I have been doing a prayer bead practice, based on the one outlined by Erik Walker Wikstrom in Simply Pray. I enjoy it; it's a good way for a monkey-mind like me to keep my thoughts organized, or at least to have a way to bring me back to what I was concentrating on.
Today, I was at the third topical bead, that of "Listening." I sat in silence, relaxing, receptive, listening ...
Mahnamanah
Do-do-do-do-do!
This was not a flight of fancy from my fluttering focus. This was my four year old. Mahnamanah, she trilled, downstairs.
Focus. Relax. Listen above and below.
Thump thump thump. Little Warrior is coming up the stairs.
Can I pray with you? she asks.
Yes. I settle her on my lap. We take breaths together.
"When I breathe in, I breathe in peace ..."
Mama, I'm going to hold the beads for you, okay?
"Yes. When I breathe out, I breathe out--"
Mama, is it this bead?
"Yes. Now take a deep breath with me," I instruct her. She obeys, puffing out her cheeks.
"When I breathe in--"
Mama, is it 4 more times?
"Um, I think so. Yes."
"When I breathe in--"
Mama, can I have a sip of your coffee?
"Let's skip listening and go to who we want to pray for."
There are sages alone on a mountain top meditating in silence. There are seminarians who are full scale in divinity school, living, eating, and sleeping at their school. Sometimes I envy them, no need for balance, the opportunity to be completely immersed in this challenging, exciting world of religious philosophy.
Well, my path is a little different. It merges with the paths of others for whom I am responsible. More than a braid, this path is macrame, like that owl decoration your aunt had in her living room in the 70's.
You know. The one with the beads.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
What will turning out The Light mean to Broadway?
I'll admit it. I was a soap watcher. My grandmother watched Guiding Light, my mother watched Guiding Light, and after getting hooked on it the summer I was 16 and down with mono, I watched it.
Oh, how I groaned at the absurd stories. How I would take breaks from it, vowing never to watch again, only to take a glimpse one day and be hooked anew. During college, I missed it during the year, but would catch it in the summer, watching it before going in to my restaurant job. After college, I would tape it on the VCR, watching it at night. Even The Husband got a little hooked, though he won't admit it.
But soaps are expensive to produce and it didn't have enough viewers, a refrain I predict will continue until "then there were none."
But today, as the curtain drops on Guiding Light, I wonder what this will mean for Broadway. GL was one of three New York based soaps. They drew in professional stage actors who wanted a steady paycheck, and fed them back to the stage, as the actors took leaves of absence from the soap in order to star in a play. For young actors, they were the ultimate summer stock, grooming them for the stage.
Soaps have been this quietly subversive force in our culture. Amidst all the multiple divorces, far-out story lines, people coming back from the dead, there were story lines about AIDS, abortion, homosexuality. This wasn't HBO. These were shows playing to middle-American housewives.
Goodbye Otalia, the Four Musketeers, Nick, Dolly. Goodbye to the marvelous scenery-chewing Buzz. Goodbye Cedars. And the Bauer barbecue.
Goodbye Old Friend.
Oh, how I groaned at the absurd stories. How I would take breaks from it, vowing never to watch again, only to take a glimpse one day and be hooked anew. During college, I missed it during the year, but would catch it in the summer, watching it before going in to my restaurant job. After college, I would tape it on the VCR, watching it at night. Even The Husband got a little hooked, though he won't admit it.
But soaps are expensive to produce and it didn't have enough viewers, a refrain I predict will continue until "then there were none."
But today, as the curtain drops on Guiding Light, I wonder what this will mean for Broadway. GL was one of three New York based soaps. They drew in professional stage actors who wanted a steady paycheck, and fed them back to the stage, as the actors took leaves of absence from the soap in order to star in a play. For young actors, they were the ultimate summer stock, grooming them for the stage.
Soaps have been this quietly subversive force in our culture. Amidst all the multiple divorces, far-out story lines, people coming back from the dead, there were story lines about AIDS, abortion, homosexuality. This wasn't HBO. These were shows playing to middle-American housewives.
Goodbye Otalia, the Four Musketeers, Nick, Dolly. Goodbye to the marvelous scenery-chewing Buzz. Goodbye Cedars. And the Bauer barbecue.
Goodbye Old Friend.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Fave UU preachers (with podcasts)?
Okay, friends. I have my handful of podcasts by my favorite preachers* that I listen to religiously (yuk yuk). They go with me on my commute to and from seminary and take long walks with me at the gym.
But I need more. Feed me, Seymour!
Who are your favorites? Who should I add to my podcast subscription list?
*my favorite preachers who provide podcasts. Ahem, yes, I'm looking at YOU, you know who you are, now start putting podcasts of your sermons up, please.
But I need more. Feed me, Seymour!
Who are your favorites? Who should I add to my podcast subscription list?
*my favorite preachers who provide podcasts. Ahem, yes, I'm looking at YOU, you know who you are, now start putting podcasts of your sermons up, please.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Evil
Reverend Erik Walker Wikstrom addresses some of the things I am struggling with on the subject of evil. Go read it; it's good.
The topic of evil was already rumbling around in my head, but now, today, September 11th, of course it is front and center.
I don't believe in Original Sin, I do not believe we are born evil. Boy, those who compiled our high school reading list certainly did ... A Separate Peace, Lord of the Flies ... bah.
And yet.
What is this antagonism in so many of us? And I include myself in that 'us.'
Rev. Tamara Lebak, Associate Minister, All Souls Unitarian Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma, gave a great sermon August 30, titled Conversation That Matters. Another good one to go check out. She talks about our instincts about others, about how rarely we assume good intentions on the part of someone else.
There is a big difference between thinking and acting. Yes, I agree.
The Husband and I were talking about this last week. Do you think Pure Evil exists? he asked. In the person of another? I clarified. Yes, he said.
I don't think that I do. There always seems to be some tiny fraction of a person's soul that still houses something besides evil.
Whenever I think of evil, I think of Summer of My German Soldier, by Bette Green. Ruth, the maid and mother figure to Patty, says something along the lines of yes, Hitler was evil, but would he beat his own daughter? And yes, your father (who beats you) is evil, but would he cause the extermination of millions of Jews?
There is a big difference between thinking and acting. Yes, yes, I agree.
And yet.
"Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions." -- author unverified
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said yeah, you know that you're not supposed to murder. But guess what? If you are angry at someone, you will also be judged.
Searching for the roots of evil.
In that context, it is difficult for me to let myself off the hook for my knee-jerk jealousies, antagonism, suspicions, and all around lack of assuming good intentions.
This eye looks with love
This eye looks with judgment
Free me take the sight out of this eye.
-- This Eye, Edie Brickell and New Bohemians
The topic of evil was already rumbling around in my head, but now, today, September 11th, of course it is front and center.
I don't believe in Original Sin, I do not believe we are born evil. Boy, those who compiled our high school reading list certainly did ... A Separate Peace, Lord of the Flies ... bah.
And yet.
What is this antagonism in so many of us? And I include myself in that 'us.'
Rev. Tamara Lebak, Associate Minister, All Souls Unitarian Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma, gave a great sermon August 30, titled Conversation That Matters. Another good one to go check out. She talks about our instincts about others, about how rarely we assume good intentions on the part of someone else.
There is a big difference between thinking and acting. Yes, I agree.
The Husband and I were talking about this last week. Do you think Pure Evil exists? he asked. In the person of another? I clarified. Yes, he said.
I don't think that I do. There always seems to be some tiny fraction of a person's soul that still houses something besides evil.
Whenever I think of evil, I think of Summer of My German Soldier, by Bette Green. Ruth, the maid and mother figure to Patty, says something along the lines of yes, Hitler was evil, but would he beat his own daughter? And yes, your father (who beats you) is evil, but would he cause the extermination of millions of Jews?
There is a big difference between thinking and acting. Yes, yes, I agree.
And yet.
"Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions." -- author unverified
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said yeah, you know that you're not supposed to murder. But guess what? If you are angry at someone, you will also be judged.
Searching for the roots of evil.
In that context, it is difficult for me to let myself off the hook for my knee-jerk jealousies, antagonism, suspicions, and all around lack of assuming good intentions.
This eye looks with love
This eye looks with judgment
Free me take the sight out of this eye.
-- This Eye, Edie Brickell and New Bohemians
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Two Old Men and a Seminarian
What do an agnostic, a conservative Jew, and a UU seminarian have in common? Well ... a class.
The first two are two old men who are attending Old Testament class with me. You can't see them, they travel along with me in spirit, and at home, they await my emailed class notes.
One is my father, who is getting both textbooks as an early 80th birthday present from The Husband and me.
He and his old college pal have made up, and his pal, of the conservative Judaism persuasion, is also along as a stowaway on my Old Testament trip.
Considering the back-and-forth exegesis my father and I did last year of the book of Job (it involved me referring to Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar as "ass hats" and him arguing that they were just trying to help Job figure out things) ... this should be good.
The first two are two old men who are attending Old Testament class with me. You can't see them, they travel along with me in spirit, and at home, they await my emailed class notes.
One is my father, who is getting both textbooks as an early 80th birthday present from The Husband and me.
He and his old college pal have made up, and his pal, of the conservative Judaism persuasion, is also along as a stowaway on my Old Testament trip.
Considering the back-and-forth exegesis my father and I did last year of the book of Job (it involved me referring to Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar as "ass hats" and him arguing that they were just trying to help Job figure out things) ... this should be good.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
I Want a Bigger Tent
I want a bigger tent.
I want a tent where I can point out, as Rev. Christine did, that we are all at a spot on the agnostic spectrum without a God-Person (G-P) hollering, “Don’t call me an agnostic!”
I want a tent where I can talk about the Holy Spirit without a Non-God-Person (N-G-P) hollering, “Stop talking about God!”
I want a tent where we can discuss different theories about what happened after Jesus died without a G-P complaining that I’m being intolerant to Christians.
I want a tent where I can attend a workshop on “How to Pray” without an N-G-P complaining that we’re trying to turn into a Christian church.
I want a tent where we can talk about the contributions humanism has made, and continues to make, to our religion without a G-P rolling their eyes.
I want a tent where someone can stand up and say “I love this church and I love God!” without an N-G-P rolling their eyes.
I want a tent where, when an N-G-P explains that she doesn’t believe in any sort of outside spirit, she isn’t patted condescendingly by a G-P and told, “Yet.”
I want a tent where, when a G-P talks about a moment when he felt God was sending him a message, he isn’t patronizingly told that it’s fine to anthropomorphize a God as a way to make sense out of life.
I want a tent where I can include a performance of XTC’s “Dear God” and not be told I’m insulting the G-Ps.
I want a tent where I can include “Amazing Grace” and not be accused of trying to exclude the N-G-Ps.
I want a tent where a G-P will genuinely listen to the answer after asking, “Why would an atheist go to church?"
I want a tent where an N-G-P will genuinely listen to the answer after asking, “How can you be a Christian and a UU?”
I want a bigger tent.
I want a tent where I can point out, as Rev. Christine did, that we are all at a spot on the agnostic spectrum without a God-Person (G-P) hollering, “Don’t call me an agnostic!”
I want a tent where I can talk about the Holy Spirit without a Non-God-Person (N-G-P) hollering, “Stop talking about God!”
I want a tent where we can discuss different theories about what happened after Jesus died without a G-P complaining that I’m being intolerant to Christians.
I want a tent where I can attend a workshop on “How to Pray” without an N-G-P complaining that we’re trying to turn into a Christian church.
I want a tent where we can talk about the contributions humanism has made, and continues to make, to our religion without a G-P rolling their eyes.
I want a tent where someone can stand up and say “I love this church and I love God!” without an N-G-P rolling their eyes.
I want a tent where, when an N-G-P explains that she doesn’t believe in any sort of outside spirit, she isn’t patted condescendingly by a G-P and told, “Yet.”
I want a tent where, when a G-P talks about a moment when he felt God was sending him a message, he isn’t patronizingly told that it’s fine to anthropomorphize a God as a way to make sense out of life.
I want a tent where I can include a performance of XTC’s “Dear God” and not be told I’m insulting the G-Ps.
I want a tent where I can include “Amazing Grace” and not be accused of trying to exclude the N-G-Ps.
I want a tent where a G-P will genuinely listen to the answer after asking, “Why would an atheist go to church?"
I want a tent where an N-G-P will genuinely listen to the answer after asking, “How can you be a Christian and a UU?”
I want a bigger tent.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
I think I'm gonna like it here*
Last week, I walked into the classroom for the first day of my Old Testament class. Professor wasn't there, but two older, male students were. One was complaining bitterly about one of our textbooks, by Rhonda Burnette-Bletsch.
"It's written by a flaming liberal woman," he said.
No, no, that's not exactly it. Accent and vernacular are necessary elements here.
"It's writtn by uh flamin' libruhl WOEman."
I'm not making fun of his accent. I have a matching one. But there's a particular way a Texas man pronounces "woman" when he is speaking negatively. It's like it's a different word from regular "woman." WOE-man is close, but not exactly it. If she's a good little wife, you've got a good "woman." If she done run off with yore pickup and yore dog, she is a WOE-man.
In any case, WOEman or woman, his statement caused a great big smile to come to my face. And I sang out:
Get me now, holy cow
Could someone pinch me please
Okay, so that was in my head. I actually just grinned down at my shoes, sat down quietly, and set up my laptop.
But in my head, there was a full chorus line with top hats and canes.
My professor, who is also my advisor, is a self-proclaimed conservative evangelical Christian. And he LOVES Brueggemann. Thinks he's brilliant. Asked us if we'd ever read anything more brilliant than the first two chapters of A Pathway of Interpretation.
It was at this point that, holding onto the back of my chair, I carefully stepped onto my desk and began doing the can-can. Bemused, but appreciative of my enthusiasm, my professor gave me his hand to help me back down to my seat.
Okay, not really. Dang, you're really attached to this whole reality thing, aren't ya?
I have been going to this school, intermittently, for five years. This is the first time ever that I've had a professor who said, quoting Brueggemann, "Any thought that we may present 'biblical truth' without interpretation is an illusion and indicates an unfortunate deficit of self-knowledge on the part of the interpreter."
And his preferred version of the Bible? Nope, not the NIV.
The JPS Hebrew English Tanakh.
*10 points to the first person who identifies the Broadway musical that's from. No cheating.
"It's written by a flaming liberal woman," he said.
No, no, that's not exactly it. Accent and vernacular are necessary elements here.
"It's writtn by uh flamin' libruhl WOEman."
I'm not making fun of his accent. I have a matching one. But there's a particular way a Texas man pronounces "woman" when he is speaking negatively. It's like it's a different word from regular "woman." WOE-man is close, but not exactly it. If she's a good little wife, you've got a good "woman." If she done run off with yore pickup and yore dog, she is a WOE-man.
In any case, WOEman or woman, his statement caused a great big smile to come to my face. And I sang out:
Get me now, holy cow
Could someone pinch me please
Okay, so that was in my head. I actually just grinned down at my shoes, sat down quietly, and set up my laptop.
But in my head, there was a full chorus line with top hats and canes.
My professor, who is also my advisor, is a self-proclaimed conservative evangelical Christian. And he LOVES Brueggemann. Thinks he's brilliant. Asked us if we'd ever read anything more brilliant than the first two chapters of A Pathway of Interpretation.
It was at this point that, holding onto the back of my chair, I carefully stepped onto my desk and began doing the can-can. Bemused, but appreciative of my enthusiasm, my professor gave me his hand to help me back down to my seat.
Okay, not really. Dang, you're really attached to this whole reality thing, aren't ya?
I have been going to this school, intermittently, for five years. This is the first time ever that I've had a professor who said, quoting Brueggemann, "Any thought that we may present 'biblical truth' without interpretation is an illusion and indicates an unfortunate deficit of self-knowledge on the part of the interpreter."
And his preferred version of the Bible? Nope, not the NIV.
The JPS Hebrew English Tanakh.
*10 points to the first person who identifies the Broadway musical that's from. No cheating.
Friday, August 28, 2009
The path of love is not easy to walk
Littered with noise, cluttered objects, peevishness, annoyances
To walk along a forest path,
hushed boughs above you
soft grass below you,
It is easy then to feel peaceful,
calm waves of agape floating away
into the universe
So much more difficult when
stepping over piles of dirty laundry
ringing phones, bickering children,
cross co-workers, honking horns
No need then, to send it out
Realize
Love is still
all around you
Breathe it in
And set your feet straight
Back on the path again.
Littered with noise, cluttered objects, peevishness, annoyances
To walk along a forest path,
hushed boughs above you
soft grass below you,
It is easy then to feel peaceful,
calm waves of agape floating away
into the universe
So much more difficult when
stepping over piles of dirty laundry
ringing phones, bickering children,
cross co-workers, honking horns
No need then, to send it out
Realize
Love is still
all around you
Breathe it in
And set your feet straight
Back on the path again.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Setting and Spiking and Evangelism
I have been both a setter and a spiker.
These are volleyball terms, but I'm talking UU evangelism here. In volleyball, a setter "preps" the ball for another player, keeping the ball in play and lightly hitting it straight up so that the spiker can drive it home on the other side.
I knew that I'd been the spiker before. The BFF-DRE and I were playgroup friends, and I told her about my church. She'd heard of Unitarian Universalism, in fact, she had several friends who were UU. She'd never gone to a UU church, because, she says now, no one ever invited her.
I invited her. She came. Spike!
I moved to where I live now about four years ago. Over those years, I've casually told my next door neighbor about Unitarian Universalism and my church. When I saw her husband at the Democratic primary in the Obama line and she mentioned that he was an atheist, I broke every rule and blurted out, "He's a Unitarian Universalist!" (Oh, don't fuss at me.)
My neighbor is friends with another UU in our neighborhood who goes to a different UU church. My neighbor's son was spending the night with the other UU, and the other UU said, "I'll just take him to church with us, if that's okay with you." My neighbor surprised her by saying, "Actually, I'll meet you there. I've been interested in going." She now goes all the time, even going for adult education evening classes. Spike!
I was the setter.
Sometimes, we feel bad, because we aren't always comfortable being the spiker, inviting others to our church. But casually putting the information out there ... it might be more important than you think. The BFF-DRE had several setters before I came along and issued an invitation. And I was the setter when another UU came along and spiked the ball.
Just keep that ball in play ...
These are volleyball terms, but I'm talking UU evangelism here. In volleyball, a setter "preps" the ball for another player, keeping the ball in play and lightly hitting it straight up so that the spiker can drive it home on the other side.
I knew that I'd been the spiker before. The BFF-DRE and I were playgroup friends, and I told her about my church. She'd heard of Unitarian Universalism, in fact, she had several friends who were UU. She'd never gone to a UU church, because, she says now, no one ever invited her.
I invited her. She came. Spike!
I moved to where I live now about four years ago. Over those years, I've casually told my next door neighbor about Unitarian Universalism and my church. When I saw her husband at the Democratic primary in the Obama line and she mentioned that he was an atheist, I broke every rule and blurted out, "He's a Unitarian Universalist!" (Oh, don't fuss at me.)
My neighbor is friends with another UU in our neighborhood who goes to a different UU church. My neighbor's son was spending the night with the other UU, and the other UU said, "I'll just take him to church with us, if that's okay with you." My neighbor surprised her by saying, "Actually, I'll meet you there. I've been interested in going." She now goes all the time, even going for adult education evening classes. Spike!
I was the setter.
Sometimes, we feel bad, because we aren't always comfortable being the spiker, inviting others to our church. But casually putting the information out there ... it might be more important than you think. The BFF-DRE had several setters before I came along and issued an invitation. And I was the setter when another UU came along and spiked the ball.
Just keep that ball in play ...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away ...
This morning, I was supposed to be visiting my friend Smiley. But on Sunday, she slipped into a coma and died.
She was an older lady and had been fighting cancer with an indomitable spirit for a few years. But she recently got the "nothing more we can do" and made her plans for finishing out her life with the remaining time she was given.
Like so many, I have to say with regret, "I thought there'd be more time."
And yesterday, we got the news that Little Warrior's scans were clear. We live in three month increments. Three months is a long time, man. Three months means that I can begin school tomorrow, and begin planning The Halloween party we've thrown every 14 years (except for last year, when LW was in the hospital). Three months means LW can continue Montessori and the children can go to birthday parties and The Husband can go on his fishing trip and I can continue guest preaching. Three months. It's a gift.
In all the funeral readings my friends sent me last week, there was one that I found in almost all of them:
Joy and woe are woven tightly together this week. Good news for my child, while a friend gracefully and gently, but too soon, leaves us. How fitting that I am scheduled to write a sermon this week about love.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord.
I don't believe in a God who causes people to die or survive. But when you loosen your grip on that verse, and see it more as a statement about our existence, it becomes one I can stand behind. Life works in such a way that we lose and we gain -- blessed be this gift of life.
She was an older lady and had been fighting cancer with an indomitable spirit for a few years. But she recently got the "nothing more we can do" and made her plans for finishing out her life with the remaining time she was given.
Like so many, I have to say with regret, "I thought there'd be more time."
And yesterday, we got the news that Little Warrior's scans were clear. We live in three month increments. Three months is a long time, man. Three months means that I can begin school tomorrow, and begin planning The Halloween party we've thrown every 14 years (except for last year, when LW was in the hospital). Three months means LW can continue Montessori and the children can go to birthday parties and The Husband can go on his fishing trip and I can continue guest preaching. Three months. It's a gift.
In all the funeral readings my friends sent me last week, there was one that I found in almost all of them:
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
Joy and woe are woven tightly together this week. Good news for my child, while a friend gracefully and gently, but too soon, leaves us. How fitting that I am scheduled to write a sermon this week about love.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord.
I don't believe in a God who causes people to die or survive. But when you loosen your grip on that verse, and see it more as a statement about our existence, it becomes one I can stand behind. Life works in such a way that we lose and we gain -- blessed be this gift of life.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Nutcrackers and News
About a month ago, I received a postcard in the mail. Our city ballet is pre-selling tickets for The Nutcracker.
The older two have seen it, the third has only seen a poor local version and Little Warrior hasn't seen it at all.
Shall we splurge on tickets? I asked The Husband. He thought it was a great idea. I thought about it and said, I think we should wait until after scans. He sighed and agreed.
Scans were this morning. Just got the call.
Time to order tickets.
The older two have seen it, the third has only seen a poor local version and Little Warrior hasn't seen it at all.
Shall we splurge on tickets? I asked The Husband. He thought it was a great idea. I thought about it and said, I think we should wait until after scans. He sighed and agreed.
Scans were this morning. Just got the call.
Time to order tickets.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Quote for the day
“Jesus and I agreed to see other people, but that don’t mean we don’t still talk from time to time.” – Lafayette, True Blood
Friday, August 21, 2009
Plans Plans Plans, but first ...
Kids 1, 2, and 3 go back to school Monday. If all goes well, then kid 4 goes back to her two-day school on Tuesday. And Wednesday, I go to my school. Daytime classes! How exciting!
But, I do have to put the caveat of "if all goes well," in there. Because what is also happening, what I carefully put away in a little box on the top shelf because I had a memorial service to officiate, is that on Monday, whilst The Husband is getting the first three all set up in their classes, Little Warrior and I will be down at the hospital. It's scan time.
You know how sometimes, everything just seems to be flowing? Like your boat is on a river with no rocks, no sandbars. Like you're headed in the right way. You use your muscles to paddle, and the effort is rewarded.
I'm there. I'm in the river. I'm impatient, sure. I began seminary 5 years ago. I've reached the point of C'MON ALREADY, LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD.
I still haven't had my first ministerial interview. First, because my church didn't have a minister, then ... well, Cancer Part I. Much later, I had an appointment set up for the ministerial interview. I also had an appointment set up for the field rep interview. And then ... the phone call. That there was a little dark spot on the scan. Cancer Part II.
Rabbi Shaman has recommended that I be interviewed by a local minister. There's one whom I've been dying to meet. I plan on calling her to see if she can fit me in.
But I wait until after Monday.
I'm all set up for classes. Paid the tuition, bought the books, read much of them already. But my cautionary mind says, well, the timing is good. If there's Something, you should find out before Wednesday, so you should be able to get a tuition refund.
No sandbars, please. No rocks. Because right now, I can only think of it in terms of another slowing of the journey.
I avoid thinking of what it would mean in the larger picture. I've cried too many tears and suffered too much heartbreak, allowing my mind to wander into horrible scenarios. I've lived enough horror. There is no need to manufacture more nightmares. And I've learned that there is no way to prepare for the worst.
I can see the path unfolding before me. Step, step, step. Phone call, an interview, print the forms, set up the assessment, schedule the RSCC.
Hopefully, achieve candidate status.
Monday, 8 am.
--
A Conversation in a Guns 'N Roses song. (What, you think God only talks through Handel?)
God:
Shed a tear 'cause I'm missing you
I'm still alright to smile
Girl, I think about you every day now
LE:
Was a time when I wasn't sure
But you set my mind at ease
There is no doubt you're in my heart now
God:
Sad woman take it slow
It'll work itself out fine
All we need is just a little patience
Said sugar make it slow
And we'll come together fine
All we need is just a little patience
LE:
Patience...
Sit here on the stairs
'Cause I'd rather be alone
God:
If I can't have you right now, I'll wait dear
LE:
Sometimes, I get so tense
But I can't speed up the time
God:
But you know, love, there's one more thing to consider
Sad woman take it slow
Things will be just fine
You and I'll just use a little patience
Said sugar take the time
'Cause the lights are shining bright
You and I've got what it takes to make it
LE:
Need a little patience, yeah
Just a little patience, yeah
I've been walking these streets at night
Just trying to get it right
It's hard to see with so many around
You know I don't like being stuck in a crowd
And the streets don't change but maybe the name
I ain't got time for the game
'Cause I need you
God: (Just a little patience)
LE: Yeah, yeah well I need you
Oh, I need you
God: (Take some patience)
LE: Whoa, I need you
God: (Just a little patience is all we need)
LE: All this time....
But, I do have to put the caveat of "if all goes well," in there. Because what is also happening, what I carefully put away in a little box on the top shelf because I had a memorial service to officiate, is that on Monday, whilst The Husband is getting the first three all set up in their classes, Little Warrior and I will be down at the hospital. It's scan time.
You know how sometimes, everything just seems to be flowing? Like your boat is on a river with no rocks, no sandbars. Like you're headed in the right way. You use your muscles to paddle, and the effort is rewarded.
I'm there. I'm in the river. I'm impatient, sure. I began seminary 5 years ago. I've reached the point of C'MON ALREADY, LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD.
I still haven't had my first ministerial interview. First, because my church didn't have a minister, then ... well, Cancer Part I. Much later, I had an appointment set up for the ministerial interview. I also had an appointment set up for the field rep interview. And then ... the phone call. That there was a little dark spot on the scan. Cancer Part II.
Rabbi Shaman has recommended that I be interviewed by a local minister. There's one whom I've been dying to meet. I plan on calling her to see if she can fit me in.
But I wait until after Monday.
I'm all set up for classes. Paid the tuition, bought the books, read much of them already. But my cautionary mind says, well, the timing is good. If there's Something, you should find out before Wednesday, so you should be able to get a tuition refund.
No sandbars, please. No rocks. Because right now, I can only think of it in terms of another slowing of the journey.
I avoid thinking of what it would mean in the larger picture. I've cried too many tears and suffered too much heartbreak, allowing my mind to wander into horrible scenarios. I've lived enough horror. There is no need to manufacture more nightmares. And I've learned that there is no way to prepare for the worst.
I can see the path unfolding before me. Step, step, step. Phone call, an interview, print the forms, set up the assessment, schedule the RSCC.
Hopefully, achieve candidate status.
Monday, 8 am.
--
A Conversation in a Guns 'N Roses song. (What, you think God only talks through Handel?)
God:
Shed a tear 'cause I'm missing you
I'm still alright to smile
Girl, I think about you every day now
LE:
Was a time when I wasn't sure
But you set my mind at ease
There is no doubt you're in my heart now
God:
Sad woman take it slow
It'll work itself out fine
All we need is just a little patience
Said sugar make it slow
And we'll come together fine
All we need is just a little patience
LE:
Patience...
Sit here on the stairs
'Cause I'd rather be alone
God:
If I can't have you right now, I'll wait dear
LE:
Sometimes, I get so tense
But I can't speed up the time
God:
But you know, love, there's one more thing to consider
Sad woman take it slow
Things will be just fine
You and I'll just use a little patience
Said sugar take the time
'Cause the lights are shining bright
You and I've got what it takes to make it
LE:
Need a little patience, yeah
Just a little patience, yeah
I've been walking these streets at night
Just trying to get it right
It's hard to see with so many around
You know I don't like being stuck in a crowd
And the streets don't change but maybe the name
I ain't got time for the game
'Cause I need you
God: (Just a little patience)
LE: Yeah, yeah well I need you
Oh, I need you
God: (Take some patience)
LE: Whoa, I need you
God: (Just a little patience is all we need)
LE: All this time....
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Collegiality, Candles, and Funerals
Well, I just completed my first not-someone-I-knew memorial service.
Thanks to the generous sharing of materials, emails, phone calls and metaphorical handholding from some special UU ministers and other seminarians, I was prepared. I really got to experience clerical collegiality -- not that I'm a colleague yet, but they treated me as an incipient colleague. I felt nurtured.
When you are pregnant for the first time, a common concern is about who is going to see you give birth. But when it's actually time for that baby to be born, I've explained to many about-to-be new moms, you won't care if the janitor is in there. There's just other things you'll be concentrating on.
In a similar way, when I expressed concern that I would cry out of empathy, most everyone I talked to said, "Well, maybe. But probably not. There's just other things you'll be concentrating on."
And so it was.
I was at another church in town, not my own, and I'd forgotten that they have no clocks anywhere. Not in the sanctuary, not in the fellowship area. Note to self: get a new battery in one of the million of watches you've sucked dry.
You know how in cop movies, there'll be a scene where the officer yanks some innocent schmoe out of their car, hollering, "Official Police Business, I have to commandeer your car!"? Well, I did that, ripping the watch off the church administrator's arm. I hope her stitches heal soon.
The deceased was a beloved person, the kind of man who makes you envious of the people who knew him. He was beloved. Way more people showed up than anticipated. We added chairs behind the pews. We added chairs outside the sanctuary. Finally I went forward, spoke some nice words about how beloved he was, then raised my arms like Charlton Heston parting the red sea and asked everyone to slide to the ends of the pews to make more room.
Note to self: when you hear that the deceased was a popular member of a retirement community, add 50% to the number of anticipated attendees.
The family wanted to do the thing where people are invited to come forward, light a candle and share a memory. The first person, an old man with trembling hands, pulled some paper notes from his pocket.
Paper notes. Candles.
I am happy to say that no one caught fire.
Note to self: position the microphone and the sandbox of candles in such a way that the speaker will light a candle, then walk over to the microphone. Far, far away from the candles.
(I was prepared, as I watched carefully the drooping pages, to yank any burning pages away, stomp them out, and say a little sumpin' about how the deceased had a great sense of humor and he would have loved that.)
But it all went swimmingly. It is such a privilege, to be able to step in at a fragile time, and help a family celebrate the life of the person they loved, and start their own path towards healing.
I just feel so honored . It wasn't about me, I was merely the coordinator for letting in the Holy. But what a honor that is.
Thanks to the generous sharing of materials, emails, phone calls and metaphorical handholding from some special UU ministers and other seminarians, I was prepared. I really got to experience clerical collegiality -- not that I'm a colleague yet, but they treated me as an incipient colleague. I felt nurtured.
When you are pregnant for the first time, a common concern is about who is going to see you give birth. But when it's actually time for that baby to be born, I've explained to many about-to-be new moms, you won't care if the janitor is in there. There's just other things you'll be concentrating on.
In a similar way, when I expressed concern that I would cry out of empathy, most everyone I talked to said, "Well, maybe. But probably not. There's just other things you'll be concentrating on."
And so it was.
I was at another church in town, not my own, and I'd forgotten that they have no clocks anywhere. Not in the sanctuary, not in the fellowship area. Note to self: get a new battery in one of the million of watches you've sucked dry.
You know how in cop movies, there'll be a scene where the officer yanks some innocent schmoe out of their car, hollering, "Official Police Business, I have to commandeer your car!"? Well, I did that, ripping the watch off the church administrator's arm. I hope her stitches heal soon.
The deceased was a beloved person, the kind of man who makes you envious of the people who knew him. He was beloved. Way more people showed up than anticipated. We added chairs behind the pews. We added chairs outside the sanctuary. Finally I went forward, spoke some nice words about how beloved he was, then raised my arms like Charlton Heston parting the red sea and asked everyone to slide to the ends of the pews to make more room.
Note to self: when you hear that the deceased was a popular member of a retirement community, add 50% to the number of anticipated attendees.
The family wanted to do the thing where people are invited to come forward, light a candle and share a memory. The first person, an old man with trembling hands, pulled some paper notes from his pocket.
Paper notes. Candles.
I am happy to say that no one caught fire.
Note to self: position the microphone and the sandbox of candles in such a way that the speaker will light a candle, then walk over to the microphone. Far, far away from the candles.
(I was prepared, as I watched carefully the drooping pages, to yank any burning pages away, stomp them out, and say a little sumpin' about how the deceased had a great sense of humor and he would have loved that.)
But it all went swimmingly. It is such a privilege, to be able to step in at a fragile time, and help a family celebrate the life of the person they loved, and start their own path towards healing.
I just feel so honored . It wasn't about me, I was merely the coordinator for letting in the Holy. But what a honor that is.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Wedding
I have been thinking about weddings, since The Husband and I are about to celebrate our 19th wedding anniversary.
I believe in marriage. I believe in weddings. Warts and all.
Whenever I talk to someone who is about to get married, I give them the following advice: The week before the wedding, no matter what happens, say, "You know, in some cultures, this is considered good luck!"
They usually give me a confused, bewildered look and say something like, "Uh, okay."
After the wedding, they thank me. Always.
Because things happen. That's just how it works. In our case:
* my car had a blowout as I drove home with my altered wedding dress
* our rings BROKE during the sizing
* I got in a big fight with my brother the morning before my wedding, inadvertently insulting his girlfriend in an effort to deliver a crude, withering comment about him
* a giant cockroach crawled across the front of the sanctuary during the ceremony
"In some cultures, this is considered good luck."
Our wedding was chockful of things significant to the two of us. His stepmother lit the chalice. His stepfather, a Methodist minister, officiated. His father and mother walked him down the aisle, my parents walked me down the aisle. "Who gives these two in marriage?" asked Rev. Stepfather. "We do," said all of our parents. If we were two 40 year olds, that might be strange, but we were 21 and 22, going from our parents' houses to our own. It was appropriate. They were giving us to each other.
We took communion, important to The Husband at that time. My father read Walt Whitman. The Husband stomped on the wine glass.
We turned to our family and friends. The Husband pulled two pairs of matching "Just Married" sunglasses from his suit and we recessed to "Here Comes the Sun."
We could not have known what life would have in store for us, these 19 years, as we cannot know the future 19 years. That's as it should be, and part of the reason I teared up watching the below video. You can't know what's in store. Celebrate your innocence, your joy.
Above all, celebrate.
I believe in marriage. I believe in weddings. Warts and all.
Whenever I talk to someone who is about to get married, I give them the following advice: The week before the wedding, no matter what happens, say, "You know, in some cultures, this is considered good luck!"
They usually give me a confused, bewildered look and say something like, "Uh, okay."
After the wedding, they thank me. Always.
Because things happen. That's just how it works. In our case:
* my car had a blowout as I drove home with my altered wedding dress
* our rings BROKE during the sizing
* I got in a big fight with my brother the morning before my wedding, inadvertently insulting his girlfriend in an effort to deliver a crude, withering comment about him
* a giant cockroach crawled across the front of the sanctuary during the ceremony
"In some cultures, this is considered good luck."
Our wedding was chockful of things significant to the two of us. His stepmother lit the chalice. His stepfather, a Methodist minister, officiated. His father and mother walked him down the aisle, my parents walked me down the aisle. "Who gives these two in marriage?" asked Rev. Stepfather. "We do," said all of our parents. If we were two 40 year olds, that might be strange, but we were 21 and 22, going from our parents' houses to our own. It was appropriate. They were giving us to each other.
We took communion, important to The Husband at that time. My father read Walt Whitman. The Husband stomped on the wine glass.
We turned to our family and friends. The Husband pulled two pairs of matching "Just Married" sunglasses from his suit and we recessed to "Here Comes the Sun."
We could not have known what life would have in store for us, these 19 years, as we cannot know the future 19 years. That's as it should be, and part of the reason I teared up watching the below video. You can't know what's in store. Celebrate your innocence, your joy.
Above all, celebrate.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Happy Sabbath!
Apropos of nothing, a dear, albeit cantankerous, friend demanded to know why I say “Happy Sabbath” on my facebook page.
I was a little startled, so I turned it around and asked why it bothered her. And we talked about her concern that I’m using churchy words. Argued, I guess, would be closer to the truth. But in all of that, I never did get around to answering her.
Here is why I say Happy Sabbath.
Sabbath, from the Latin sabbatum, from Greek sabbaton, from Hebrew shavat. Sabbath refers to a day of rest from one’s normal activities.
I am entranced by the idea of Sabbath from two perspectives that dovetail together – it is a holiday that comes around every week, and it is a day where the normal hustle/bustle is set aside so that we can focus on what is important to us.
For some, perhaps, there is a no need for a Sabbath. They spend each day focused on what truly matters, and every day, they pause to give thanks for the day.
Not me. 4 kids, a husband, his career, my school, their school, feed the cats, do the laundry, What’s for dinner?, “I have band practice,” homework, “Where’s my keys?”
I need a day. We need a day. Focus. On. What’s. Important. Life moves so fast … slow down, for a second please. Open my eyes. See it, as it’s happening. Turn off the tv, the busy work. Stop. Breathe. Make time for what is important.
To me, what is important is my family, my friends, and my church.
I have celebrated the sabbats with Wiccans and Shabbat with Jews. I’m big on celebrating. A holiday that comes once a week – Sláinte!
Because I am a Unitarian Universalist, I celebrate the Sabbath on Sunday, as that is when we hold our services. I try to make it a day set aside from the rest of the week, where we deliberately make time in our busy schedules to play together as a family, visit friends, and attend church. A day where we pause to celebrate the gift of living.
On Sunday, I celebrate the Sabbath.
And I wish for you, a Good Sabbath, too.
I was a little startled, so I turned it around and asked why it bothered her. And we talked about her concern that I’m using churchy words. Argued, I guess, would be closer to the truth. But in all of that, I never did get around to answering her.
Here is why I say Happy Sabbath.
Sabbath, from the Latin sabbatum, from Greek sabbaton, from Hebrew shavat. Sabbath refers to a day of rest from one’s normal activities.
I am entranced by the idea of Sabbath from two perspectives that dovetail together – it is a holiday that comes around every week, and it is a day where the normal hustle/bustle is set aside so that we can focus on what is important to us.
For some, perhaps, there is a no need for a Sabbath. They spend each day focused on what truly matters, and every day, they pause to give thanks for the day.
Not me. 4 kids, a husband, his career, my school, their school, feed the cats, do the laundry, What’s for dinner?, “I have band practice,” homework, “Where’s my keys?”
I need a day. We need a day. Focus. On. What’s. Important. Life moves so fast … slow down, for a second please. Open my eyes. See it, as it’s happening. Turn off the tv, the busy work. Stop. Breathe. Make time for what is important.
To me, what is important is my family, my friends, and my church.
I have celebrated the sabbats with Wiccans and Shabbat with Jews. I’m big on celebrating. A holiday that comes once a week – Sláinte!
Because I am a Unitarian Universalist, I celebrate the Sabbath on Sunday, as that is when we hold our services. I try to make it a day set aside from the rest of the week, where we deliberately make time in our busy schedules to play together as a family, visit friends, and attend church. A day where we pause to celebrate the gift of living.
On Sunday, I celebrate the Sabbath.
And I wish for you, a Good Sabbath, too.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Friends, Ministers, Countrymen, Lend Me Your Memorial Services!
I'm doing a memorial service next week, not anyone I know. Humbly requesting your services, readings, helpful hints* and the like.
Please send to lizardeater at gmail dot com.
Muchly appreciated. At GA, I'll buy you a beer. Or a coffee. Or another drink of your choosing.
Please send to lizardeater at gmail dot com.
Muchly appreciated. At GA, I'll buy you a beer. Or a coffee. Or another drink of your choosing.
Monday, August 10, 2009
With sadness
Goodbye, Rev. Tim. Your comments, your posts, your insight, will be greatly missed here at The Journey.
Peace to your family.
Peace to your family.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Power of Prayer ... Three Years Later
A little over three years ago, I wrote on my thoughts about prayer.
I can't say that my beliefs have changed exactly. I still have a hard time believing that God could be so capricious that prayer would change the outcome of any scenario.
And yet ... I also believe that there is a power in prayer that transcends the good feelings enjoyed by the person doing the praying and the person informed that s/he was prayed for.
This week, I am doing some super-intensive praying for three friends. One waiting on her results. One waiting on her child's results. One going through something just awful.
I write special prayers. I am first a writer, then a speaker. So I write out prayers, the better to order my thoughts. The better to make my offering.
I light candles. Close my eyes. Say the words. Pray. No, harder. PRAY. PRAY!!!
I pray because I have no power to make it better.
I pray because it is all I can do.
I pray because ... well, not because. I pray for the same reason I breathe. I don't think about breathing. Most of the time. I just do it, because I must.
I lift them up in prayer.
I send love -- the feeling for them that wells up and overflows me, I think of them and send it zinging through the air toward them.
Do they feel it? I don't know.
Does it make a difference? I don't know.
Written or not, conscious or not, with my will or against it ...
I pray.
I can't say that my beliefs have changed exactly. I still have a hard time believing that God could be so capricious that prayer would change the outcome of any scenario.
And yet ... I also believe that there is a power in prayer that transcends the good feelings enjoyed by the person doing the praying and the person informed that s/he was prayed for.
This week, I am doing some super-intensive praying for three friends. One waiting on her results. One waiting on her child's results. One going through something just awful.
I write special prayers. I am first a writer, then a speaker. So I write out prayers, the better to order my thoughts. The better to make my offering.
I light candles. Close my eyes. Say the words. Pray. No, harder. PRAY. PRAY!!!
I tell ya ever since he was an itty bitty boy, sometimes he talks to the lord and sometimes he yells at the lord, tonight he just happens to be yellin at him.I pray because they are far away and I cannot hold them in my arms.-- The Apostle
I pray because I have no power to make it better.
I pray because it is all I can do.
I pray because ... well, not because. I pray for the same reason I breathe. I don't think about breathing. Most of the time. I just do it, because I must.
I lift them up in prayer.
I send love -- the feeling for them that wells up and overflows me, I think of them and send it zinging through the air toward them.
Do they feel it? I don't know.
Does it make a difference? I don't know.
Written or not, conscious or not, with my will or against it ...
I pray.
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