I am starting CPE tomorrow, my peeps. Clinical Pastoral Education. For 400+ hours, I will learn about pastoral care, examine what and why I do things, and minister. Minister. Walk with a family down to the morgue. Sit with someone who is dying. Or her father is. Or her child.
I am scared to death.
I am looking forward to it.
I am dreading it.
And yet ... I asked myself how I would feel if I got a phone call that it had been canceled? That I had all summer free to just laze around, read books, sway in a hammock?
I'd be dreadfully disappointed.
My minister friends call it "pastor boot camp." They say it is formative. Transformative. At the end of this summer, I will be better able to walk into a situation and minister, be there for someone who needs me.
I acknowledge all that. I'm sure that it the end of the summer, I will be grateful for the experience. But on this end of the equation ...
Well, it's kinda like someone says to you they're going to drop you in a vat of boiling acid. For 400 hours. But at the end of it, when they pull you out, you'll have the body and appearance of a supermodel!
Okay.
Bring it.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Nobody Puts Internet in a Corner
I’m not sure we get it. How utterly the Internet has changed life. Maybe we can’t, because we’re right in the middle of it.
It has been compared to the invention of the printing press, and that’s fair, but I think it’s something that has affected so much, we still aren’t quite getting it. We can chase back all the creeping tendrils … how it has transformed commerce, communication, education … but we still can’t fully grasp the big picture. Perhaps, 50 years from now, sociologists can explain it. Maybe they’ll be able to sum up how small it has made the world, and yet how large in possibility. Many of the people getting married, at least the weddings I’m officiating, met via Internet. They said that the revolution would be televised, but television didn’t cause the revolution, didn’t enable it. Internet is.
Mothers are sharing breastmilk because of the internet, you can help a shopkeeper in Guatemala get a loan because of the internet. When your heart is breaking, and you feel you are weeping alone, you can tweet or Facebook or blog and a whole community weeps with you.
I remember when the Internet had been created, but the World Wide Web had not. I had a geeky boyfriend in college, and he’d show me his computer and these message boards where he connected with other geeky types. His bulky computer was in a dark corner of his apartment, and he’d check it, oh, maybe once a day. Maybe.
How many of our churches are still acting as if that is the Internet? Something people keep in a corner and maybe check once a day. So you should have a church website, with your address and service times, you know.
My kids have a book on the human body with thick, transparent pages so you can see all the different “layers” of the body. The circulatory system. The nervous system.
The Internet has added another layer, another dimension, if you will, to life. It’s not something separate. We pull out our smartphones without a thought, sharing where we are with others who might want to join us, checking email, popping on Twitter or Facebook to see what other friends are doing. And that’s just in the two minutes we’re standing in line to pick up movie tickets. We don’t even think anything about it. It’s simply how we are, now.
The night of that day when Gabby Giffords was shot, many of us who would be preaching the next morning posted to each other on Facebook. “Are you changing your sermon? What are you going to say?” Peacebang opened up a chatroom and we mingled there, to share both our emotions, and the ideas and materials we would use the next day. I wrote about Holly Near’s I am Willing; someone else found a youtube of it; the next day, several ministers either quoted it, or, if they had good voices, sang it. That’s just one example of the inspiration that came out of that “room” that night. Perhaps what was more powerful, though, was not the readings, or quotations, or songs that shared, but our very humanness. We gathered in community. When we left that room, we were strengthened to minister.
Oh, I could go on and on with my examples of how the Internet has changed life. But they are my experiences. Internet, like most things, is a conversion experience. Until you’ve been a part of a blogging community, or found your Tweeps, or become the person who just automatically checks Facebook several times a day, you don’t understand.
Some say that we have Internet fatigue, and our churches need to be a sanctuary from that. No electronic devices, please. I think there will be a niche for that, just as there are people who respond to the unprogrammed Quaker meetings.
For many others, who have grown up texting and tweeting, that will hold no appeal. It will be as if you said, “Come inside, but don’t use your sense of smell.”
But oh what opportunity. There was a time when ministers wondered how church could stay connected past Sunday, how it could continue to impact their lives throughout the week. Were we to point blank ask God to create a vehicle to assist in that, I am not sure she could have done better than this labyrinth of wires and metal.
It has been compared to the invention of the printing press, and that’s fair, but I think it’s something that has affected so much, we still aren’t quite getting it. We can chase back all the creeping tendrils … how it has transformed commerce, communication, education … but we still can’t fully grasp the big picture. Perhaps, 50 years from now, sociologists can explain it. Maybe they’ll be able to sum up how small it has made the world, and yet how large in possibility. Many of the people getting married, at least the weddings I’m officiating, met via Internet. They said that the revolution would be televised, but television didn’t cause the revolution, didn’t enable it. Internet is.
Mothers are sharing breastmilk because of the internet, you can help a shopkeeper in Guatemala get a loan because of the internet. When your heart is breaking, and you feel you are weeping alone, you can tweet or Facebook or blog and a whole community weeps with you.
I remember when the Internet had been created, but the World Wide Web had not. I had a geeky boyfriend in college, and he’d show me his computer and these message boards where he connected with other geeky types. His bulky computer was in a dark corner of his apartment, and he’d check it, oh, maybe once a day. Maybe.
How many of our churches are still acting as if that is the Internet? Something people keep in a corner and maybe check once a day. So you should have a church website, with your address and service times, you know.
My kids have a book on the human body with thick, transparent pages so you can see all the different “layers” of the body. The circulatory system. The nervous system.
The Internet has added another layer, another dimension, if you will, to life. It’s not something separate. We pull out our smartphones without a thought, sharing where we are with others who might want to join us, checking email, popping on Twitter or Facebook to see what other friends are doing. And that’s just in the two minutes we’re standing in line to pick up movie tickets. We don’t even think anything about it. It’s simply how we are, now.
The night of that day when Gabby Giffords was shot, many of us who would be preaching the next morning posted to each other on Facebook. “Are you changing your sermon? What are you going to say?” Peacebang opened up a chatroom and we mingled there, to share both our emotions, and the ideas and materials we would use the next day. I wrote about Holly Near’s I am Willing; someone else found a youtube of it; the next day, several ministers either quoted it, or, if they had good voices, sang it. That’s just one example of the inspiration that came out of that “room” that night. Perhaps what was more powerful, though, was not the readings, or quotations, or songs that shared, but our very humanness. We gathered in community. When we left that room, we were strengthened to minister.
Oh, I could go on and on with my examples of how the Internet has changed life. But they are my experiences. Internet, like most things, is a conversion experience. Until you’ve been a part of a blogging community, or found your Tweeps, or become the person who just automatically checks Facebook several times a day, you don’t understand.
Some say that we have Internet fatigue, and our churches need to be a sanctuary from that. No electronic devices, please. I think there will be a niche for that, just as there are people who respond to the unprogrammed Quaker meetings.
For many others, who have grown up texting and tweeting, that will hold no appeal. It will be as if you said, “Come inside, but don’t use your sense of smell.”
But oh what opportunity. There was a time when ministers wondered how church could stay connected past Sunday, how it could continue to impact their lives throughout the week. Were we to point blank ask God to create a vehicle to assist in that, I am not sure she could have done better than this labyrinth of wires and metal.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Psalmic Response
It seems that the last 24 hours has been taken up with processing the death of Osama bin Laden. With that, has come critique on all sides about that process. Or as one mom says to Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom, "You're doing it wrong."
I'm not opposed to critique, I hope that it allows us to adjust back and forth until we find what is the right way for us, as individuals, and as a nation. I am concerned about the shaming I've seen.
But as I've always said on this blog, I'm a fan of the real. What do you really feel? And I think most people are like that. I think that when we've felt offended, it was because we thought someone wasn't showing their deep feelings. The person chanting, as though at a football game -- was that their deep, introspective response, or were they caught up in group aspect? The person saying they grieved the death of any person -- was that genuine, or were they expressing what they thought they should feel?
Someone posted on twitter the John Donne quote about how "each man's death diminishes me." I must admit, I turned to The Husband and said, "I don't feel diminished by the death of Osama bin Laden."
We hung our harps on trees. We could not imagine singing ever again.
We had been in a fairy tale land where acts of terrorism didn't really affect us, and when they did, it was often terrorism that came from within. That was shattered. When we went to bed, we didn't know what would happen the next day. We were terrorized. We stocked up on duct tape and thick plastic for the vents in our homes, we were afraid to open any envelope.
And the videos. Just when we began to relax, a bit, bin Laden would release another video, taunting us, the murderer letting us know he could still find us, still get us.
Years pass.
On Sunday night, when the news came, I was glad. Not for the death, but because he had been stopped. I think that most people who admit to being glad feel this. It's not the death, it's that he has been found and stopped. Certainly, there are others behind him who may continue in the terror. But not he.
I posted on Facebook "Psalm 18:37-40." I did this in no triumphant way. I thought it expressed something very human, and something some of us were feeling. The relief that we do have some measure of control. That we are not just fearful things that can be terrorized and refuse to respond.
It gets complicated. What about the evil within, what about what our government does? I believe the easy answer is to say, "It's too complicated, it's too much to try and parse, therefore, I'm just going to err on the side of loving everyone." Or we say, "It's not complicated, what we do is right, period."
Ours is not the easy way. Ours is the painful, complicated, messy way. A weakness in liberal religion is when we don't address evil, when we just explain it all away, and act as if we can just love it out of existence. I am a profound believer in the power of love. But I believe that one way we love is by standing up to evil, whether it be a multi-national corporation or a terrorist leader.
We have seen some crass examples of mob mentality in the last 24 hours, as people find their own catharsis of the last decade. But I saw one moment, right after the announcement, that spoke to me. They had begun gathering outside the White House, and were singing:
We will go through our period of catharsis, and then it is time to get to the real work, of examining how what we do affects the entire web of existence. How we create terrorists and dictators by seemingly small actions.
I'm not opposed to critique, I hope that it allows us to adjust back and forth until we find what is the right way for us, as individuals, and as a nation. I am concerned about the shaming I've seen.
But as I've always said on this blog, I'm a fan of the real. What do you really feel? And I think most people are like that. I think that when we've felt offended, it was because we thought someone wasn't showing their deep feelings. The person chanting, as though at a football game -- was that their deep, introspective response, or were they caught up in group aspect? The person saying they grieved the death of any person -- was that genuine, or were they expressing what they thought they should feel?
Someone posted on twitter the John Donne quote about how "each man's death diminishes me." I must admit, I turned to The Husband and said, "I don't feel diminished by the death of Osama bin Laden."
Psalm 137That sock in the gut of watching the planes fly into the towers. That instant fear from those of us who had loved ones up in the air right then. The overwhelming panic trying to locate New York and Washington friends. I remember, after hours and hours of watching frantic friends and family members walking around New York with pictures of their missing ones, "Have you seen him? Have you seen her?" they implored on CNN, I remember turning the tv off and, exhausted, heart broken into dust, saying, "I just can't watch any more. I just can't cry any more."
By the rivers of Babylon,
There we sat down and wept,
When we remembered Zion.
Upon the willows in the midst of it
We hung our harps.
We hung our harps on trees. We could not imagine singing ever again.
We had been in a fairy tale land where acts of terrorism didn't really affect us, and when they did, it was often terrorism that came from within. That was shattered. When we went to bed, we didn't know what would happen the next day. We were terrorized. We stocked up on duct tape and thick plastic for the vents in our homes, we were afraid to open any envelope.
Psalm 74We wanted justice, we wanted revenge. We began doing the math, adding up the situation, realizing our part in it, realizing our actions had a hand in creating our destruction. It became complicated.
The enemy has damaged everything within the sanctuary.
Your adversaries have roared in the midst of Your meeting place...
They said in their heart, "Let us completely subdue them."...
We do not see our signs;
There is no longer any prophet,
Nor is there any among us who knows how long.
How long, O God, will the adversary revile,
And the enemy spurn Your name forever?
Why do You withdraw Your hand, even Your right hand?
From within Your bosom, destroy them!
And the videos. Just when we began to relax, a bit, bin Laden would release another video, taunting us, the murderer letting us know he could still find us, still get us.
Years pass.
On Sunday night, when the news came, I was glad. Not for the death, but because he had been stopped. I think that most people who admit to being glad feel this. It's not the death, it's that he has been found and stopped. Certainly, there are others behind him who may continue in the terror. But not he.
I posted on Facebook "Psalm 18:37-40." I did this in no triumphant way. I thought it expressed something very human, and something some of us were feeling. The relief that we do have some measure of control. That we are not just fearful things that can be terrorized and refuse to respond.
I pursued my enemies and overtook them,I understand the love of humanity behind saying that an eye for an eye will leave the world blind. But I am not a pacifist. I believe that evil exists and if it is within our power to do so, I believe in subduing evil.
And I did not turn back until they were consumed.
I shattered them, so that they were not able to rise;
They fell under my feet.
For You have girded me with strength for battle;
You have subdued under me those who rose up against me.
You have also made my enemies turn their backs to me,
And I destroyed those who hated me.
It gets complicated. What about the evil within, what about what our government does? I believe the easy answer is to say, "It's too complicated, it's too much to try and parse, therefore, I'm just going to err on the side of loving everyone." Or we say, "It's not complicated, what we do is right, period."
Ours is not the easy way. Ours is the painful, complicated, messy way. A weakness in liberal religion is when we don't address evil, when we just explain it all away, and act as if we can just love it out of existence. I am a profound believer in the power of love. But I believe that one way we love is by standing up to evil, whether it be a multi-national corporation or a terrorist leader.
We have seen some crass examples of mob mentality in the last 24 hours, as people find their own catharsis of the last decade. But I saw one moment, right after the announcement, that spoke to me. They had begun gathering outside the White House, and were singing:
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Triumphant nationalism? Maybe. But in that moment, in the dark, it seemed more a cry of relief. Our flag was still there. We still have the right to defend our country. If you attack our country, kill our people, we will respond. We are not powerless against those who would destroy us.
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
We will go through our period of catharsis, and then it is time to get to the real work, of examining how what we do affects the entire web of existence. How we create terrorists and dictators by seemingly small actions.
Psalm 122
or the sake of my brothers and my friends,
I will now say, "May peace be within you."
For the sake of the house of the LORD our God,
I will seek your good.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Spent the day at the hospital
For those who have been on the journey with us -- Little Wren had scans today. I won't lie ... I was scared. This was the first time for her to go 6 months between scans.
No Evidence of Disease.
She also had an echocardiogram, because one of her chemos can damage the heart.
Completely normal.
Her next scans are in November. On a selfish note, I am scheduled to graduate in December. This scan, today, obviously could have changed that. But the November scans won't.
It might actually happen! I might actually grow up and be a real minister someday!
Hugs to all of you, and thank you for the prayers, white light, and kind thoughts.
No Evidence of Disease.
She also had an echocardiogram, because one of her chemos can damage the heart.
Completely normal.
Her next scans are in November. On a selfish note, I am scheduled to graduate in December. This scan, today, obviously could have changed that. But the November scans won't.
It might actually happen! I might actually grow up and be a real minister someday!
Hugs to all of you, and thank you for the prayers, white light, and kind thoughts.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Spiritual Friendship
There are paths winding through the woods of the retreat. We have one path we usually take, but this time, we decided to go a different way. First we wound up at at a disc golf course, then we went another way and wound up blocked by a giant cobweb across the path. We didn't want to disturb Ms. Spider, so we went back to our old faithful path. Talking, talking, talking ... we looked up -- where were we? Where was the bench we usually come to?
We eventually turned around and went back. Never could figure out where we missed a turn. It's like we landed on a different path than had ever been there.I'm sure there's a metaphor in there.
We encourage each other, and we push each other to go deeper, to connect with our understandings of the Divine, and to ask ourselves important questions about being.
(And frankly, we give our loving spouses a break from all the "How is your soul" stuff that they tolerate, but must grow weary of.)
I have another spiritual friend, the DRE-BFF. Among other aspects of our relationship, she holds steady in her unwavering ethics and has high expectations of me. (And I, of her.)
Last year, Oprah interviewed Martha Stewart and they talked about how the woman Martha Stewart thought was her best friend testified against her.
I retold this story to the DRE-BFF. She didn't pause a second. "You commit insider trading, I'll testify against you, too!"
If you don't have a friend who holds you to the highest standards, who would testify against you if you broke the law... I'm sorry. And I hope you can find one.
The Hysteric Cleric and I were talking about being "The Beloved" this time, and I asked him when he felt beloved. I won't go into the details, but it will suffice to say that he feels deeply, profoundly loved by his spouse.
It is a tremendous gift and one I wholeheartedly relate to. People often talk about how our understandings of God come from our relationship with our parents. Yet religious texts also often speak of God in the terms of a lover. It seems only logical, to me, that romantic or eros love can give us insight into what we know of the Divine.
The Husband is a spiritual friend. He knows the depth and breadth of what I envision for my call; he cheers it on, makes my steps toward it possible. He calls me back to it when I feel a little lost.
Enlarged in his vision, I feel beloved and I feel I am The Beloved.
"...How do we know that we are not deluding ourselves...that we are not just listening to the voice of our own imagination? Who can judge their own heart? Who can determine if their feelings and insights are leading them in the right direction? ... We need someone who helps us to distinguish between the voice of God and all the other voices coming from our own confusion...We need someone who encourages us when we are tempted to give it all up, to forget it all, and to just walk away in despair. We need someone who cautions us when we move too rashly in unclear directions or hurry proudly toward a nebulous goal...we explore in the presence of another wise companion or two God's claim upon our lives, what has been and what may now be." -- Henri NouwenI am blessed with spiritual friends. I hope you are, too.
Friday, April 15, 2011
The Illimitable Mind
What do you get when you cross The Three Little Pigs with Forrest Church’s Cathedral of the World?
Three very different theological houses.
That first thrill of Unitarian Universalism lies in discovering your own power … having a church affirm that you have the right to discard whatever doesn’t fit your worldview and you are free to explore that vast cathedral of thought about ultimate reality. I have heard Unitarian Universalism described as a religion where “you take what you like, and leave the rest.” This is freedom, but it is freedom without responsibility.
It is important work that we do, systematically building an examined faith. Because in all of our lives, the Big Bad Wolf is going to come calling.
If you have a house of straw or even sticks – and this is something I can personally confess to – when the big bad wolf comes, your entire theological house can be swept away. And you’re left with nothing.
I think this is something that happened to John Lennon. The Beatles had gone through a hateful breakup, he had numerous personal losses, he was bitter and disillusioned. On his first solo album, he wrote the song God:
God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I don't believe in magic,
I don't believe in I-ching,
I don't believe in bible,
I don't believe in tarot,
He goes on and on, all the things he no longer believes in, both secular and spiritual. I don’t believe in Jesus … Kennedy … Buddha … yoga … Beatles. He sings, “I just believe in me, Yoko and me. The dream is over.”
It’s a complete stripping away of everything.
Well, some of us have to do that. We have constructed houses of straw, taking the things that sound good, ignoring the things we’re not interested in or don’t like. The Big Bad Wolf comes to the door and everything we believe is all blown away. And we have to start all over again, from scratch.
But there is another way.
Unitarian theologian James Luther Adams said, "An unexamined faith is not worth having, for it can be true only by accident. A faith worth having is a faith worth discussing and testing."
An examined faith does not just mean ignoring the things we don’t like. An examined faith is not only characterized by what we reject, but by what we embrace, and what we put into practice.
To go and feed the hungry is a good thing. To know and understand what is the greater meaning deep in your soul that drives you to feed the hungry or march for the rights of the immigrant will give you the strength to continue when you face setbacks and failures. And unless you’re playing it too safe, you’ll face both of those. But your theology will feed your actions and vice-versa.
Systematically engaging with the deep issues helps you form a fully-examined faith. And you’ll discover not only what you believe, but who you are.
Michael E. Duffy wrote a book called the Skeptical, Practical Christian. Frankly, I don’t recommend it for UUs, not because of the Christianity, but because the majority of the book is spent saying, “It’s okay to be skeptical!”
Already there, guy.
But his 4th chapter is good, because he lays out a process for “being able to claim a personal faith conviction on a given issue.”
You identify your issue, examine why you care about it, what you currently believe, you explore other beliefs about it, and then you discover what happens when you live it.
So, first, identify your issue. This can be something that you’re curious about or something that is affecting you at this point in your life.
If something doesn’t immediately come to mind, try this. When was the last time you responded emotionally to something you heard? If you catch yourself feeling defensive when someone questions something you believe, or you just find yourself instinctively rejecting an idea … this might be an opportunity. I’ve come to see those kneejerks, or intense feelings, as a big neon light lighting up a door, “GO HERE!” If I strongly believe or reject something, going deeper, beyond my surface reaction, always leads me somewhere I needed to go.
Second step: we need to examine why we care about this issue. Why do we have a horse in this race? If our identity might be wrapped up in it – why? What it is about this issue that we need to reflect on it now?
When you are doing a deep search for meaning, it may take you to some scary places. That means you’re doing it right. There may be things in your life that you don’t want to revisit. Things you don’t want to think about. But make no mistake – just because you don’t revisit it, doesn’t mean it’s not shaping how you view the world. It’s kind of like having one of those malware programs running on your computer – you ever have that? It’s a program that you don’t even see, but suddenly, your computer is running slower. Occasionally doing weird things. We can have shadow beliefs running in our background that are affecting us – and we don’t even realize it.
Third step: you articulate your current convictions about the issue. And forming the words to explain what we believe is crucial. We can have fuzzy concepts in our mind, but articulating them – either by writing about them or talking about them to others – helps to process and produce an explanation about what we believe. This is the raw material that you have to work with. The scientific method parallel is to construct a working hypothesis. You’re finding your starting point.
Now it’s time for the real work. 4th step. Take your starting point and enter into conversation about it with ‘conversation partners.’
A conversation partner need not be another person. Conversation partners are religious texts, world religions, the theologians and philosophers, your experiences, reason, ethics. And we need to look at a combination of these.
If we limit our conversation partners to only one religious text and doctrinal writings, we’re headed toward closed fundamentalism. And limiting our conversation partners to only our own experiences and reason leads to theological narcissism. And to leave out ethics means that we will not connect our deeply held beliefs with our part in healing the world.
Let me be blunt about why conversation partners are a necessary, required part of examining our faith. We must have the humility to understand that no human possesses absolute truth. Including us. For a religious fundamentalist, the tendency is to make the Bible the sole authority on truth. God said it, I believe it, that settles it. Not a whole lot of room for growth there.
But we are just as dangerous if we decide that our sole authority on truth is us. “This just feels right to me,” means that we are limiting wisdom to our individual experience. And it means that we have no spiritual accountability.
We have to be willing to consider other ideas and philosophies, not just those that support our starting contention on an issue.
Now along with books and writings, conversation partners can and should be other people. We joke about “what do you get when you cross a Unitarian Universalist with a Jehovah’s Witness?” “Someone who knocks on your door and asks, ‘What do you believe?’”
Well, before we knock on doors, why don’t we start with the people we know – including each other. Rather than just asking, “So, Joe … how’s your job?” try something more meaningful – “So, the anniversary of Sept. 11 has me thinking about the nature of evil – what do you think about it? Do you think it’s a force or a result?”
It’s not necessarily appropriate water cooler talk … unless it’s the water cooler at your church. This is why we are here. To grapple with these big questions.
Then, the last step. Application. “Discover what kind of world is created when you live out your new commitments.”
We have to test our new belief and see if it works. Will we be better persons for having this belief? Will it serve us well, or will it hold us back?
What kind of world will we help create when we live out this new faith conviction?
If you are not currently living by that belief, do you need to change that belief or your life?
We have to test our accountability. Even though these are our own personal beliefs, we have to ask, “Will believing this contribute to a life-well lived for all people?”
If everyone believed this, what would that mean for the world?
We’re not just building a theological house for our own sake. We are building what will house our soul, so that we are spiritually empowered to engage with the world we live in.
Three very different theological houses.
That first thrill of Unitarian Universalism lies in discovering your own power … having a church affirm that you have the right to discard whatever doesn’t fit your worldview and you are free to explore that vast cathedral of thought about ultimate reality. I have heard Unitarian Universalism described as a religion where “you take what you like, and leave the rest.” This is freedom, but it is freedom without responsibility.
It is important work that we do, systematically building an examined faith. Because in all of our lives, the Big Bad Wolf is going to come calling.
If you have a house of straw or even sticks – and this is something I can personally confess to – when the big bad wolf comes, your entire theological house can be swept away. And you’re left with nothing.
I think this is something that happened to John Lennon. The Beatles had gone through a hateful breakup, he had numerous personal losses, he was bitter and disillusioned. On his first solo album, he wrote the song God:
God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I don't believe in magic,
I don't believe in I-ching,
I don't believe in bible,
I don't believe in tarot,
He goes on and on, all the things he no longer believes in, both secular and spiritual. I don’t believe in Jesus … Kennedy … Buddha … yoga … Beatles. He sings, “I just believe in me, Yoko and me. The dream is over.”
It’s a complete stripping away of everything.
Well, some of us have to do that. We have constructed houses of straw, taking the things that sound good, ignoring the things we’re not interested in or don’t like. The Big Bad Wolf comes to the door and everything we believe is all blown away. And we have to start all over again, from scratch.
But there is another way.
Unitarian theologian James Luther Adams said, "An unexamined faith is not worth having, for it can be true only by accident. A faith worth having is a faith worth discussing and testing."
An examined faith does not just mean ignoring the things we don’t like. An examined faith is not only characterized by what we reject, but by what we embrace, and what we put into practice.
To go and feed the hungry is a good thing. To know and understand what is the greater meaning deep in your soul that drives you to feed the hungry or march for the rights of the immigrant will give you the strength to continue when you face setbacks and failures. And unless you’re playing it too safe, you’ll face both of those. But your theology will feed your actions and vice-versa.
Systematically engaging with the deep issues helps you form a fully-examined faith. And you’ll discover not only what you believe, but who you are.
Michael E. Duffy wrote a book called the Skeptical, Practical Christian. Frankly, I don’t recommend it for UUs, not because of the Christianity, but because the majority of the book is spent saying, “It’s okay to be skeptical!”
Already there, guy.
But his 4th chapter is good, because he lays out a process for “being able to claim a personal faith conviction on a given issue.”
You identify your issue, examine why you care about it, what you currently believe, you explore other beliefs about it, and then you discover what happens when you live it.
So, first, identify your issue. This can be something that you’re curious about or something that is affecting you at this point in your life.
If something doesn’t immediately come to mind, try this. When was the last time you responded emotionally to something you heard? If you catch yourself feeling defensive when someone questions something you believe, or you just find yourself instinctively rejecting an idea … this might be an opportunity. I’ve come to see those kneejerks, or intense feelings, as a big neon light lighting up a door, “GO HERE!” If I strongly believe or reject something, going deeper, beyond my surface reaction, always leads me somewhere I needed to go.
Second step: we need to examine why we care about this issue. Why do we have a horse in this race? If our identity might be wrapped up in it – why? What it is about this issue that we need to reflect on it now?
When you are doing a deep search for meaning, it may take you to some scary places. That means you’re doing it right. There may be things in your life that you don’t want to revisit. Things you don’t want to think about. But make no mistake – just because you don’t revisit it, doesn’t mean it’s not shaping how you view the world. It’s kind of like having one of those malware programs running on your computer – you ever have that? It’s a program that you don’t even see, but suddenly, your computer is running slower. Occasionally doing weird things. We can have shadow beliefs running in our background that are affecting us – and we don’t even realize it.
Third step: you articulate your current convictions about the issue. And forming the words to explain what we believe is crucial. We can have fuzzy concepts in our mind, but articulating them – either by writing about them or talking about them to others – helps to process and produce an explanation about what we believe. This is the raw material that you have to work with. The scientific method parallel is to construct a working hypothesis. You’re finding your starting point.
Now it’s time for the real work. 4th step. Take your starting point and enter into conversation about it with ‘conversation partners.’
A conversation partner need not be another person. Conversation partners are religious texts, world religions, the theologians and philosophers, your experiences, reason, ethics. And we need to look at a combination of these.
If we limit our conversation partners to only one religious text and doctrinal writings, we’re headed toward closed fundamentalism. And limiting our conversation partners to only our own experiences and reason leads to theological narcissism. And to leave out ethics means that we will not connect our deeply held beliefs with our part in healing the world.
Let me be blunt about why conversation partners are a necessary, required part of examining our faith. We must have the humility to understand that no human possesses absolute truth. Including us. For a religious fundamentalist, the tendency is to make the Bible the sole authority on truth. God said it, I believe it, that settles it. Not a whole lot of room for growth there.
But we are just as dangerous if we decide that our sole authority on truth is us. “This just feels right to me,” means that we are limiting wisdom to our individual experience. And it means that we have no spiritual accountability.
We have to be willing to consider other ideas and philosophies, not just those that support our starting contention on an issue.
Now along with books and writings, conversation partners can and should be other people. We joke about “what do you get when you cross a Unitarian Universalist with a Jehovah’s Witness?” “Someone who knocks on your door and asks, ‘What do you believe?’”
Well, before we knock on doors, why don’t we start with the people we know – including each other. Rather than just asking, “So, Joe … how’s your job?” try something more meaningful – “So, the anniversary of Sept. 11 has me thinking about the nature of evil – what do you think about it? Do you think it’s a force or a result?”
It’s not necessarily appropriate water cooler talk … unless it’s the water cooler at your church. This is why we are here. To grapple with these big questions.
Then, the last step. Application. “Discover what kind of world is created when you live out your new commitments.”
We have to test our new belief and see if it works. Will we be better persons for having this belief? Will it serve us well, or will it hold us back?
What kind of world will we help create when we live out this new faith conviction?
If you are not currently living by that belief, do you need to change that belief or your life?
We have to test our accountability. Even though these are our own personal beliefs, we have to ask, “Will believing this contribute to a life-well lived for all people?”
If everyone believed this, what would that mean for the world?
We’re not just building a theological house for our own sake. We are building what will house our soul, so that we are spiritually empowered to engage with the world we live in.
Monday, April 04, 2011
Gathered and Sent
Gathered and Sent
A Sermon Given by Lizard Eater
at half a dozen churches in South Texas
Okay, so there were three blind people and … (Congregation: “An elephant.”) Elephant? No, no, man, that’d just be weird. Three blind people and a Unitarian Universalist church. They’d taken a quiz on beliefnet.com that said they were all UUs so they wanted to see what a Unitarian Universalist church was.
The first came in and heard the choir practicing. “Oh,” he said. “Music. A Unitarian Universalist church is where you make music and celebrate.”
The next stumbled over a toolbox. Picking up a hammer, she said, “No, church is where we find purpose.”
The third reached out to her so he could examine the toolbox, but as he did, he also stumbled. She caught him and he reached up and touched her cheek. “Ah,” he said. “A Unitarian Universalist church is where you make community.”
They then walked down to the corner coffeeshop to continue arguing about it, because that is what we blind Unitarian Universalists do!
Of course, they were all right. A Unitarian Universalist church is where we celebrate, find purpose, and make community. And learn. And connect. And find meaning.
But at its core, church is where we are gathered, before being sent back out. We are a gathered and sent people. We are gathered together to strengthen our souls … and we are sent out to strengthen the world.
When we gather together, we worship. Worship, from the Old English weorthscipe, means to shape what is of worth. It’s where we take time to focus on what we value. And when we do this, when we gather together to worship, we give praise, we receive inspiration and we are fortified.
Now, praise is one of those challenging terms for Unitarian Universalists, because we’ve heard it used as a requirement – that there’s a God that created us just to praise him … for most of us, that just seems awfully human for the Divine.
But praise is about pausing and paying attention to what we value. And celebrating it. Because it’s so easy to take things for granted. We just get busy with our lives. When we praise, we pause.
I’m yet again trying to get on a regular exercise regimen. I went down to my YMCA and since the weather was nice, rather than exercising inside, I went down to a path they have around a pond. I had my mp3 player with good music and just walking along, looking at the lilypads, and the water, and the trees, I just felt so close that process of life that I call God. And I was going along, and there’s a bench down by the water. I didn’t stop, though, because, I had my groove on. Next time around though, (pants) …. I'd lost my groove. So I sat down on the bench. And then I took out my earbuds. And I could hear birds and the sounds of the trees. And I noticed all the details … a pillbug trotting along, a fish down in the water … here, fishy fishy fishy. I paused.. And then this great, cool, burst of honeysuckle scented air just hit me full in the face. You can’t buy gifts like that. You can only receive them. I paused. And I praised.
And when we gather together, one of the gifts we receive is inspiration. Whether it’s in the pulpit, or the coffee hour, or during RE, or the corner forum … we get to hear the ideas of others. And that’s one of the great, precious gifts that we inherited in this liberal faith. That we have so many places to look to find our own answers. Our answers may be found in Hinduism, Buddhism, humanism, process theology … for many of us, they’re found in our rich theological heritage of Unitarianism and Universalism. We read Hosea Ballou, Margaret Fuller or James Luther Adams, we take the What Moves Us classes and learn about Forrest Church and the Cathedral of the World … we find, as did one of our fine youth, an epiphany. We gather and we are inspired.
The Rev. Forrest Church, who gave us much inspiration, died last year. At the first service at his church after his funeral, the Rev. Galen Guengerich told of a conversation he had had with Forrest. See, Forrest always ended his sermons with, “Amen. I love you. And may God bless us all.” He explained to his friend why he did so.
He said, “I think people understand what I’m trying to communicate when I say “I love you” from the pulpit.” He listed the three kinds of love that are described in the New Testament: romantic love, friendship, and divine love—agape. “People know I’m not saying “I love you” in the romantic sense,” he explained, “or even in the sense that friends would say “I love you” to each other.” He went on to say, in a typically self-deprecating observation, that he thought some people found him rather reserved in person. “But when I say, “I love you” from the pulpit,” he said, “something connects—I get connected to the congregation and they get connected to each other. It’s almost like, for a moment at least, we all part of each other—of something larger than ourselves. It’s the human form of love divine, as Blake put it.” “And besides,” he added, “someone once told me that I’m the only person in her life who ever says “I love you.” She comes to church to hear someone say that she matters.”She comes to church to hear someone say that she matters.
Everyone turn to someone right now and say, “I love you and there’s nothing you can do about it!” (congregation does so)
We gather to feel that love. We gather to remember that we matter, and that our values matter. And we are fortified.
And so, having given praise, and received inspiration, and been fortified, our souls have been strengthened.
And so we are sent out to strengthen the world.
Unitarian Horace Mann said “Be ashamed to die until you have won a victory for humanity.” What will your victory be?
Sometimes, I think we – and by “we,” I mean, “I” … sometimes we hold ourselves back because we think that “victory” must mean something huge, dramatic, and life changing. But something can also be small, quiet, and life changing. Because you just can’t know what will change a life. As Mother Theresa said, “we can do no great things, only small things with great love.” Small things with great love. We need to gives ourselves permission to bless others, without feeling we must know that the final outcome is, or that we must be judge and jury for whether someone truly deserves our small blessing.
Often, we make simple things so complicated, either because we can see the big, final masterpiece … and don’t realize that we need to first, just start with “what is the minimum I need to do to get this up and running?” … or because we are so attached to a desired outcome that we’re afraid to begin. We can’t see the entire path, so we’re afraid to take that first step.
I heard the Rev. Marlin Lavanhar talk about this when he was about to take the dramatic step of going to Uganda to help support those fighting the evil proposed laws against homosexuals there. He talked about the difference between when the Israelites crossed the Red Sea and when they crossed the Jordan, like in our ancient readings today.
Sometimes, that path is clear and obvious. We’re like Moses. The enemy is at our back, the waters have been parted, “I know what to do, I can see my path.” Now, even when our path is clearly laid out for us, that doesn’t mean it’s easy. We may feel we’re not ready. We may feel we’re stepping into shoes five times too big. We may look at that water to the right, water to the left, and be afraid of drowning. But the path is laid out. We need only to step out on it.
Sometimes, though, the path isn’t so clear, like in the book of Joshua. We’re carrying that ark, it’s pretty heavy. And we don’t see a path. We have to wade in first, trusting that a path will appear. Step out in faith. So we do. And after we have waded in, after our ankles are wet, then the path opens. Sometimes, we just have to wade in, and hope that the path appears.
I was talking about this with a friend of mine, he’s the pastor of a Missionary Baptist church in Sugar Land, and he said, Yeah, but what about Elisha.
Oh man.
See with Elisha, he has just watched his mentor be swept away to heaven in a chariot of fire pulled by horses of fire.
What to do now? Well, first, he needs to cross back over the Jordan River.
And sometimes we’re like Elisha. Our souls have been strengthened. And we are being sent out to strengthen the world. But there’s no path there. And we can wade out in the middle of it, but there’s still no path that we can see. So Elisha he picks up the robe that Elijah left behind. He had seen him roll it up and strike the waters, so he gives it a try. And they part. Sometimes we have to take what we’ve learned from others, and the tools we are given, and strike the waters. Sometimes, we have to make our own path.
A wise man said, “Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase.” Anyone know you said that? Martin Luther King, Jr. said that, a man who knew both about gathering together in church to strengthen your soul, and then being sent out to strengthen the world.
This whole gathered and sent thing … this is the core of the missional church. What does that mean, to be a missional church?
It means that every time you leave here, every Sunday, you go out into the world and you actively live as a Unitarian Universalist, you incarnate the values of Unitarian Universalism. It means seeing people as beings who are meant to be loved and acting accordingly. Feeding someone who is hungry. Being in relationship with someone who needs a friend. And doing these things, not because your church tells you to, but because you are Unitarian Universalism. You are the hands and feet of this religion, these values, you are the hands and feet of the divine mystery.
I'm willing to bed that there are people here who feel like when they go through those front doors and leave this church, they are going out into a foreign world, a world that does not reflect their values. A world that says buy this and you “need” that, a world where people ridicule the weak and promote hatred and intolerance, a crass world that values celebrity over decency, flash over substance. And you know what? They’re right! We are in a culture that often does not reflect our values.
But the answer is not to hide here, to seek sanctuary here, not even to provide sanctuary here. We are not a cave to hide out in. We are missionaries. We are missionaries. And our job is to go out into that world out there, and spread kindness. Love. Tolerance.
But kindness. Love. Tolerance. Those things by themselves, those forces, have no hands, have no feet. Love is the most amazing power in the world, but love cannot literally hold open a door for someone burdened. Love has no hands and no feet.
But we do.
We have hands and we have feet and we can walk out there, walk into that world, and be missionaries for what we hold to be true. We can be the hands and feet of love. And we can strengthen the world.
Every time we leave our church and go out to work for justice, we are strengthening the world. Every time we leave our church and go out to extend kindness, we are strengthening the world. And then we are gathered back together, to talk about the work we have done, to share how we have been walking humbly with our God and to worship together. And so it becomes this wonderful cycle of strengthening our souls and strengthening the world and the wheel just gets more and more momentum.
We can build a land where we bind up the broken, restoring ruins of generations, we can build a land of people so bold. Gathered and Sent, we’ll build a land.
Amen, I love you. And May God bless us all.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Why I am a Universalist
The Rev. Naomi King organized today as "Speak Up for Universalism Day" and I have been tweeting a small portion of the Bible verses that support the idea of universalism.
But they are not why I am a Universalist.
I am deep into Universalism on a scholarly level. Much of last semester was spent rummaging all through the Reformation for information about what was happening with universalism during that time. (Seminarian tip: if you're writing a paper that you already know is going to be called "Hidden Heresy," it should probably occur to you that since it was often hidden, it is going to be quite a challenge to research. You are so warned.)
This semester, I am taking a class exclusively on Universalism, soaking up its history and controversies. And loving it.
But that is not why I am a Universalist.
I am, at heart, a Universalist, because it would be impossible for me to not be. I am a Universalist both because I have been profoundly loved, and because I profoundly love.
I have been demonstratably loved by family, friends, and even complete strangers. When LW completed chemo the last time, we prepared for her Wish Trip. I studied for that trip like I was being graded on it, and one way that I educated myself was through some "fan" boards online. There, I received an email from some women who wanted to know if I would allow them to sew clothes for our family to take on our trip.
When we left for Orlando, our suitcases were stuffed with dresses and outfits, custom-made for us, painstakingly sewn, the ingredients purchased by the sewers themselves. They wouldn't take a dime, not even for shipping. They did not know us. They did not know our religion, our politics, what kind of people we were. All they knew was that our family qualified for a Wish trip. And they wanted to make it even better.
You're going to tell me God has less generosity?
I love. I love family, friends, church members, blogging buddies ... and I love my kids. Wow, do I love my kids. It is scary, when you're holding your first baby, and you realize that you would die for that little handful. And as they get older, and often not quite as cute, you love them even more. To a certain extent, I am powerless under this love I have for them. No matter what, I will still love them. I can be disappointed in them, sad about them, so angry I want to pinch them right between the eyes ... but I still love them. I can't stop.
You're going to tell me God has less love?
In the video promoting Love Wins, Rob Bell talks about Gandhi and how it's inconceivable to him that Gandhi is in hell.
Well, to all of those who tweeted furiously that that proved Rob Bell is a universalist, I say Pshaw. Believing Gandhi isn't in hell doesn't make you a universalist, it makes you a reasonable person.
As much as I say that I couldn't not be a Universalist, it is damn hard work. Because not only do I not believe that Gandhi isn't in hell, I don't believe Saddam Hussein is in hell.
Whatever God is -- and nowadays, my understanding is more of God as a seductive process -- I believe that ultimately, Love does win. I believe that this process of God pulls us towards more compassion, more kindness, more generosity, more love. And eternal punishment just doesn't fit in to that.
Ultimately, God wins.
But they are not why I am a Universalist.
I am deep into Universalism on a scholarly level. Much of last semester was spent rummaging all through the Reformation for information about what was happening with universalism during that time. (Seminarian tip: if you're writing a paper that you already know is going to be called "Hidden Heresy," it should probably occur to you that since it was often hidden, it is going to be quite a challenge to research. You are so warned.)
This semester, I am taking a class exclusively on Universalism, soaking up its history and controversies. And loving it.
But that is not why I am a Universalist.
I am, at heart, a Universalist, because it would be impossible for me to not be. I am a Universalist both because I have been profoundly loved, and because I profoundly love.
I have been demonstratably loved by family, friends, and even complete strangers. When LW completed chemo the last time, we prepared for her Wish Trip. I studied for that trip like I was being graded on it, and one way that I educated myself was through some "fan" boards online. There, I received an email from some women who wanted to know if I would allow them to sew clothes for our family to take on our trip.
When we left for Orlando, our suitcases were stuffed with dresses and outfits, custom-made for us, painstakingly sewn, the ingredients purchased by the sewers themselves. They wouldn't take a dime, not even for shipping. They did not know us. They did not know our religion, our politics, what kind of people we were. All they knew was that our family qualified for a Wish trip. And they wanted to make it even better.
You're going to tell me God has less generosity?
I love. I love family, friends, church members, blogging buddies ... and I love my kids. Wow, do I love my kids. It is scary, when you're holding your first baby, and you realize that you would die for that little handful. And as they get older, and often not quite as cute, you love them even more. To a certain extent, I am powerless under this love I have for them. No matter what, I will still love them. I can be disappointed in them, sad about them, so angry I want to pinch them right between the eyes ... but I still love them. I can't stop.
You're going to tell me God has less love?
In the video promoting Love Wins, Rob Bell talks about Gandhi and how it's inconceivable to him that Gandhi is in hell.
Well, to all of those who tweeted furiously that that proved Rob Bell is a universalist, I say Pshaw. Believing Gandhi isn't in hell doesn't make you a universalist, it makes you a reasonable person.
As much as I say that I couldn't not be a Universalist, it is damn hard work. Because not only do I not believe that Gandhi isn't in hell, I don't believe Saddam Hussein is in hell.
Whatever God is -- and nowadays, my understanding is more of God as a seductive process -- I believe that ultimately, Love does win. I believe that this process of God pulls us towards more compassion, more kindness, more generosity, more love. And eternal punishment just doesn't fit in to that.
Ultimately, God wins.
Friday, March 11, 2011
"I love you Lord, but I am mad at you!"
Or "Why You Should Be Reading the Lament Psalms."
Walter Brueggemann calls them the psalms of disorientation. They're for when we have lost the privilege of believing that life is fair, that it'll all be okay, that a benevolent force for good is in our lives. They shriek of pain, of despair, of desperation.
For a long time, the Christian church has avoided these psalms, feeling that they indicated a lack of belief, of faith. Ironically, many UU churches avoided them because they address God, which is too much faith for us.
God, I'm hurt, and I'm feeling broken inside. And I am mad at you. And I don't even believe that it's your fault, I don't believe that you cause bad things to happen nor provide miracles. But there's a young woman who is fighting for her life, has been going to nursing school even with cancer, has just poured her young life into helping others and now that cancer just seems to be winning, seems to taking over her whole body and it is hurting her, God. And I know that I don't believe you intervene, that you choose who gets miracles but even with that, God, just this once? Just this once? And now I hear that my friend, my friend, God, the one in class with me with the beautiful long braids, so full of vim and vigor, the one whom I looked at with awe and said "You have the gift of preaching," even though she's in tradition that doesn't recognize your call to women ... now I find out that she has had a massive stroke. She's barely older than me, God! They had to cut into her skull, God, do you realize that? She is lying in the ICU and we don't know if she'll still be she. And now, Good God, an earthquake? More devastation to come? Really, God? REALLY? I am mad, God! And I don't know who to be mad to, so I am mad at you. I love you but I am MAD at YOU.
Psalms like 13, that take the Priestly Blessing, shove it in God's face and say, "You're not doing your part of the bargain!" You're not turning your face toward me and being gracious to me, you're hiding your face! You're pretending I don't exist! How Long, Lord???
Psalms like 137, where we all grieve, broken-hearted together. We weep together, remembering the beautiful life we had, now ruthlessly stripped away. We are so devastated, so victimized, we have so lost who we are, we even fantasize about the children of our enemies having their heads dashed in, so that our enemies can know this pain.
We need a way to mourn, grieve, and rail at the forces of life and death. We need a way to join in communal lament, to recognize and acknowledge the pain as well as the beauty.
As for me, I'm keeping the psalms close at hand. I wish I'd known of them as I sat alone in the hospital, a sleeping bald child next to me.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Walter Brueggemann calls them the psalms of disorientation. They're for when we have lost the privilege of believing that life is fair, that it'll all be okay, that a benevolent force for good is in our lives. They shriek of pain, of despair, of desperation.
For a long time, the Christian church has avoided these psalms, feeling that they indicated a lack of belief, of faith. Ironically, many UU churches avoided them because they address God, which is too much faith for us.
God, I'm hurt, and I'm feeling broken inside. And I am mad at you. And I don't even believe that it's your fault, I don't believe that you cause bad things to happen nor provide miracles. But there's a young woman who is fighting for her life, has been going to nursing school even with cancer, has just poured her young life into helping others and now that cancer just seems to be winning, seems to taking over her whole body and it is hurting her, God. And I know that I don't believe you intervene, that you choose who gets miracles but even with that, God, just this once? Just this once? And now I hear that my friend, my friend, God, the one in class with me with the beautiful long braids, so full of vim and vigor, the one whom I looked at with awe and said "You have the gift of preaching," even though she's in tradition that doesn't recognize your call to women ... now I find out that she has had a massive stroke. She's barely older than me, God! They had to cut into her skull, God, do you realize that? She is lying in the ICU and we don't know if she'll still be she. And now, Good God, an earthquake? More devastation to come? Really, God? REALLY? I am mad, God! And I don't know who to be mad to, so I am mad at you. I love you but I am MAD at YOU.
Psalms like 13, that take the Priestly Blessing, shove it in God's face and say, "You're not doing your part of the bargain!" You're not turning your face toward me and being gracious to me, you're hiding your face! You're pretending I don't exist! How Long, Lord???
Psalms like 137, where we all grieve, broken-hearted together. We weep together, remembering the beautiful life we had, now ruthlessly stripped away. We are so devastated, so victimized, we have so lost who we are, we even fantasize about the children of our enemies having their heads dashed in, so that our enemies can know this pain.
These psalms are brutal, and sad, and heartrending. And utterly honest. Especially psalm 88, the only one that can't crawl its way back to faith in God. Darkness is my closest friend.
As for me, I'm keeping the psalms close at hand. I wish I'd known of them as I sat alone in the hospital, a sleeping bald child next to me.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Behind the Curtain
When I first began seminary, I spoke of "peeking behind the curtain" -- those times when I would get glimpses into the world of being a minister, not from the audience side, but from the minister side.
As I've progressed, I have been nurtured by several ministers, UU and otherwise, who have allowed me greater access behind the curtain, in order to further my formation.
I still have a toe outside the curtain, so there's a few things I want to whisper with all of us non-ministers, about that secret world of clergy.
My brother recently brought my otherwise calm father to absolute apoplexy by remarking that he thinks people pretty much turn out the way they will, no matter what the parent does. (My brother is child-free.)
My father sat listening to him, fury no doubt rising, until finally he couldn't stand it anymore. "REALLY? Well, that's just great. All those nights I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning, trying to figure out what the right thing to do was, how I was going to afford things you needed, how to reach you and teach you, all that heartache and stress ... and none of it mattered. You would have turned out the same had I just shrugged and let you be."
Well, there's a whole lot of that in ministry. A lot of sleepless nights, a lot of praying and soul-searching. Am I fulfilling my call? God, am I doing what you entrusted me to do? Am I providing opportunities for transformation, for healing, for nurturing? Are my people stronger now, or just tireder and poorer? What am I missing? Who am I missing?
They make mistakes. And it rips them apart. And they can't lean on us. Because they are there to minister, not to be ministered to. They live knowing how very expendable they are. And that it must be that way.
We hear the stories of arrogant ministers, confident in all that they do. But I have seen ministers, so very aware of their human fraility. When no one else is around, tears fall.
The stole is not so much a distinction of honor as it is a yoke of responsibility, sometimes even a heavy chain of commitment and requirement. Heavy hangs the stole.
Perhaps you feel I am aggrandizing a world that I seek to join. I don't think so.
I'm just reporting what I saw when I peeked behind the curtain.
As I've progressed, I have been nurtured by several ministers, UU and otherwise, who have allowed me greater access behind the curtain, in order to further my formation.
I still have a toe outside the curtain, so there's a few things I want to whisper with all of us non-ministers, about that secret world of clergy.
My brother recently brought my otherwise calm father to absolute apoplexy by remarking that he thinks people pretty much turn out the way they will, no matter what the parent does. (My brother is child-free.)
My father sat listening to him, fury no doubt rising, until finally he couldn't stand it anymore. "REALLY? Well, that's just great. All those nights I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning, trying to figure out what the right thing to do was, how I was going to afford things you needed, how to reach you and teach you, all that heartache and stress ... and none of it mattered. You would have turned out the same had I just shrugged and let you be."
Well, there's a whole lot of that in ministry. A lot of sleepless nights, a lot of praying and soul-searching. Am I fulfilling my call? God, am I doing what you entrusted me to do? Am I providing opportunities for transformation, for healing, for nurturing? Are my people stronger now, or just tireder and poorer? What am I missing? Who am I missing?
They make mistakes. And it rips them apart. And they can't lean on us. Because they are there to minister, not to be ministered to. They live knowing how very expendable they are. And that it must be that way.
We hear the stories of arrogant ministers, confident in all that they do. But I have seen ministers, so very aware of their human fraility. When no one else is around, tears fall.
The stole is not so much a distinction of honor as it is a yoke of responsibility, sometimes even a heavy chain of commitment and requirement. Heavy hangs the stole.
Perhaps you feel I am aggrandizing a world that I seek to join. I don't think so.
I'm just reporting what I saw when I peeked behind the curtain.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Choosing Bold Over Mild
... together we want to change the world for the better, and the best strategies for doing this are constantly evolving. We want to shake the foundations of social systems in order to make the world a fairer, kinder place where all people can enjoy their share of life's blessings and hopes. The end sounds mild enough, but getting there requires us to boldly confront the powers and the power brokers of the current world order.
The bolder a church's vision is with regard to the preceding, the more engaging and winsome that church becomes to the general public. The milder the vision expressed, the more that energy is diverted to fellowship, childcare, and building renovation, to entertainment activities, parties, and trips. The mild church is a religious Elk's Lodge except for about an hour a week, when we sit quietly in a room decorated to my grandmother's tastes and try to think (and even sing) nice thoughts about ... loving others. ... But the bold church is quite serious in its intent to change the world, within its range of influence...
I, personally, do not have much time for the Elk's Lodge or much time for a church whose primary purpose is camaraderie ... If I do belong to an organization with mild aspirations, I will be casual and sporadic in my attendance, volunteering, and giving. My energy will drift elsewhere. ...
Bold visions for changing the world will always win us partners who are ready to roll up their sleeves, and in such endeavors they and we together open up ourselves to the serendipitous discoveries and life changes that happen when we are sharing life with the poor and giving to make life better for others.
Rock my world in worship...Challenge me to join with you in changing the world. Be bold and you will win my undivided attention.
-- I Refuse to Lead a Dying Church, Paul Nixon
Monday, February 21, 2011
Sunday is Bring Your Gay Teen to Church Day
Open doors await them
Homosexuality and religion have a complicated past, but some area churches hope to bridge that gap this Sunday
HOUSTON CHRONICLE
Feb. 19, 2011, 7:29AM
Ebie Hussey's first reaction when her son announced that he is gay was to offer unconditional love.
Finding a new church was a close second.
"His first question was, 'Am I going to hell?' " Hussey said of that conversation with her son, Jaxn. "Mainstream Christianity and fundamental Christianity really pushes that homosexuality is a sin, and he had caught on to that."
Jaxn, now 15, knew his parents didn't think that. "But I had always heard people saying that kind of thing," he said.
In an effort to counter the message, almost two dozen Houston-area churches have designated Sunday as Bring Your Gay Teen to Church Day. ... (continued)
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Lay Leaders Guide to Getting the Most from Your Guest Speakers
One of the things I get to do, and really love doing, is to preach at churches around my state. I adore it. I get to meet some of the coolest people you'll ever meet -- people in little pockets of the world, trying to make their little pocket a more loving, just, place.
My home church is one of those little pockets and has been mostly lay-led over my years there. I held the post of Worship Chair twice and between that and actually being the guest speaker, I've learned some things.
So, here, I offer you HOW TO GET THE MOST OUT OF YOUR GUEST SPEAKER. (Especially if your guest speaker is a UU seminarian, minister, religious professional or consultant.)
Before Sunday:
Edit: The BFF-DRE pointed out that these are good tips for all religious professionals. She's right. Mea Culpa.
My home church is one of those little pockets and has been mostly lay-led over my years there. I held the post of Worship Chair twice and between that and actually being the guest speaker, I've learned some things.
So, here, I offer you HOW TO GET THE MOST OUT OF YOUR GUEST SPEAKER. (Especially if your guest speaker is a UU seminarian, minister, religious professional or consultant.)
Before Sunday:
- Tell them everything that will happen that Sunday, from what time someone opens to the church, to the meetings before church, to the circle afterwards, to lunch, etc.
- In great detail, tell them everything that you would like them to do:
- Do you want them to lead the entire service, or just do the readings/sermon?
- Do you want them to do the chalice lighting ... offertory ... lead joys/sorrows?
- If you have something after the service you would like them to join, let them know ahead of time. Especially if you have a discussion of the sermon afterwards. In at least two churches, I've mingled, chatted wth people, gathered my stuff, and been walking out the door before someone says, "Oh, are you leaving? We're going to gather to talk about your sermon." Or, "Oh, we were hoping you'd join us for lunch." Well, if I've already pulled together my kids and my husband, it is at best awkward to then come back in, get everyone settled, etc. We often just say thanks, and continue on our way. I'd love to join you. Just let me know ahead of time.
- If your speaker is a minister or seminarian, let them know a little bit about your congregation, and any major things that are going on. We want to make our message more meaningful to you. Doing a project you're proud of? Let us know so we can reference it and cheer you on. Is your congregation laid back about religious language or do they bristle at the word "God"? Let us know. We might not change anything, but we'll know what to expect.
- Have an established "normal" order of service but be willing to deviate from it. First, let me know what is normal for your church. If they're accustomed to 2 hymns every Sunday, I'd rather do that than add in a third. However, be flexible. If I really think that this particular service needs all three hymns, let's do it if it's feasible.
But again, do have a normal order of service. Don't give me a completely blank slate. Let me know what your "normal" is.
- Meet your speaker a little before the service, and first give them a tour of your building. Ah, there's the bathrooms.
- Have a fresh cup of water for them in the podium and let them know it's fresh.
- Go over the order of service, especially if you're doing it together. Who'll introduce this hymn? Who'll light the chalice?
- Show them where they can leave their coat, briefcase, etc.
- Have a plan for afterwards -- do you walk them to the back so they can shake hands with parishioners? What about after that? Have someone who can escort them to coffee, introduce them to people, etc. Get the most out of them!
- Let them know any feedback you've heard. (Especially seminarians.) Now, if the cranky person who never likes anyone criticizes them, there's probably not a useful purpose in passing that on. But if 5+ people say "Oh, I liked him!" or "I couldn't really hear her," or even "They found you too ... (Christian, Atheist, Activist, Intellectual, etc.)" let us know.
- If they are someone who knows their way around worship, ask them for their feedback. What could you, as a church, do better? They probably visit quite a few other churches, which gives them a unique outsider's perspective.
Edit: The BFF-DRE pointed out that these are good tips for all religious professionals. She's right. Mea Culpa.
Friday, February 11, 2011
"What do you know about Cancer?" Part II
So, The Husband is watching the Katy Perry video we talked about (see below) and is getting a little teary because of the cancer patient in the video. Little Wren doesn't know why.
"Oh yeah," she says. "He visited."
As ChaliceChick would say ...
*headdesk*
"Oh yeah," she says. "He visited."
As ChaliceChick would say ...
*headdesk*
"What do you know about Cancer?"
Okay, right after talking about cancer, this conversation happens:
I'm in the car with LW and Bo Peep (5 and 8). We're listening to Katy Perry's Firework. Peep says that she's seen the video. Oh yeah, sez I, and it has a girl with cancer in it.
"Don't say that word!" commands LW, from the back seat.
"What word?" I ask, innocently.
"Cancer!" says LW.
"Why?"
"I HATE cancer," says LW.
"Me, too," I say.
"What do YOU know about cancer?" asks LW.
(Those who have been with me on this journey ... we'll now take 5 minutes to alternate laughing, crying, and being silent in gratitude that this moment could occur.)
"Excuse me?" I say. Not defensively ... because I want to see what she has to say. She does have a different perspective than I.
She begins laughing, in that way that I love, where deep chuckles begin burbling out of her chest.
"Oh yeah," she says. "Your were with me the whole time," she says.
There are some moments that defy description. They are just there to be experienced. Take from it what you will.
(But ... those who have been there from the times she can't even remember ... iMinister, Philocrites, and all the rest ... I am, virtually, hugging you, and we are laughing together. So many of us were with her the whole time. What do WE know about cancer?)
I'm in the car with LW and Bo Peep (5 and 8). We're listening to Katy Perry's Firework. Peep says that she's seen the video. Oh yeah, sez I, and it has a girl with cancer in it.
"Don't say that word!" commands LW, from the back seat.
"What word?" I ask, innocently.
"Cancer!" says LW.
"Why?"
"I HATE cancer," says LW.
"Me, too," I say.
"What do YOU know about cancer?" asks LW.
(Those who have been with me on this journey ... we'll now take 5 minutes to alternate laughing, crying, and being silent in gratitude that this moment could occur.)
"Excuse me?" I say. Not defensively ... because I want to see what she has to say. She does have a different perspective than I.
She begins laughing, in that way that I love, where deep chuckles begin burbling out of her chest.
"Oh yeah," she says. "Your were with me the whole time," she says.
There are some moments that defy description. They are just there to be experienced. Take from it what you will.
(But ... those who have been there from the times she can't even remember ... iMinister, Philocrites, and all the rest ... I am, virtually, hugging you, and we are laughing together. So many of us were with her the whole time. What do WE know about cancer?)
And on a personal note ...
 |
| LW, working in the garden |
Pretty fabulous, thanks for asking. All the kids, including Little Wren, are growing like weeds.
The kids stay busy with school, orchestra, band, etc. and are completely normal, in that they fuss, whine, love pizza, fight, love Glee, and hate cleaning their rooms. Okay, they all have an overwhelming love for steamed broccoli which I think is passing strange, but other than that, normal.
Sometimes, though, things will happen to remind me that they have been affected in their journeys through Cancer World. Like The Boy writing an amazingly insightful paper about Threnody, which Emerson wrote about his faith, lost and refound, after his son died.
For LW, it was just her reality. She told some boy friends (not boyfriends, she will hasten to tell you) that she was bald two years ago. Boys are quite impressed with that kind of thing.
I'm trying to get all my schoolin' done, and will have CPE this summer. The only advice anyone is willing to give me about that is, "Get sleep now."
Yikes.
And The Husband keeps on keeping on, occasionally doing something completely insane like getting up early on a freezing morning to fill my car tank with gas.
And that, my children, is what Real Love looks like.
Monday, February 07, 2011
Bring Your Gay Teen to Church
Back in October, I blogged about wanting to get the message out to parents to take their gay teen to a church where they would be welcomed and affirmed. A month later, some of us talked about that in our church. About what it could mean to be an LGBTQ teen in loving faith community. One where not only could they be themselves, but they could also be around all kinds of adults. One where they could see healthy, happy, LGBTQ adults. Videos are nice, but being able to witness that It Gets Better? Better.
In Houston, it's happening. February 20.
Yes, Houston. So far, we've got 20 churches signed up, representing 8 different denominations + non-denominational.
I'm tickled purple.
Click on the logo. See the website. "Like" the Facebook page. Tell your friends. This year, Houston. Next year, the world.
In Houston, it's happening. February 20.
Yes, Houston. So far, we've got 20 churches signed up, representing 8 different denominations + non-denominational.
I'm tickled purple.
Click on the logo. See the website. "Like" the Facebook page. Tell your friends. This year, Houston. Next year, the world.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Being Missionaries, or "What if ..."
I know exactly when I took the red pill.
I was in preaching class with one of my favorite professors and just chatting, he brought up the missional church movement. He explained that what they wanted to do was be missionaries, but rather than being missionaries in Africa or Central Europe, they wanted to be missionaries right in their own town.
And reality, as I had known it, crackled into a million pieces; my vision unfocused and I held on to the table for fear of falling off my chair and into a wormhole. He explained further and reality came back into focus, but a different reality than had been there before.
What if?
I profoundly believe in liberal religion in general, and Unitarian Universalism specifically. I believe the world would be a better place if we added a hundred, two hundred UU churches, all working on creating the Beloved Community. And creating the Beloved Community not within their church walls, but outside it, in their greater community. Doing guerrilla gardening and mentoring at the local elementary school, serving up a meal on Sunday for church members and the neighborhood. Focusing not on how many members in the church, but how many they serve.
What if?
Being a missionary, starting up a new church in the poorer part of town ... how is that more impossible than going to another country where you don't even speak the language, and learning a new culture, in order to better the people and save their souls?
I have a different opinion about saving souls. Mine is found in "Shalom," a word translated to mean "peace," but which is so much more. It is peace, rightness, and wholeness; it is both personal and communal.
What if?
What if you had a new church who knew from the get-go, that this would be their focus? That "church" was not where you met, "church" was who you are?
And what if these people were all willing to be missionaries? All week long, in their own spheres of influence, they would pursue mission. At work, at the pub, on the softball field or Mommy and me group, they would actively try to spread their values, seeing themselves as missionaries. And would come together to work the mission field where their church was located.
And what if you had a large, established church, who decided that "missions" was not just something for fundamentalist Christians, but was instead a vital part of their mission, who supported sending a mission ... but rather than to Guatemala, to the other side of the railroad tracks?
And what if you focused on the indigenous culture in which you planted the mission, rather than trying to turn the "savages" into what goes for "UU Culture" these days?
What if.
I was in preaching class with one of my favorite professors and just chatting, he brought up the missional church movement. He explained that what they wanted to do was be missionaries, but rather than being missionaries in Africa or Central Europe, they wanted to be missionaries right in their own town.
And reality, as I had known it, crackled into a million pieces; my vision unfocused and I held on to the table for fear of falling off my chair and into a wormhole. He explained further and reality came back into focus, but a different reality than had been there before.
What if?
I profoundly believe in liberal religion in general, and Unitarian Universalism specifically. I believe the world would be a better place if we added a hundred, two hundred UU churches, all working on creating the Beloved Community. And creating the Beloved Community not within their church walls, but outside it, in their greater community. Doing guerrilla gardening and mentoring at the local elementary school, serving up a meal on Sunday for church members and the neighborhood. Focusing not on how many members in the church, but how many they serve.
What if?
Being a missionary, starting up a new church in the poorer part of town ... how is that more impossible than going to another country where you don't even speak the language, and learning a new culture, in order to better the people and save their souls?
I have a different opinion about saving souls. Mine is found in "Shalom," a word translated to mean "peace," but which is so much more. It is peace, rightness, and wholeness; it is both personal and communal.
What if?
What if you had a new church who knew from the get-go, that this would be their focus? That "church" was not where you met, "church" was who you are?
And what if these people were all willing to be missionaries? All week long, in their own spheres of influence, they would pursue mission. At work, at the pub, on the softball field or Mommy and me group, they would actively try to spread their values, seeing themselves as missionaries. And would come together to work the mission field where their church was located.
And what if you had a large, established church, who decided that "missions" was not just something for fundamentalist Christians, but was instead a vital part of their mission, who supported sending a mission ... but rather than to Guatemala, to the other side of the railroad tracks?
And what if you focused on the indigenous culture in which you planted the mission, rather than trying to turn the "savages" into what goes for "UU Culture" these days?
What if.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
God, Doubt, Authenticity, and Foolishness
There is a saying about "It is better to be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."
We nod sagely at that, not stopping to think ... Oh, then that means no one would talk. Or share ideas. And really, isn't that rooted in fear?
So I say, tish tosh to that, and prefer Emerson's words, "Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day."
In one of my seminary classes, the professor talked about the ambiguity in the Bible, and the fact that we must have humility in understanding that there is so much we can't understand. He was questioned by a student, wanting to know how this plays out in the life of a pastor. "Well," the professor conceded, "There are some things that you'll learn in seminary that you won't share with your parishioners. They can't handle it."
If you are now envisioning Jack Nicholson, red-faced, "You can't handle the TRUTH!" ... well, you are not the only one.
But it made me think of some I know -- even ministers -- in UU churches, who hide parts of their spiritual lives -- daily prayer, communing with God, and what not. Would we say, "They're mostly Stage Fours. They can't handle it."? When, of course, what we mean is, "I don't want someone to look at me and think my beliefs are ridiculous."
I think one problem that can arise, whether we are absolute doubters, absolute believers, or something in between or somewhere else, is when we hold any such belief toooo tightly. Doubt or belief, either can be squeezed so hard that to loosen our fingers would mean painful, crampy digits. We become more attached to protecting what we hold, rather than being authentic with our doubts, questions, and feelings we can't fully rationalize.
For several years now, I have been exploring my understandings of God, Spirit, and the like. I have had numinous experiences. These are cherished moments in my life.
But I remind myself to hold them loosely. Don't get too attached. And even those special moments, where I felt connected to something larger than myself, something I call God ... if you were to ask me, I would, with all humility and authenticity, say, "Yeah, but it also might just be my imagination."
And I don't feel it takes anything away by leaving that as one of the options for finding meaning. In the last Harry Potter book, he asks about an experience he had. "Was it real, or was it all in my mind?" The answer is that it can be both.
Unitarian Universalism is an agnostic religion. That doesn't mean "a polite way to say atheist." One may give heartfelt prayers every day to God and equally be an agnostic. We are the religion that has the humility to say, "I don't know."
To me, the model Unitarian Universalist humanist/Christian/pagan/etc. all say the same thing. They say, "I believe X. But I don't know that for sure." What "X" means doesn't matter as much as, "But I don't know that for sure." But I don't know leaves room for discussion with others. But I don't know leaves room for what the person personally considers ridiculous. But I don't know leaves room for growth and revelation.
We loosen our grip, stretch our fingers. It hurts, at first. But the blood begins pumping, and soon, our fingers feel just fine. Better, even. If we want, we can reach out to other things now.
We nod sagely at that, not stopping to think ... Oh, then that means no one would talk. Or share ideas. And really, isn't that rooted in fear?
So I say, tish tosh to that, and prefer Emerson's words, "Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day."
In one of my seminary classes, the professor talked about the ambiguity in the Bible, and the fact that we must have humility in understanding that there is so much we can't understand. He was questioned by a student, wanting to know how this plays out in the life of a pastor. "Well," the professor conceded, "There are some things that you'll learn in seminary that you won't share with your parishioners. They can't handle it."
If you are now envisioning Jack Nicholson, red-faced, "You can't handle the TRUTH!" ... well, you are not the only one.
But it made me think of some I know -- even ministers -- in UU churches, who hide parts of their spiritual lives -- daily prayer, communing with God, and what not. Would we say, "They're mostly Stage Fours. They can't handle it."? When, of course, what we mean is, "I don't want someone to look at me and think my beliefs are ridiculous."
I think one problem that can arise, whether we are absolute doubters, absolute believers, or something in between or somewhere else, is when we hold any such belief toooo tightly. Doubt or belief, either can be squeezed so hard that to loosen our fingers would mean painful, crampy digits. We become more attached to protecting what we hold, rather than being authentic with our doubts, questions, and feelings we can't fully rationalize.
For several years now, I have been exploring my understandings of God, Spirit, and the like. I have had numinous experiences. These are cherished moments in my life.
But I remind myself to hold them loosely. Don't get too attached. And even those special moments, where I felt connected to something larger than myself, something I call God ... if you were to ask me, I would, with all humility and authenticity, say, "Yeah, but it also might just be my imagination."
And I don't feel it takes anything away by leaving that as one of the options for finding meaning. In the last Harry Potter book, he asks about an experience he had. "Was it real, or was it all in my mind?" The answer is that it can be both.
Unitarian Universalism is an agnostic religion. That doesn't mean "a polite way to say atheist." One may give heartfelt prayers every day to God and equally be an agnostic. We are the religion that has the humility to say, "I don't know."
To me, the model Unitarian Universalist humanist/Christian/pagan/etc. all say the same thing. They say, "I believe X. But I don't know that for sure." What "X" means doesn't matter as much as, "But I don't know that for sure." But I don't know leaves room for discussion with others. But I don't know leaves room for what the person personally considers ridiculous. But I don't know leaves room for growth and revelation.
We loosen our grip, stretch our fingers. It hurts, at first. But the blood begins pumping, and soon, our fingers feel just fine. Better, even. If we want, we can reach out to other things now.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Sabbath That Comes Once a Day
My Jewish friends taught me about Shabbat as being the holiday that comes once a week. Lately, I've been thinking about sleep as the sabbath that comes once a day.
What would it mean, to think of our nightly (or daily, depending on work hours) as holy?
I don't know if I appreciated it as much until the hospital days. The hospital days ... or more precisely, the hospital nights ... were broken into 1 and a half hour increments. Because of the chemo my daughter received, she had to be pumped full of liquids to protect her kidneys. One and a half hours. That's how long she could go without the bathroom. She was only 3, but she refused a diaper. So every one and a half hours, she'd stir, and I'd leap from my cot beside her, and somehow maneuver her and her IV pole into the bathroom.
But I digress.
I still sleep very lightly. Whether it is because of those 6 months or entering my forties, I can't say.
Sleep ... oh, blessed sleep. We cuddle down into our blankets, and hopefully, are able to take just a second to feel grateful. We are safe, we are warm. Best of all is when we are in our own homes.
Perhaps a spouse or a mate rustles next to us. A hound dog or a kitty yawns, stretches, and curls closer, feeling utterly safe next to the heat of our body.
A nursing baby sighs, sliding off our breast and nestling close. Or a young child crawls next to us in the middle of night, "I had a nightmare," she mumbles, before weaving herself under your chin, her knees pressed against your belly, an expanded version of herself as she used to curl in the womb.
Sleep.
If we truly considered it to be holy, a gift from God that comes once a day, how would we treat it? Would we still push ourselves, doing laundry, watching tv, checking Facebook until, exhausted, we finally succumbed and poured ourselves into bed?
Or would we, instead, treat it as part of the divine hours. A specific time -- 10:00, 11:00? Where we began our nighttime discipline: wash the face, brush the teeth, visit the toilet, say a prayer, close our eyes, join in our nighttime Sabbath?
I have known a time when sleep was a much needed vacation from reality. Where I could, for a period of time, rest. Body, mind. and soul. Rest.
Isn't that what Sabbath means?
What would it mean, to think of our nightly (or daily, depending on work hours) as holy?
I don't know if I appreciated it as much until the hospital days. The hospital days ... or more precisely, the hospital nights ... were broken into 1 and a half hour increments. Because of the chemo my daughter received, she had to be pumped full of liquids to protect her kidneys. One and a half hours. That's how long she could go without the bathroom. She was only 3, but she refused a diaper. So every one and a half hours, she'd stir, and I'd leap from my cot beside her, and somehow maneuver her and her IV pole into the bathroom.
But I digress.
I still sleep very lightly. Whether it is because of those 6 months or entering my forties, I can't say.
Sleep ... oh, blessed sleep. We cuddle down into our blankets, and hopefully, are able to take just a second to feel grateful. We are safe, we are warm. Best of all is when we are in our own homes.
Perhaps a spouse or a mate rustles next to us. A hound dog or a kitty yawns, stretches, and curls closer, feeling utterly safe next to the heat of our body.
A nursing baby sighs, sliding off our breast and nestling close. Or a young child crawls next to us in the middle of night, "I had a nightmare," she mumbles, before weaving herself under your chin, her knees pressed against your belly, an expanded version of herself as she used to curl in the womb.
Sleep.
If we truly considered it to be holy, a gift from God that comes once a day, how would we treat it? Would we still push ourselves, doing laundry, watching tv, checking Facebook until, exhausted, we finally succumbed and poured ourselves into bed?
Or would we, instead, treat it as part of the divine hours. A specific time -- 10:00, 11:00? Where we began our nighttime discipline: wash the face, brush the teeth, visit the toilet, say a prayer, close our eyes, join in our nighttime Sabbath?
I have known a time when sleep was a much needed vacation from reality. Where I could, for a period of time, rest. Body, mind. and soul. Rest.
Isn't that what Sabbath means?
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