behind for a new one! But I loved these people that I observed caring for communion in such a different manner. More importantly, I knew God loved them. And I knew that whatever Holy Communion was really about, at the bottom of it all lay God's love for us and desire to gift us with something very special.
And so I decided none of this mattered at all; transubstantiation, consubstantiation, real presence, symbolism, memory. Whatever the 'truth' is about Communion, that is for God to know and me not to puzzle over. The mystery of your presence Lord, no human tongue can tell. My role is to come to the table and accept the gift. My job is to eat the meal and know that something special and unifiying happens at this table. Has happened for centuries. Will continue to happen. I am healed at this table. I am made whole in a new way. I am filled with grace to continue the journey.
Happy Meals, complete with a prize!
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