Hey Kids...and by kids I mean the 3 of you who sometimes read this blog....wander over to:
www.stthomasbcs.blogspot.com
Our church is reading this interesting book entitled: What's the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian. I'm writing some short posts over there and welcome you to join in!
The book was written by Martin Thielen, a Methodist pastor. It's an easy read..in fact that's some of the criticism...maybe a little too easy! But...it's summer...I'm hot and tired...so I don't mind easy!
It's not "fluffy"! And it still maintains plenty of thoughtfulness and things to "ponder". It is NOT as book about "shortcuts" Someone criticized our parish's reading of this book by posting a hasty comment on Facebook! ha! Literally judging the book by its cover! "Lawd" have mercy.
So it's not "What's the Least I Can DO" and still be a Christian! As you all know, better than I, being a Christian...a real person who is trying her/his best to be in relationship with the Living God who demands love and justice and forgiveness (like all the dang time!) is hard work. So this book doesn't downplay that reality at all.
So dive in! Join in our parish's book discussion. See you later!
Translation: mama ain't writing for two blogs! I'll be back to this one after the book study is over!
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Friday, March 1, 2013
Ashes, Queso, and Connection
"Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return"
On Ash Wednesday February 13th** my church participated in Ashes to Go again...our 2nd year to do so. A2G ( I just made that up, I have never seen the Ashes to Go people use that...but I am trying to seem young and cool because yesterday someone told me that I looked "just like 'Mary" and "Mary" is 90!!! I mean 90!!!) Anyway, A2G is a national effort started in Chicago and New York to take the imposition of Ashes to passersby on street corners. The idea being that "the church" needs to get out of her own walls and meet people where they are. And I LOVE it!
Last year I got a little flack for it on "the facebook" (see, now I'm just making a joke trying to sound like certain 90 year olds who call it the facebook). And I totally understand the criticism...well...maybe not totally understand.
I think the name is perhaps a barrier...Ashes to Go...to some folks seems like the solemnity of Ash Wednesday is being replaced by just a "drive through" attitude; I can see how that could be the unintended message. As the Old Testament lesson this coming Sunday illustrates, naming is POWERFUL. (Exodus 3:1-15) It sounds to some folks like those of us who are participating are saying "you don't really need to do the hard work of self examination that Lent demands. You don't really need the hard work of being in community with people. Just drive through and be "done" in 2 minutes" And goodness knows our culture LOVES shortcuts (and by our culture...I mean me who yells at the microwave to go faster.) And the Church has some responsibility to teach the lessons of slowing down, going deeper, making space in your life. Totally get that!
But having stood outside in my full on clergy drag/gear/outfit at a taco place for two Ash Wednesdays now, I can honestly say, Ashes to Go in my experience is quite meaningful. I have looked into the faces of young (not just trying to be young, but young) college students who have said things like 'this is so cool. Thank you so much. I have a class and can't get to church today" One young man asked me to pray with him about his upcoming chemistry test (O Lord! I'm not even sure I'm smart enough even to PRAY about chemistry).
Last year one of our oldest parishioners (not the one I look like apparently) drove up to the taco place and came over to me and cried and said "thank you so much, this is so great" In my well honed jumping ability (jumping to conclusions that is) I had assumed that since she was in her 80s she would be appalled at what I was doing. Silly me.
And yes our parish still offered 3 "regular" services that day (is there any such thing as a "regular" service? I mean we are joining in the union of Christ's body and blood every time we gather at the Communion table so I'm not sure that's ever "regular" but I digress...) But for too long "organized religion" (what is it with me and quotations marks today?) has stood off at a distance and said, "Hey, you over there, come to us." (OK that time the quotation marks were necessary.) I'm excited to be part of the Church at a time when I believe we have not only opportunities but mandates and a calling to do it all: traditional inside the church building services, ashes to go in a parking lot, twitter, facebook, and old school phone calls and post cards, all of it. Frankly...it's exhausting...but exciting most of all.
So maybe A2G helps us think about ways to be connected with people everywhere in lots of circumstances, people who are in fact too busy or maybe yes even too "lazy" to go to "church-church" but who are willing to experience a moment of quiet, a moment of prayer, a moment of connection in an unlikely place. And for me that's what church is all about..whether it's in a parking lot or a cathedral. And YES I know that the best the church has to offer, the best our Christian faith has to offer is being in community with each other, supporting, caring, holding accountable, worshiping, serving, all of that...absolutely! And no, 2 minutes in a parking lot wiping a little queso off your mouth while a stranger holds your hand and says a prayer isn't the same. But it's something.
It's some thing...I don't quite have a name for it...but it's some thing...some thing that matters. Blessed Lent to all.
** Seriously, Ash Wednesday was on February 13th this year. And so that means that Easter is March 31st! LORD have mercy indeed. Next year, Easter is April 20th...like God intended! ha!
On Ash Wednesday February 13th** my church participated in Ashes to Go again...our 2nd year to do so. A2G ( I just made that up, I have never seen the Ashes to Go people use that...but I am trying to seem young and cool because yesterday someone told me that I looked "just like 'Mary" and "Mary" is 90!!! I mean 90!!!) Anyway, A2G is a national effort started in Chicago and New York to take the imposition of Ashes to passersby on street corners. The idea being that "the church" needs to get out of her own walls and meet people where they are. And I LOVE it!
Last year I got a little flack for it on "the facebook" (see, now I'm just making a joke trying to sound like certain 90 year olds who call it the facebook). And I totally understand the criticism...well...maybe not totally understand.
I think the name is perhaps a barrier...Ashes to Go...to some folks seems like the solemnity of Ash Wednesday is being replaced by just a "drive through" attitude; I can see how that could be the unintended message. As the Old Testament lesson this coming Sunday illustrates, naming is POWERFUL. (Exodus 3:1-15) It sounds to some folks like those of us who are participating are saying "you don't really need to do the hard work of self examination that Lent demands. You don't really need the hard work of being in community with people. Just drive through and be "done" in 2 minutes" And goodness knows our culture LOVES shortcuts (and by our culture...I mean me who yells at the microwave to go faster.) And the Church has some responsibility to teach the lessons of slowing down, going deeper, making space in your life. Totally get that!
But having stood outside in my full on clergy drag/gear/outfit at a taco place for two Ash Wednesdays now, I can honestly say, Ashes to Go in my experience is quite meaningful. I have looked into the faces of young (not just trying to be young, but young) college students who have said things like 'this is so cool. Thank you so much. I have a class and can't get to church today" One young man asked me to pray with him about his upcoming chemistry test (O Lord! I'm not even sure I'm smart enough even to PRAY about chemistry).
Last year one of our oldest parishioners (not the one I look like apparently) drove up to the taco place and came over to me and cried and said "thank you so much, this is so great" In my well honed jumping ability (jumping to conclusions that is) I had assumed that since she was in her 80s she would be appalled at what I was doing. Silly me.
And yes our parish still offered 3 "regular" services that day (is there any such thing as a "regular" service? I mean we are joining in the union of Christ's body and blood every time we gather at the Communion table so I'm not sure that's ever "regular" but I digress...) But for too long "organized religion" (what is it with me and quotations marks today?) has stood off at a distance and said, "Hey, you over there, come to us." (OK that time the quotation marks were necessary.) I'm excited to be part of the Church at a time when I believe we have not only opportunities but mandates and a calling to do it all: traditional inside the church building services, ashes to go in a parking lot, twitter, facebook, and old school phone calls and post cards, all of it. Frankly...it's exhausting...but exciting most of all.
So maybe A2G helps us think about ways to be connected with people everywhere in lots of circumstances, people who are in fact too busy or maybe yes even too "lazy" to go to "church-church" but who are willing to experience a moment of quiet, a moment of prayer, a moment of connection in an unlikely place. And for me that's what church is all about..whether it's in a parking lot or a cathedral. And YES I know that the best the church has to offer, the best our Christian faith has to offer is being in community with each other, supporting, caring, holding accountable, worshiping, serving, all of that...absolutely! And no, 2 minutes in a parking lot wiping a little queso off your mouth while a stranger holds your hand and says a prayer isn't the same. But it's something.
It's some thing...I don't quite have a name for it...but it's some thing...some thing that matters. Blessed Lent to all.
** Seriously, Ash Wednesday was on February 13th this year. And so that means that Easter is March 31st! LORD have mercy indeed. Next year, Easter is April 20th...like God intended! ha!
Friday, September 28, 2012
A little shopping, a little faith restored
So...in early September the nice husband and I got to go to Europe for two whole weeks. I know, right? You're thinking, "dang how much do they pay priests in College Station these days?" Well...before you rush right out to apply for my job...we used MANY airline and hotel perk/reward things that husband has saved for 10 years. He's better at saving them than I would be! I get one of those, and think "cool, let's go to the Caldwell Holiday Inn tonight" and he says, "no, let's save them so we can go to Europe one day." We love him.
Anyway, besides the usual things that happen on vacation....sleep (remember I'm 50 now!) and then eating WHATEVER you want because the calories do not count especially when you change time zones. That's a fact I'm certain. And now you've read it on the internet so it's totally true. So in addition to sleeping and eating and shopping (could the stores BE any more fabulous in Heidelberg, Paris, and London?) we did something I RARELY do. We went to church. A lot.
I know you're thinking, "honey, you are a priest...you go to church ALLLLL the time, which is why you say you can't play with us on the weekends." No, this was different. This was GOING to church, not being responsible for a service. This was sitting BY my husband in church, which has happened only a handful of times in our ten year marriage. And this was not just any church.
We were able to have Communion at St. Paul's Cathedral in London. Then hear Evensong at Westminster Abbey and sit IN the choir stalls right next to the amazing children and men singers. Then we had Communion at Canterbury AND got to experience Evensong there too, also in the choir stalls. All of these breathtaking buildings literally built more than 1,000 years ago. I can scarcely articulate what that feels like.
Lots of you who have traveled way more extensively than I have (remember I'm the Caldwell Holiday Inn kind of girl), you know what I'm talking about and can probably articulate it so much more clearly. But all I have is "wow" and "Thanks be to God".
I mean literally Thanks be to God. To get to be in a place where since the 6th and 7th centuries (!) people have worshipped is just beyond my comprehension. To be on such holy ground where for centuries and centuries people have prayed and cried and sung and sought meaning and been afraid and been brave and been murdered (God rest Thomas Becket's soul) is simply indescribable. Even in those dark stories (again, poor Thomas), even among all the tombs and grave markers that are part of these glorious, majestic Cathedrals, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Something I'm almost hesitant to admit I had lost hold of before the trip.
Maybe just from being so very tired leading up to the trip, maybe just from being, like every other American, a person who is too busy (and in my case, too allergic! ha!)to "stop and smell the roses", but being in those gorgeous places reminded me in a visceral kind of way, that we are truly connected to a long long (long) line of the faithful....sinful, foolish, careless, yes, but a long line of the faithful.
Last week was my first Sunday back at my dear church, and the collect (prayer) for the day read: Grant us O Lord not to mind earthly things but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to cleave to those things that shall abide, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
As my sweet church prepares to celebrate her 75th anniversary (which is like 10 minutes in Canterbury Cathedral time!) I was just overwhelemed at the altar thinking about those places we got to travel, and thinking about all of those who have gone before us, who made it possible for this parish to be gathered in this place on that particular Sunday. Connected somehow through our Anglican heritage to the countless throngs who have passed through centuries old buildings and now in our small way adding to that.
Standing at the altar, and reading the almost 2000 year old story of the night before Jesus died, while looking out at people I love and remembering the impossible to describe beauty of those Cathedrals and watching out the glass doors of our worship space into the hallway as one of our precious parish babies was rocking on her knees about to take some first wobbly steps....well...I can only describe the confluence of all those things: memories of our trip, words from Scripture, people I love in front of my eyes, people I miss deep in my heart, people I never met but whose graves I touched, I can only describe that as transcendent...or WOW...or perhaps DANG.
So grateful. Grateful for time away for the usual reasons: sleeping, eating, shopping (duh, of course I bought some new cute shoes!) but so grateful to be reminded that even when I can't seem to pray, even when I can't seem to "connect" even though my time alive will, in the scheme of things be very brief, I am part of a long long line of faithful people....and so are you...whether you feel it or not whether you've ever even been to Caldwell much less Europe we are carried on the centuries of prayers that have come before us and we will carry those who come after us...even when we fail or are foolish or scared.
And whether we're in a 1,200 year old building or a 2 week old building or not in a building at all, the breath of God breathes in us, like it breathed in "them", like it will breathe in those who come after us. And I know that's not always enough...I know what's it like to want a clear voice from Heaven, and a clear "burning bush" kind of sign, and I know what it's like to want people I love not to suffer.
And...alas...you are looking at the wrong blog right now if you want clear direction on how to satisfy those wants! (Be glad you aren't paying for this!) But I've been reminded again...that there is "something"...something bigger than my small self, bigger than my worries, bigger than my church...etc etc...something that has driven people for centuries to hope and aspire and dream and build towering structures to praise God who is sometimes as near as our breath and sometimes as distant as a planet. And I want in on that!
I want to be part of that long line of people...flawed...messy...joyful..sorrowful...people who have told The Story for centuries. Thanks be to God.
Anyway, besides the usual things that happen on vacation....sleep (remember I'm 50 now!) and then eating WHATEVER you want because the calories do not count especially when you change time zones. That's a fact I'm certain. And now you've read it on the internet so it's totally true. So in addition to sleeping and eating and shopping (could the stores BE any more fabulous in Heidelberg, Paris, and London?) we did something I RARELY do. We went to church. A lot.
I know you're thinking, "honey, you are a priest...you go to church ALLLLL the time, which is why you say you can't play with us on the weekends." No, this was different. This was GOING to church, not being responsible for a service. This was sitting BY my husband in church, which has happened only a handful of times in our ten year marriage. And this was not just any church.
We were able to have Communion at St. Paul's Cathedral in London. Then hear Evensong at Westminster Abbey and sit IN the choir stalls right next to the amazing children and men singers. Then we had Communion at Canterbury AND got to experience Evensong there too, also in the choir stalls. All of these breathtaking buildings literally built more than 1,000 years ago. I can scarcely articulate what that feels like.
Lots of you who have traveled way more extensively than I have (remember I'm the Caldwell Holiday Inn kind of girl), you know what I'm talking about and can probably articulate it so much more clearly. But all I have is "wow" and "Thanks be to God".
I mean literally Thanks be to God. To get to be in a place where since the 6th and 7th centuries (!) people have worshipped is just beyond my comprehension. To be on such holy ground where for centuries and centuries people have prayed and cried and sung and sought meaning and been afraid and been brave and been murdered (God rest Thomas Becket's soul) is simply indescribable. Even in those dark stories (again, poor Thomas), even among all the tombs and grave markers that are part of these glorious, majestic Cathedrals, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Something I'm almost hesitant to admit I had lost hold of before the trip.
Maybe just from being so very tired leading up to the trip, maybe just from being, like every other American, a person who is too busy (and in my case, too allergic! ha!)to "stop and smell the roses", but being in those gorgeous places reminded me in a visceral kind of way, that we are truly connected to a long long (long) line of the faithful....sinful, foolish, careless, yes, but a long line of the faithful.
Last week was my first Sunday back at my dear church, and the collect (prayer) for the day read: Grant us O Lord not to mind earthly things but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to cleave to those things that shall abide, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
As my sweet church prepares to celebrate her 75th anniversary (which is like 10 minutes in Canterbury Cathedral time!) I was just overwhelemed at the altar thinking about those places we got to travel, and thinking about all of those who have gone before us, who made it possible for this parish to be gathered in this place on that particular Sunday. Connected somehow through our Anglican heritage to the countless throngs who have passed through centuries old buildings and now in our small way adding to that.
Standing at the altar, and reading the almost 2000 year old story of the night before Jesus died, while looking out at people I love and remembering the impossible to describe beauty of those Cathedrals and watching out the glass doors of our worship space into the hallway as one of our precious parish babies was rocking on her knees about to take some first wobbly steps....well...I can only describe the confluence of all those things: memories of our trip, words from Scripture, people I love in front of my eyes, people I miss deep in my heart, people I never met but whose graves I touched, I can only describe that as transcendent...or WOW...or perhaps DANG.
So grateful. Grateful for time away for the usual reasons: sleeping, eating, shopping (duh, of course I bought some new cute shoes!) but so grateful to be reminded that even when I can't seem to pray, even when I can't seem to "connect" even though my time alive will, in the scheme of things be very brief, I am part of a long long line of faithful people....and so are you...whether you feel it or not whether you've ever even been to Caldwell much less Europe we are carried on the centuries of prayers that have come before us and we will carry those who come after us...even when we fail or are foolish or scared.
And whether we're in a 1,200 year old building or a 2 week old building or not in a building at all, the breath of God breathes in us, like it breathed in "them", like it will breathe in those who come after us. And I know that's not always enough...I know what's it like to want a clear voice from Heaven, and a clear "burning bush" kind of sign, and I know what it's like to want people I love not to suffer.
And...alas...you are looking at the wrong blog right now if you want clear direction on how to satisfy those wants! (Be glad you aren't paying for this!) But I've been reminded again...that there is "something"...something bigger than my small self, bigger than my worries, bigger than my church...etc etc...something that has driven people for centuries to hope and aspire and dream and build towering structures to praise God who is sometimes as near as our breath and sometimes as distant as a planet. And I want in on that!
I want to be part of that long line of people...flawed...messy...joyful..sorrowful...people who have told The Story for centuries. Thanks be to God.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Fifteen Hours
April was hard. I mean so hard that I didn't spend any time shopping. Seriously. I've gone shopping when I've had fever and staples in my body. This was some kind of April. Despite the usual frenzy of week day work at a church, and the weekly Sunday responsibilities and preparations, we also had Holy Week and Easter day too. Don't get the wrong! I love all of those extra liturgies, and by love I mean I'm still a little tired!
Throw in a 23 hour trip to Boston to bury a beloved friend and colleague and the death of my stepfather, and...wow I could seriously use a retreat...and by THAT I mean......I may need to have an overnight sleepover in the nearest Nordie's to regroup fully. (I feel like I could have a whole other side business working with extroverts who like to shop and who pray. Most retreat centers I've attended are lovely, restorative places, but could be improved with a little shopping center adjacent!...but I digress)
It's taken me this long to reflect on the events of the past month, the odd convergence of things, the juxtaposition of life and death, and I'm sure I've only just begun. (eww...now I have that Carpenters song in my head! )
April was one of those months in which I was reminded again of the sort of "luminous web" connections between all of us, and between the Holy. Delicate, fragile, and yet fiercely tough threads that connect us all. (Barbara Brown Taylor, a preaching GENIUS wrote a book I couldn't understand called The Luminous Web.) Celtic spirituality talks about "thin places"...those places in our lives where earth and heaven seem to intersect...even if just for a moment. Usually in Celtic spirituality that's about physical places...like some gorgeous setting in Ireland or Stonehenge or the semi annual shoe sale at Nordie's...ahh... (OK I'm not really THAT obsessed...just hopping to get a chuckle out of the 3 people who read this blog).
Flying to Boston on April 20th to preach and preside at my dear friend Catherine's funeral, memories flooded at an almost unbearable rate. How had our lives connected, and connected so deeply, so quickly, when on paper we could NOT have been more different? But there I was, doing what she had asked of me when she first learned that her brain cancer was beyond cure. She and I loved the Episcopal Church, loved Good Shepherd Austin in particular. And somehow I managed, while looking at her precious mother, to say the words from the prayer book...words that give me hope when nothing else does.... "for to your faithful people Lord, life is changed not ended." And then I flew home...exhausted, but so grateful.
Sunday April 22nd would have been the day that my precious husband and I visited my stepfather, also dying of a brain tumor. We began a pattern of making the hour drive every other Sunday. But Sunday April 22nd I had just hit my limit and so, after trying my best to be "sparkly" at my parish on that the 3rd Sunday of Easter, I went home and slept...hard.
So on Sunday April 29th, an odd 5th Sunday of the month, Rob and I drove the hour to go see Arthur. Our family has called him "Awa" since my now 19 year old nephew was 2 and gave him that name. Awa and my mama began dating when I was 19. They married 25 years go. Arthur was kind and gentle, expressed love to me and my siblings in a way that, at least for me, was more easily interpreted than the way my dad did (does).
Some strong feeling/voice/spirit/"deal"/ told me to hold Arthur's hand a lot that afternoon. And Arthur cried; I had never seen that. Arthur cried and asked me about Heaven, and told me about "things" (visions?) he was seeing, and pictures he wanted to paint...pictures that sounded like Jacob's ladder, earth and heaven united. And he asked me if I thought he had been good. And I could scarcely breathe as I answered "absolutely!" And Rob seconded that, enthusiastically. And I thought about how true it was that Arthur was "good"...and I thought about the power of that moment and how much we ALL need someone to hold our hands and tell us we are "good." And I knew in that deepest of places that there is something....something...that connects, and I don't begin to know exactly how to explain it. And sometimes I'm so tired and sad and busy that I completely ignore it. But there is some thread, and for a moment on a warm April afternoon I caught a glimpse of it shining in the lobby of a nursing home in Cameron Texas.
We left Arthur and mama at 4:30 pm. At 7:30 am my sister called to tell me Arthur had died.
For to your faithful people O Lord, life is changed not ended. Alleluia.
Throw in a 23 hour trip to Boston to bury a beloved friend and colleague and the death of my stepfather, and...wow I could seriously use a retreat...and by THAT I mean......I may need to have an overnight sleepover in the nearest Nordie's to regroup fully. (I feel like I could have a whole other side business working with extroverts who like to shop and who pray. Most retreat centers I've attended are lovely, restorative places, but could be improved with a little shopping center adjacent!...but I digress)
It's taken me this long to reflect on the events of the past month, the odd convergence of things, the juxtaposition of life and death, and I'm sure I've only just begun. (eww...now I have that Carpenters song in my head! )
April was one of those months in which I was reminded again of the sort of "luminous web" connections between all of us, and between the Holy. Delicate, fragile, and yet fiercely tough threads that connect us all. (Barbara Brown Taylor, a preaching GENIUS wrote a book I couldn't understand called The Luminous Web.) Celtic spirituality talks about "thin places"...those places in our lives where earth and heaven seem to intersect...even if just for a moment. Usually in Celtic spirituality that's about physical places...like some gorgeous setting in Ireland or Stonehenge or the semi annual shoe sale at Nordie's...ahh... (OK I'm not really THAT obsessed...just hopping to get a chuckle out of the 3 people who read this blog).
Flying to Boston on April 20th to preach and preside at my dear friend Catherine's funeral, memories flooded at an almost unbearable rate. How had our lives connected, and connected so deeply, so quickly, when on paper we could NOT have been more different? But there I was, doing what she had asked of me when she first learned that her brain cancer was beyond cure. She and I loved the Episcopal Church, loved Good Shepherd Austin in particular. And somehow I managed, while looking at her precious mother, to say the words from the prayer book...words that give me hope when nothing else does.... "for to your faithful people Lord, life is changed not ended." And then I flew home...exhausted, but so grateful.
Sunday April 22nd would have been the day that my precious husband and I visited my stepfather, also dying of a brain tumor. We began a pattern of making the hour drive every other Sunday. But Sunday April 22nd I had just hit my limit and so, after trying my best to be "sparkly" at my parish on that the 3rd Sunday of Easter, I went home and slept...hard.
So on Sunday April 29th, an odd 5th Sunday of the month, Rob and I drove the hour to go see Arthur. Our family has called him "Awa" since my now 19 year old nephew was 2 and gave him that name. Awa and my mama began dating when I was 19. They married 25 years go. Arthur was kind and gentle, expressed love to me and my siblings in a way that, at least for me, was more easily interpreted than the way my dad did (does).
Some strong feeling/voice/spirit/"deal"/ told me to hold Arthur's hand a lot that afternoon. And Arthur cried; I had never seen that. Arthur cried and asked me about Heaven, and told me about "things" (visions?) he was seeing, and pictures he wanted to paint...pictures that sounded like Jacob's ladder, earth and heaven united. And he asked me if I thought he had been good. And I could scarcely breathe as I answered "absolutely!" And Rob seconded that, enthusiastically. And I thought about how true it was that Arthur was "good"...and I thought about the power of that moment and how much we ALL need someone to hold our hands and tell us we are "good." And I knew in that deepest of places that there is something....something...that connects, and I don't begin to know exactly how to explain it. And sometimes I'm so tired and sad and busy that I completely ignore it. But there is some thread, and for a moment on a warm April afternoon I caught a glimpse of it shining in the lobby of a nursing home in Cameron Texas.
We left Arthur and mama at 4:30 pm. At 7:30 am my sister called to tell me Arthur had died.
For to your faithful people O Lord, life is changed not ended. Alleluia.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Dads and daughters and swimming pools
It's already that time of year again! CANNOT believe it! Not only is it Easter-tide..hallelujah...but it's time for the neighborhood pool to re-open! WOO HOO (another way to shout hallelujah)!! I know I know...there's a lot of me to cram into spandex, but I do it, and don't even care who's looking. Husband and I love love love water and will find any opportunity to plunge in...swearing each season that NEXT year we'll look better in our swimsuits. We won't. We are like children when it comes to excitement about pools and beaches. And I love living in a city that takes such great care of its neighborhood pools, and opens them in APRIL.
This week we had our neighborhood pool almost to ourselves...apart from the young and very svelte lifeguards (seriously, it's a good thing husband and I can swim cause those little guys are NOT going to be able to drag us out of the water), but apart from them and one other pair of joyful swimmers we were the only folks at the pool. The other pair, took my breath away and made me tear up and made me call home.
A little girl, maybe about 6, adorable in her bright patterned swimsuit, chubby...but not in that way that makes you think..."O no! We've got to do something about obesity in America"...just chubby in that wonderful 6 year old way was splashing in the pool with her dad. They were playing hard and laughing. She was riding him all over the pool, shouting "faster horsey faster", and he was laughing hard too. Answering her ENDLESS questions about dogs and ponies and panthers (panthers? sure), and obviously the two of them adore each other. She, just at that right age to think her dad is pure magic. He, most likely, wanting to freeze this moment, aware, I would guess, that time passes so so fast. I could imagine him thinking something like "wasn't it just yesterday that this child was an infant?"
Of course I have no way of knowing any of this...just speculation on my part. Although I'm pretty intuitive and was close enough to them in the pool to see how they looked at each other. And my eyes filled with tears.
I have zero memories of ever going swimming with my dad. Not to sound all whiny and like I clearly need to go to therapy (again)...I'm just saying, I spent a few moments searching my memory bank for times when my dad and I ever did anything with just the two of us when I was that young. And I came up empty. And it made me sad. I wanted to grab that little girl and her dad and clutch them tightly and say TREASURE THIS...but somehow I think they already are.
On the other hand....I do have memories of when I got older and my dad and I discussed some great books and the importance of reading and the time my dad taught me how to fill out a check. (A check kids is a piece of paper that works like money...err..your debit card...ha) And despite the many ways my dad failed as a father and husband, I do know that he loves me. And despite the fact that he's 88 and in really poor health, he's still alive, so I went home from the pool and called him.
And somehow I wonder if all of that can't be bundled up into the waters of baptism? By the waters of baptism we are sealed and marked as Christ's own forever...but it doesn't mean that we are immune from hard things, or magically protected from any sadness or illness. It does mean that we are Loved beyond measure, and given a new start, and given the gift of the Spirit. I think it's the power of the Holy Spirit (and some really good therapy...those things ain't mutally exclusive!) that helps me have eyes to see my dad for what he is: flawed, disappointing, and also a child of God who does in fact love me.
For all you dads and daughters out there, hang in there with each other. Moms and sons too! Make room for the Spirit, and no matter what you look like, wrangle yourself into a swimsuit once in a while and remind yourself of the healing power of Water.
This week we had our neighborhood pool almost to ourselves...apart from the young and very svelte lifeguards (seriously, it's a good thing husband and I can swim cause those little guys are NOT going to be able to drag us out of the water), but apart from them and one other pair of joyful swimmers we were the only folks at the pool. The other pair, took my breath away and made me tear up and made me call home.
A little girl, maybe about 6, adorable in her bright patterned swimsuit, chubby...but not in that way that makes you think..."O no! We've got to do something about obesity in America"...just chubby in that wonderful 6 year old way was splashing in the pool with her dad. They were playing hard and laughing. She was riding him all over the pool, shouting "faster horsey faster", and he was laughing hard too. Answering her ENDLESS questions about dogs and ponies and panthers (panthers? sure), and obviously the two of them adore each other. She, just at that right age to think her dad is pure magic. He, most likely, wanting to freeze this moment, aware, I would guess, that time passes so so fast. I could imagine him thinking something like "wasn't it just yesterday that this child was an infant?"
Of course I have no way of knowing any of this...just speculation on my part. Although I'm pretty intuitive and was close enough to them in the pool to see how they looked at each other. And my eyes filled with tears.
I have zero memories of ever going swimming with my dad. Not to sound all whiny and like I clearly need to go to therapy (again)...I'm just saying, I spent a few moments searching my memory bank for times when my dad and I ever did anything with just the two of us when I was that young. And I came up empty. And it made me sad. I wanted to grab that little girl and her dad and clutch them tightly and say TREASURE THIS...but somehow I think they already are.
On the other hand....I do have memories of when I got older and my dad and I discussed some great books and the importance of reading and the time my dad taught me how to fill out a check. (A check kids is a piece of paper that works like money...err..your debit card...ha) And despite the many ways my dad failed as a father and husband, I do know that he loves me. And despite the fact that he's 88 and in really poor health, he's still alive, so I went home from the pool and called him.
And somehow I wonder if all of that can't be bundled up into the waters of baptism? By the waters of baptism we are sealed and marked as Christ's own forever...but it doesn't mean that we are immune from hard things, or magically protected from any sadness or illness. It does mean that we are Loved beyond measure, and given a new start, and given the gift of the Spirit. I think it's the power of the Holy Spirit (and some really good therapy...those things ain't mutally exclusive!) that helps me have eyes to see my dad for what he is: flawed, disappointing, and also a child of God who does in fact love me.
For all you dads and daughters out there, hang in there with each other. Moms and sons too! Make room for the Spirit, and no matter what you look like, wrangle yourself into a swimsuit once in a while and remind yourself of the healing power of Water.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Super models, football, and prayer
In the days leading up to the Super Bowl (read: plug in the crock pot honey we're making the good queso!), there was something of an Internet firestorm around a personal email sent by Tom Brady's wife Gisele Bundchen. (Tom Brady is the quarterback for the New England Patriots, Gisele is a super model...both of them weigh less than I do). She apparently was asking "close friends" and family to pray for Tom and send him positive "vibes".
The email leaked, of course, because nothing online is private, friends! (repeat that over and over to yourself...and to your teenagers). And comedians and sport casters had a field day, and I have to admit I laughed at some of the jokes.
But then I started thinking about prayer and the common theme to most of the jokes. Most pundits and comedians, and even people in my own gene pool, said something like "Why does Tom Brady need prayer? He wakes up next to a super model every day? He has millions of dollars! He's famous! He plays football for a living" and on and on the litany of "good things in Tom Brady's life" continued. So is that what we've reduced prayer to?
Only praying for things when life is bad? Only praying when there's illness and no one in the bed next to us, certainly not a super model? I hope not.
I must admit that I catch myself being far more "prayerful' when things are hard, and I'm scared, or sad. When I was on my 5 day cruise two weeks ago, I'm not sure I spent a lot of time praying! (slumped over the slot machine saying please please...doesn't count!)
It's a funny thing about prayer. Prayer isn't just about spewing a laundry list of complaints or problems....though it certainly can include that! (see the Psalms!) However, if we only see it as an emotional band-aid, one that we don't need unless we're bleeding, then we've missed an awful lot of the point. Prayer is about relationship and drawing deeper and deeper into that relationship in all times and places. I don't just talk to my husband when I'm upset. I don't just talk to my girlfriends when I'm sick. It's times of sorrow and joy and sadness and celebration....all of those times...that's what I want to share with my friends and family. So how much more must that be true for the infinite holy mystery we call God?
As the season of Epiphany comes to a close (sigh), and the season of football has ended (heavy sigh), and as we anticipate the season of Lent, I would like to invite all of us, myself included, to a time of prayer....real...true....deep prayer. Not just rattling off lists of things we need, but listening, praising, thanking, petitioning, and praying for others....maybe even the rich and famous!
The email leaked, of course, because nothing online is private, friends! (repeat that over and over to yourself...and to your teenagers). And comedians and sport casters had a field day, and I have to admit I laughed at some of the jokes.
But then I started thinking about prayer and the common theme to most of the jokes. Most pundits and comedians, and even people in my own gene pool, said something like "Why does Tom Brady need prayer? He wakes up next to a super model every day? He has millions of dollars! He's famous! He plays football for a living" and on and on the litany of "good things in Tom Brady's life" continued. So is that what we've reduced prayer to?
Only praying for things when life is bad? Only praying when there's illness and no one in the bed next to us, certainly not a super model? I hope not.
I must admit that I catch myself being far more "prayerful' when things are hard, and I'm scared, or sad. When I was on my 5 day cruise two weeks ago, I'm not sure I spent a lot of time praying! (slumped over the slot machine saying please please...doesn't count!)
It's a funny thing about prayer. Prayer isn't just about spewing a laundry list of complaints or problems....though it certainly can include that! (see the Psalms!) However, if we only see it as an emotional band-aid, one that we don't need unless we're bleeding, then we've missed an awful lot of the point. Prayer is about relationship and drawing deeper and deeper into that relationship in all times and places. I don't just talk to my husband when I'm upset. I don't just talk to my girlfriends when I'm sick. It's times of sorrow and joy and sadness and celebration....all of those times...that's what I want to share with my friends and family. So how much more must that be true for the infinite holy mystery we call God?
As the season of Epiphany comes to a close (sigh), and the season of football has ended (heavy sigh), and as we anticipate the season of Lent, I would like to invite all of us, myself included, to a time of prayer....real...true....deep prayer. Not just rattling off lists of things we need, but listening, praising, thanking, petitioning, and praying for others....maybe even the rich and famous!
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Ferrets and the language of prayer
One of my favorite dads at our church affiliated preschool told me a WONDERFUL story yesterday... a story that made me want to put down the candy left on my desk this morning and write a blog post. Now that's a good story!
When this dear dad was recently helping to put his kids to bed, one of his children closed out their prayer time with "in the name of God, the father, the son and the holy ferret" O MY LORD!! That right there is why you have children my friends! How great is that story?
I have laughed and laughed thinking about that moment with those sweet children and their parents...and how the parents must have gotten cramps from trying not to laugh (too hard) at their sincere praying child. I couldn't help but flash onto the scene from Four Weddings and a Funeral where the funny old priest says "father son and holy spigot" So far I haven't made that slip at a Sunday service, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time!
The language of prayer is indeed a funny language...even when all of the words are technically "right". In fact I think we have so exalted the language of prayer in our minds that it makes us afraid actually to pray sometimes. Countless people over the years have said to me, "I don't know how to pray." Or, "I don't know what words to use". And I understand that...especially in times of extreme joy or extreme sorrow.
But even in the ordinary days and circumstances it can feel daunting to pray. And so maybe we take a cue from the culture that says "just do it" and we just do it! Just incorporate daily conversations with God. Like a person training for a marathon (so I am told! sheesh I can walk about 2 miles before I'm praying....for death!) it's the daily small steps. If we "wait" to pray until we have the time, the right words, or even the desire...we're going to be waiting a long time.
For the children growing up in the aforementioned household they will know from their earliest days that both of their parents are people of prayer. They will know that prayer is something you do all the time....not just on Sunday when the big lady in the white dress is praying fancy words from a book. Those kids will know that prayer can happen even at home, at night in a bedroom filled with dolls and stuffed bears.
A wonderful priest named Paul Fromberg is fond of saying "prayer is telling the truth to God". It's as simple...and complex as that. Like conversation with a true friend...one you tell everything too...and one you listen to as well. Prayer is about relationship....that's it...and sometimes relationships need words, and sometimes they need silence, and sometimes they need tears, and sometimes they need anger. All of it is bound up in true relationship.
So take a moment...right now....and breathe...and thank God, or ask God, or yell at God, or question God. Take a moment to pray. In the name of the Father, the Son, the spigot, the ferrets, and the Spirit. Peace.
When this dear dad was recently helping to put his kids to bed, one of his children closed out their prayer time with "in the name of God, the father, the son and the holy ferret" O MY LORD!! That right there is why you have children my friends! How great is that story?
I have laughed and laughed thinking about that moment with those sweet children and their parents...and how the parents must have gotten cramps from trying not to laugh (too hard) at their sincere praying child. I couldn't help but flash onto the scene from Four Weddings and a Funeral where the funny old priest says "father son and holy spigot" So far I haven't made that slip at a Sunday service, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time!
The language of prayer is indeed a funny language...even when all of the words are technically "right". In fact I think we have so exalted the language of prayer in our minds that it makes us afraid actually to pray sometimes. Countless people over the years have said to me, "I don't know how to pray." Or, "I don't know what words to use". And I understand that...especially in times of extreme joy or extreme sorrow.
But even in the ordinary days and circumstances it can feel daunting to pray. And so maybe we take a cue from the culture that says "just do it" and we just do it! Just incorporate daily conversations with God. Like a person training for a marathon (so I am told! sheesh I can walk about 2 miles before I'm praying....for death!) it's the daily small steps. If we "wait" to pray until we have the time, the right words, or even the desire...we're going to be waiting a long time.
For the children growing up in the aforementioned household they will know from their earliest days that both of their parents are people of prayer. They will know that prayer is something you do all the time....not just on Sunday when the big lady in the white dress is praying fancy words from a book. Those kids will know that prayer can happen even at home, at night in a bedroom filled with dolls and stuffed bears.
A wonderful priest named Paul Fromberg is fond of saying "prayer is telling the truth to God". It's as simple...and complex as that. Like conversation with a true friend...one you tell everything too...and one you listen to as well. Prayer is about relationship....that's it...and sometimes relationships need words, and sometimes they need silence, and sometimes they need tears, and sometimes they need anger. All of it is bound up in true relationship.
So take a moment...right now....and breathe...and thank God, or ask God, or yell at God, or question God. Take a moment to pray. In the name of the Father, the Son, the spigot, the ferrets, and the Spirit. Peace.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Friendship, aging, and toilet paper crafts....
The nice husband and I were in Austin last Friday to celebrate the aforementioned nice husband's 50th birthday. I am much much younger than he, and won't be 50 for 10 more....months. Before we went to a party, we stopped by our beloved friend Mary's swinging apartment. Mary's birthday and Rob's are just a few days apart. But Mary turned 93. Stopping by Mary's joy-filled apartment for a chat did NOT make us think 'wow 50 is really pretty young by comparison." Thank God! Because Mary, newly moved into her fashionable apartment in the retirement community, is a force of nature! She's out on the town...literally dancing, visiting, volunteering (!) and generally spreading joy and dropping sunshine wherever she goes. Husband I usually feel like we have to lie down after visiting with Mary because she just bursts with energy and good cheer...way more than we feel like we do at almost half her age! Just as her home had been in previous decades, her apartment is full of pictures and cards from her many many friends and from her grand children and great grand children. Mary's kindness and irrepressible optimism have drawn people of every generation to her. She has friends (like the real kind...not just like facebook "friends") who are 18 and friends who are our age and friends who are her age and every age in between.
While we were visiting and laughing and of course taking pictures (Mary and I are inveterate picture takers...we are both going to need a WHOLE lot more wall space and more refrigerators!) Mary taught me this great Halloween craft using a roll of toilet paper, some colored tissue paper, a brown paper sack, and some string! (email me if you want the "deets" or...check out my post on facebook...now THERE's a sentence I never thought I'd say!). I made my toilet paper pumpkin this weekend, but of course it doesn't look as cute as Mary's.
She's been on my mind so much even before our visit last week, but especially now. Mostly I've been thinking about different people in my life who have been present at seminal moments. Mary was the one holding me when I was crying so hard I didn't think I could breathe...on that day in 1997 when the moving van was hauling away my then husband's stuff because we were divorcing. There she was, volunteering of course, at the place where I was working and living. (that is..the Austin Ronald McDonald House) And she promised me that Jesus loved me and that things would get better. And she was right.
I'm so grateful that Mary and her whole family are in my life. She's taught me a lot of things (besides cute crafts...though never underestimate the value of cute crafts!) Mostly she reminds me to be friends with people of all ages and to embrace each and every day. 30 can be old if you don't give and receive love and the 93 year old who loves and laughs is the youngest person in the room. Hugs and love! Rhoda
While we were visiting and laughing and of course taking pictures (Mary and I are inveterate picture takers...we are both going to need a WHOLE lot more wall space and more refrigerators!) Mary taught me this great Halloween craft using a roll of toilet paper, some colored tissue paper, a brown paper sack, and some string! (email me if you want the "deets" or...check out my post on facebook...now THERE's a sentence I never thought I'd say!). I made my toilet paper pumpkin this weekend, but of course it doesn't look as cute as Mary's.
She's been on my mind so much even before our visit last week, but especially now. Mostly I've been thinking about different people in my life who have been present at seminal moments. Mary was the one holding me when I was crying so hard I didn't think I could breathe...on that day in 1997 when the moving van was hauling away my then husband's stuff because we were divorcing. There she was, volunteering of course, at the place where I was working and living. (that is..the Austin Ronald McDonald House) And she promised me that Jesus loved me and that things would get better. And she was right.
I'm so grateful that Mary and her whole family are in my life. She's taught me a lot of things (besides cute crafts...though never underestimate the value of cute crafts!) Mostly she reminds me to be friends with people of all ages and to embrace each and every day. 30 can be old if you don't give and receive love and the 93 year old who loves and laughs is the youngest person in the room. Hugs and love! Rhoda
Monday, August 29, 2011
Country Music and Spirituality
At the risk of alienating lots of you, I will reveal that I am a country music fan. I love opera too, and other kinds of music, but I’m just saying that some of the country songs on the radio actually have pretty good theology. Case in point, there’s a Rascal Flatts song entitled “God Bless the Broken Road.” The lyrics of the song remind us that the difficult roads, the journeys that seem like detours and our disappointments often end up leading us right where we need to be.
When I'm not listening to C & W music or watching TV, I will occasionally even pick up a BOOK! One of my all time favorite books (well, favorite book that you'd expect a priest to like...I also like football books but that's for another day) is Yearnings-Embracing the Sacred Messiness of Life by Rabbi Irwin Kula. I'll be offering this book as a book study during the Season of Advent plus our young adults group will begin reading this book in September. Rabbi Kula writes, “The process of becoming is circuitous. Life has no straight lines or easy paths.” Amen brother! That's the "broken road" theology in a nutshell.
At the time, most of us can’t appreciate the odd twists and turns. At the time it's hard to believe the broken road is anything but broken. At the time of my divorce back in 1996 I had no idea that 3 years later someone perfect for me would be coming my way. Someone I appreciate so much more having been down a winding road earlier. (This someone by the way introduced me to country music). All the times we wrestle with doubt, collapse into grief, or feel the chill of isolation can be times we actually draw deeper into our faith. Times that we draw deeper into that painful part of our faith that transcends the vagaries of our “feelings”.
When Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, when the Israelites wandered in the desert, their reliance upon God and their ability to pray even in the midst of despair had to come from a deeper place than “feeling like” doing it. For Jesus when He was alone and hungry or the Israelites longing for the promised land the journey included just making one step at a time.
We are quick to say that God blesses us when our lives are good and easy. We are quick to say God blesses us when we have plenty of money in our wallets. But I think the Rascal Flatts boys may be on to something. Rather than believe that God inflicts our suffering or arranges for it, I think God is more than capable of blessing it and by blessing it, transforming it. Through the Holy Spirit revealed in the arms of the community we can remind one another that the broken roads, the wilderness journeys take us where they take us. But no matter where the broken roads or the clear paths lead, we are never outside of God’s reach.
Blessings to you now and always no matter what road you are taking. Love, Rhoda
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Mama was RIGHT
My friend Mary Anne sent me the following article from the WSJ. (I loving using the initials WSJ because it makes it sound like I really am up to date with the Wall Street Journal...I'm not really, but I love it when other people read it and send me articles!) My mom, who is 82 today, always always told me to be grateful. She did not have all of this science behind her to back that attitude up, but ta da...mama was right! She, like everyone who's in their 80s, grew up in the depression. She, however, was raise on a farm in Oklahoma and really saw firsthand some of the devastating effects of depression and dustbowl life. She also spent 30 years married to my father. That was about 30 years too long. I love my dad but he was a terrible husband. So for mama to come through all of that and still cling to optimism and gratitude just amazes me. Happy Birthday mama.
Philosophers as far back as the ancient Greeks and Romans cited gratitude as an indispensable human virtue, but social scientists are just beginning to study how it develops and the effects it can have.
Giving thanks is good for our health. A growing body of research suggests that maintaining an attitude of gratitude can improve psychological, emotional, and physical well-being.
Adults who frequently feel grateful have more energy, more optimism, more social connections and more happiness than those who do not, according to studies conducted over the past decade. They’re also less likely to be depressed, envious, greedy or alcoholics. They earn more money, sleep more soundly, exercise more regularly and have greater resistance to viral infections.
Research also finds similar results in kids and adolescents. They are less materialistic, get better grades, set higher goals, complain of fewer headaches and stomach aches, and feel more satisfied with their friends, families and schools than those who don’t.
Dr. Robert Emmonds, a professor of psychology at the University of California-Davis and a pioneer in gratitude research notes, “With the realization that one has benefitted comes the awareness of the need to reciprocate.” The research is part of the “positive psychology” movement, which focuses on developing strengths rather than alleviating disorders. Cultivating gratitude is also a form of cognitive-behavioral therapy, which holds that changing peoples’ thought patterns can dramatically affect their moods.
In the landmark study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2003 of more than 100 undergraduates, Dr. Emmonds and University of Miami psychologist Michael McCullough shows that counting blessings can actually make people feel better. Those who listed blessings each week had fewer health complaints, exercised more regularly and felt better about their lives than the other two groups who did not list blessings. Another of Dr. Emmond’s studies with a Dr. Froh with 221 sixth- and seventh graders yielded similar results.
Dr. Emmond concludes, “Gratitude is actually a demanding, complex emotion that requires (1) ‘self reflection, (2) the ability to admit that one is dependent upon the help of others, and (3) the humility to realize ones own limitation.’
Some exercises to help us be grateful:
1. Keep a Gratitude Journal – note three good things that happened today.
2. Find a Gratitude Accountability Buddy – swap gratitude lists with a friend.
3. Watch your language including your self talk – using disparaging words reinforces memories
4. Go on a gratitude visit – write a thank you letter to someone who has helped you. Read it to them.
One study: Fourth graders who took a “gratitude visit” felt better two months later.5. Savor good times – with photos, drawings, and scrapbooks.
6. Count your blessings – review events and people to be grateful for as you fall asleep.
Another powerful exercise: Imagine what life would be like without a major blessing – like a spouse, friend, child or job. In a 2008 study in the Journal of Personal Psychology researchers found that when college students wrote essays in which they “mentally subtracted” a positive event from their lives they were subsequently more grateful for it than students whose essays focused on the event. Even small boosts in positive emotions can make life more satisfying.
Beck., Melinda. “Thank You. No, Thank You,” Personal Journal, Wall Street Journal, Tuesday, November 23, 2010, D1 and D4.
Philosophers as far back as the ancient Greeks and Romans cited gratitude as an indispensable human virtue, but social scientists are just beginning to study how it develops and the effects it can have.
Giving thanks is good for our health. A growing body of research suggests that maintaining an attitude of gratitude can improve psychological, emotional, and physical well-being.
Adults who frequently feel grateful have more energy, more optimism, more social connections and more happiness than those who do not, according to studies conducted over the past decade. They’re also less likely to be depressed, envious, greedy or alcoholics. They earn more money, sleep more soundly, exercise more regularly and have greater resistance to viral infections.
Research also finds similar results in kids and adolescents. They are less materialistic, get better grades, set higher goals, complain of fewer headaches and stomach aches, and feel more satisfied with their friends, families and schools than those who don’t.
Dr. Robert Emmonds, a professor of psychology at the University of California-Davis and a pioneer in gratitude research notes, “With the realization that one has benefitted comes the awareness of the need to reciprocate.” The research is part of the “positive psychology” movement, which focuses on developing strengths rather than alleviating disorders. Cultivating gratitude is also a form of cognitive-behavioral therapy, which holds that changing peoples’ thought patterns can dramatically affect their moods.
In the landmark study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in 2003 of more than 100 undergraduates, Dr. Emmonds and University of Miami psychologist Michael McCullough shows that counting blessings can actually make people feel better. Those who listed blessings each week had fewer health complaints, exercised more regularly and felt better about their lives than the other two groups who did not list blessings. Another of Dr. Emmond’s studies with a Dr. Froh with 221 sixth- and seventh graders yielded similar results.
Dr. Emmond concludes, “Gratitude is actually a demanding, complex emotion that requires (1) ‘self reflection, (2) the ability to admit that one is dependent upon the help of others, and (3) the humility to realize ones own limitation.’
Some exercises to help us be grateful:
1. Keep a Gratitude Journal – note three good things that happened today.
2. Find a Gratitude Accountability Buddy – swap gratitude lists with a friend.
3. Watch your language including your self talk – using disparaging words reinforces memories
4. Go on a gratitude visit – write a thank you letter to someone who has helped you. Read it to them.
One study: Fourth graders who took a “gratitude visit” felt better two months later.5. Savor good times – with photos, drawings, and scrapbooks.
6. Count your blessings – review events and people to be grateful for as you fall asleep.
Another powerful exercise: Imagine what life would be like without a major blessing – like a spouse, friend, child or job. In a 2008 study in the Journal of Personal Psychology researchers found that when college students wrote essays in which they “mentally subtracted” a positive event from their lives they were subsequently more grateful for it than students whose essays focused on the event. Even small boosts in positive emotions can make life more satisfying.
Beck., Melinda. “Thank You. No, Thank You,” Personal Journal, Wall Street Journal, Tuesday, November 23, 2010, D1 and D4.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Moving Sabbath
(This post is reprinted from the most recent edition of our St. Thomas church newsletter....re-cycling or lazy? Hmmmm....I'll get back to you on that)
Wayne Muller writes in his wonderful book, Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, “Prayer is like a portable Sabbath, when we close our eyes for just a moment and let the mind rest in the heart. [W]e can be stopped by a bell, a sunset, a meal, and we can pray.” But, I would add, first we have to allow space in our lives to be stopped by that bell, sunset, or meal. I am preaching to myself here as well my friends!
Surely there is no culture on earth busier than Americans! Lives full of work, family, school responsibilities and activities piled on top of activities. We have access to news and weather twenty-four hours a day. Our technology makes it possible to trick ourselves into thinking we are “multi-tasking” when really what we are trying to do is fill our daily hours with too much.
In such a frenzied life it is easy to lose the meaning of Sabbath and deep rest. And when we lose an understanding of Sabbath, time set apart to be still, it’s easy to lose the “communion power” of prayer too.
If we see prayer as something more than just asking God for things we want, then we can begin to re-claim the deep Sabbath notion of prayer. For in prayer what we really are after is relationship, communion with God. And, like in any relationship, we must spend time with the other. We must listen more than we talk! We must, “let the mind rest in the heart.” Allow yourselves to be stopped this day. Begin a practice now of taking time just to be. Taking time to breathe deeply and let the presence of God wash over you and give you Sabbath time, even on a random weekday! Peace, the Rev. Rhoda S. Montgomery
Wayne Muller writes in his wonderful book, Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, “Prayer is like a portable Sabbath, when we close our eyes for just a moment and let the mind rest in the heart. [W]e can be stopped by a bell, a sunset, a meal, and we can pray.” But, I would add, first we have to allow space in our lives to be stopped by that bell, sunset, or meal. I am preaching to myself here as well my friends!
Surely there is no culture on earth busier than Americans! Lives full of work, family, school responsibilities and activities piled on top of activities. We have access to news and weather twenty-four hours a day. Our technology makes it possible to trick ourselves into thinking we are “multi-tasking” when really what we are trying to do is fill our daily hours with too much.
In such a frenzied life it is easy to lose the meaning of Sabbath and deep rest. And when we lose an understanding of Sabbath, time set apart to be still, it’s easy to lose the “communion power” of prayer too.
If we see prayer as something more than just asking God for things we want, then we can begin to re-claim the deep Sabbath notion of prayer. For in prayer what we really are after is relationship, communion with God. And, like in any relationship, we must spend time with the other. We must listen more than we talk! We must, “let the mind rest in the heart.” Allow yourselves to be stopped this day. Begin a practice now of taking time just to be. Taking time to breathe deeply and let the presence of God wash over you and give you Sabbath time, even on a random weekday! Peace, the Rev. Rhoda S. Montgomery
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Even at the Grave we make our song Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia
Happy Easter! The season of life and hope and resurrection continues past Easter day. I am grateful to be part of the section of Christendom that recognizes that. I like following a liturgical calendar which tells me that Easter season is 50 days long and that yesterday was the feast day of St. Phillip and St. James. Although I did not greet that news with great joy when the alarm clock went off at 5 am so I could get up in time to do the 6:30 am Communion service at my church. Ugh. I am so not an early morning girl! These days I'm not sure what time of day I'm at my best. There's about an hour between 10:30 am and 11:30 am that I don't feel like I have a blood disorder, but the rest of the day I am so sleepy. I'm chalking it up to allergies, because I think all evil in the world has at its root the wicked hand of snot producing tear duct swelling wheezy lung infested immune systems that over function all spring...and winter...and fall. Hand me a Kleenex and a sledge hammer to bang on my head...but, I digress. (PS I don't really think that allergies are the root of all evil...and I am acutely aware that my health could be much much worse...I'm just sayin'...) OK I'm back.
The liturgical calendar helps me (and you too I hope) see time a bit differently. It helps me slow down in a way. While the stores at the mall are about to put up the 4th of July shorts and tankinis, the liturgical calendar helps us remember that it's still Easter season and that we should embrace that. Unfortunately, I and most everyone I know runs at breakneck speed even when following the liturgical calendar. So perhaps that's why I only feel truly wide awake about 1 hour a day. (But I still have my allergies and choose to blame them.)
I wish that I had slowed down more during the most reason season of Lent. In my March post I quoted my dear friend Bill Green. He was the one who always made that joke about giving up riding in submarines for Lent, and I really did laugh every time he said he because he took such delight in saying it. And when I posted that story and reflection in March I heard a voice in my head say over and over, "you should call Bill and tell him that you quoted him...tell him that you are thinking of him." And of course, the pressure of managing a church and reading and teaching and preaching and scratching my eyes out every day because of the pollen and generally living my life overwhelmed me to such a degree that I never took the time to call or write. And you know how this story ends.
During Holy Week I received a call that dear, kind, crabby, brilliant, frail, ornery, wonderful Bill Green had died. His wife asked that I be a pall bearer at his funeral on Easter Monday. And for a long time after she asked me over the phone, there was a profound silence. My heart still aches at the loss of this man from my (and so many other people's lives) and my mind still reels that such an honor was bestowed upon me...me who didn't take the time to call or write this year. Bill would think my guilt a foolish waste of time, so I'm trying to "snap out of that" as quickly as I can, but I'm not there yet.
I'm hoping that I can use this experience to remind myself....for like the 10,000th time...what truly matters. I'm hoping that I will take opportunities to tell people that I'm thinking of them, tell people that I love them, when I have the chance. There's that wonderfully poetic John Mayer song, "Say what you mean to say" that also reminds me to say I love you when I've got the change (PSS I try to keep John Mayer's personal life and assorted hateful tirades separate from the lyrics to his music). So, if you are one of the 3 people who read my blog chances are you are indeed people that I love. I hope that each of us, whether we use a liturgical calendar or not can find ways to pace ourselves such that we never ignore the love that's all around us, including taking the time to tell God who loves us always even at our death, thank you. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
The following is an excerpt from Bill's obituary:
William Baillie Green, professor emeritus of theology died April 19 in Austin. Bill joined the faculty of Seminary of the Southwest in 1970 as associate professor of theology and retired as the Clinton S. Quin Professor of Systematic Theology. Bill served as assisting clergy for years at Church of the Good Shepherd, Austin and canon theologian for the diocese of Dallas.
In the mid-1970's, Bill became interested in ecumenical conversations with the Eastern churches, and was soon after invited by the Archbishop of Canterbury to represent the Episcopal Church in the International Commission of the Anglican-Orthodox Theological Dialogue. During his nearly thirty years in this capacity, part of which he served as the sole Episcopal Church representative, he has worked with some of the great theological minds of our time, including Michael Ramsey, Rowan Williams, Kallistos Ware, and John Zizioulas...Dr. Green fought to keep Anglicans and the Orthodox moving toward a shared faith and a shared table.
Upon his retirement from teaching in 1999, Dr. Green's sermons and prayers were published in a collection titled Ask, Seek, Knock. One of the prayers included in the collection is a prayer Dr. Green wrote for Lent:
O Eternal Lord, the first and the last: We whose lives are so full of poor beginnings and bad endings turn to thee that our souls may be restored and our strength renewed. Keep us from demanding that perfection which life never promises, or from claiming exemption from that suffering which is the lot of all. Show us, whatever befalls, that thy grace is sufficient and that nothing can separate us from thy love revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen
The liturgical calendar helps me (and you too I hope) see time a bit differently. It helps me slow down in a way. While the stores at the mall are about to put up the 4th of July shorts and tankinis, the liturgical calendar helps us remember that it's still Easter season and that we should embrace that. Unfortunately, I and most everyone I know runs at breakneck speed even when following the liturgical calendar. So perhaps that's why I only feel truly wide awake about 1 hour a day. (But I still have my allergies and choose to blame them.)
I wish that I had slowed down more during the most reason season of Lent. In my March post I quoted my dear friend Bill Green. He was the one who always made that joke about giving up riding in submarines for Lent, and I really did laugh every time he said he because he took such delight in saying it. And when I posted that story and reflection in March I heard a voice in my head say over and over, "you should call Bill and tell him that you quoted him...tell him that you are thinking of him." And of course, the pressure of managing a church and reading and teaching and preaching and scratching my eyes out every day because of the pollen and generally living my life overwhelmed me to such a degree that I never took the time to call or write. And you know how this story ends.
During Holy Week I received a call that dear, kind, crabby, brilliant, frail, ornery, wonderful Bill Green had died. His wife asked that I be a pall bearer at his funeral on Easter Monday. And for a long time after she asked me over the phone, there was a profound silence. My heart still aches at the loss of this man from my (and so many other people's lives) and my mind still reels that such an honor was bestowed upon me...me who didn't take the time to call or write this year. Bill would think my guilt a foolish waste of time, so I'm trying to "snap out of that" as quickly as I can, but I'm not there yet.
I'm hoping that I can use this experience to remind myself....for like the 10,000th time...what truly matters. I'm hoping that I will take opportunities to tell people that I'm thinking of them, tell people that I love them, when I have the chance. There's that wonderfully poetic John Mayer song, "Say what you mean to say" that also reminds me to say I love you when I've got the change (PSS I try to keep John Mayer's personal life and assorted hateful tirades separate from the lyrics to his music). So, if you are one of the 3 people who read my blog chances are you are indeed people that I love. I hope that each of us, whether we use a liturgical calendar or not can find ways to pace ourselves such that we never ignore the love that's all around us, including taking the time to tell God who loves us always even at our death, thank you. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
The following is an excerpt from Bill's obituary:
William Baillie Green, professor emeritus of theology died April 19 in Austin. Bill joined the faculty of Seminary of the Southwest in 1970 as associate professor of theology and retired as the Clinton S. Quin Professor of Systematic Theology. Bill served as assisting clergy for years at Church of the Good Shepherd, Austin and canon theologian for the diocese of Dallas.
In the mid-1970's, Bill became interested in ecumenical conversations with the Eastern churches, and was soon after invited by the Archbishop of Canterbury to represent the Episcopal Church in the International Commission of the Anglican-Orthodox Theological Dialogue. During his nearly thirty years in this capacity, part of which he served as the sole Episcopal Church representative, he has worked with some of the great theological minds of our time, including Michael Ramsey, Rowan Williams, Kallistos Ware, and John Zizioulas...Dr. Green fought to keep Anglicans and the Orthodox moving toward a shared faith and a shared table.
Upon his retirement from teaching in 1999, Dr. Green's sermons and prayers were published in a collection titled Ask, Seek, Knock. One of the prayers included in the collection is a prayer Dr. Green wrote for Lent:
O Eternal Lord, the first and the last: We whose lives are so full of poor beginnings and bad endings turn to thee that our souls may be restored and our strength renewed. Keep us from demanding that perfection which life never promises, or from claiming exemption from that suffering which is the lot of all. Show us, whatever befalls, that thy grace is sufficient and that nothing can separate us from thy love revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Lent, Submarines, and My Engagement Ring
So we're about 6 days into the season of Lent. How are you? Wishing you hadn't given up coffee or chocolate? One of my dearest priest friends, who is now in his 80s, always used to say that he gave up riding in submarines for Lent. That would be funnier if you knew this man. Picture Yoda...small, wrinkly, and freakishly wise. One of those people that you are sure came out of the womb in a shirt and tie with a fancy cane, a person who was never a child or teenager. He told me that submarine joke every Lent for years, and I laughed every time.
Since the 80s when I became an Episcopalian and started being aware of Lent I have run the gamut in Lenten disciplines. I have given up Diet Coke. Yes, that was a bad idea. Whoever I was dating at the time probably still has claw marks or bruises or something on him! There's sacrifice and then there's just crazy! I've had some Lents were I fasted on Fridays. Some Lenten season where I read morning prayer or compline every day/night. By the way I highly recommend such a practice! Those services in our Book of Common prayer are lovely and brief and easily done in the privacy of your own home/bed...while nursing a Diet Coke. I have tried many times to write in my journal every day during Lent...then it was once a week during Lent..then..well...you know how that one ends. It is hard for me to keep up a practice or let go of a habit all 40 days of Lent. (46 if you count the Sundays but we don't really because each Sunday is a "little Easter" so YES you can have your chocolate or your Diet Coke on Sundays!)
But this year I'm really trying to be consistent. So for my Lenten practice I have put my engagement ring on my right hand, which yes, compared to fasting for 40 days and nights in the wilderness looks downright lame. But it is a little irritating to have it there. I've had this ring now since July 24 2000, and it's always been on my left hand. So it feels odd to feel it and see it on my right hand, but there it is. A visual and tactile reminder of the season of Lent...an odd and sometimes irritating season.
Besides just that feeling that it doesn't belong there, it also causes me to find other ways to remember things. When I am without a pen and paper, and I think of something like: buy more Diet Coke at the grocery store, or return that phone call, pick up the dry cleaning, whatever, I typically move my engagement ring to my right hand. Then later, when I think, what is that ring doing there? I will (almost always) remember, o yes, I need to do that errand or call that person. Then when the thing is done, I can move it back to my left hand. And yes that means I'm usually only good for remembering 1 thing since I do not wear lots and lots of rings! But remembering 1 thing is a big achievement these days!
If I remember my seminary Hebrew correctly (and by that I mean I never took Hebrew in seminary but I had friends who did who told me stuff and I have 3 really really good friends who are all Rabbis and they tell me stuff) then there is the element of an action attached to the concept of remembering that is part of the Hebrew language. So often in Scripture you'll read about someone wanting to remember a place or remember God's presence so that person will build an altar or make something or cut something (yes I mean circumcision, but let's not get derailed with that.)
I love the idea of doing something or touching something or making something and connecting that to remembering. It's the old tie a string around your finger thing, of course. But the whole season of Lent can be that for us, can be a whole season of remembering. And that's the best that the season has to offer in my opinion. It's bigger and better than just deprivation...although most of us in America could use a little forced deprivation (excluding Diet Cokes of course.)
If you spend Lent thinking only of chocolate or cigarettes or whatever it is you gave up and not spending any time thinking about God and drawing nearer to the Fount of All Wisdom, the Source of all Life, then Lent has just been about deprivation and not about transformation.
The purpose of sacrifice is not just the sacrifice, not just the pride that comes with, look at me I gave up this thing for 40 (46) days...I rock! But rather every time you reach for your ring on your left hand or every time you reach for that candy that you gave up or every time you reach for the prayer book to read morning prayer the sacrifice of time or something pleasant for your palate are reminders of Lent and reminders of God's outrageous love. Rather than doing some grand gesture to try and "pay back" God, it's really about offering in some tangible way a part of your very self to God who loves you beyond measure. So if that part of you is your love of chocolate or the time you now invest in some intentional way because it's Lent then that's the goal of the season, offering that part of you up to God in gratitude.
I have a feeling my Yoda friend did really have some personal practice for Lent that was perhaps just too tender to talk about, but if not, if really the joke about the submarines was the extent of his Lenten piety then so be it. He has sacrificed plenty by pulling countless seminary students (including this one) through the hard slog of theology classes often while experiencing excruciating back and hip pain.
May this season be a continual reminder of God's endless love of you. Peace, Rhoda
Since the 80s when I became an Episcopalian and started being aware of Lent I have run the gamut in Lenten disciplines. I have given up Diet Coke. Yes, that was a bad idea. Whoever I was dating at the time probably still has claw marks or bruises or something on him! There's sacrifice and then there's just crazy! I've had some Lents were I fasted on Fridays. Some Lenten season where I read morning prayer or compline every day/night. By the way I highly recommend such a practice! Those services in our Book of Common prayer are lovely and brief and easily done in the privacy of your own home/bed...while nursing a Diet Coke. I have tried many times to write in my journal every day during Lent...then it was once a week during Lent..then..well...you know how that one ends. It is hard for me to keep up a practice or let go of a habit all 40 days of Lent. (46 if you count the Sundays but we don't really because each Sunday is a "little Easter" so YES you can have your chocolate or your Diet Coke on Sundays!)
But this year I'm really trying to be consistent. So for my Lenten practice I have put my engagement ring on my right hand, which yes, compared to fasting for 40 days and nights in the wilderness looks downright lame. But it is a little irritating to have it there. I've had this ring now since July 24 2000, and it's always been on my left hand. So it feels odd to feel it and see it on my right hand, but there it is. A visual and tactile reminder of the season of Lent...an odd and sometimes irritating season.
Besides just that feeling that it doesn't belong there, it also causes me to find other ways to remember things. When I am without a pen and paper, and I think of something like: buy more Diet Coke at the grocery store, or return that phone call, pick up the dry cleaning, whatever, I typically move my engagement ring to my right hand. Then later, when I think, what is that ring doing there? I will (almost always) remember, o yes, I need to do that errand or call that person. Then when the thing is done, I can move it back to my left hand. And yes that means I'm usually only good for remembering 1 thing since I do not wear lots and lots of rings! But remembering 1 thing is a big achievement these days!
If I remember my seminary Hebrew correctly (and by that I mean I never took Hebrew in seminary but I had friends who did who told me stuff and I have 3 really really good friends who are all Rabbis and they tell me stuff) then there is the element of an action attached to the concept of remembering that is part of the Hebrew language. So often in Scripture you'll read about someone wanting to remember a place or remember God's presence so that person will build an altar or make something or cut something (yes I mean circumcision, but let's not get derailed with that.)
I love the idea of doing something or touching something or making something and connecting that to remembering. It's the old tie a string around your finger thing, of course. But the whole season of Lent can be that for us, can be a whole season of remembering. And that's the best that the season has to offer in my opinion. It's bigger and better than just deprivation...although most of us in America could use a little forced deprivation (excluding Diet Cokes of course.)
If you spend Lent thinking only of chocolate or cigarettes or whatever it is you gave up and not spending any time thinking about God and drawing nearer to the Fount of All Wisdom, the Source of all Life, then Lent has just been about deprivation and not about transformation.
The purpose of sacrifice is not just the sacrifice, not just the pride that comes with, look at me I gave up this thing for 40 (46) days...I rock! But rather every time you reach for your ring on your left hand or every time you reach for that candy that you gave up or every time you reach for the prayer book to read morning prayer the sacrifice of time or something pleasant for your palate are reminders of Lent and reminders of God's outrageous love. Rather than doing some grand gesture to try and "pay back" God, it's really about offering in some tangible way a part of your very self to God who loves you beyond measure. So if that part of you is your love of chocolate or the time you now invest in some intentional way because it's Lent then that's the goal of the season, offering that part of you up to God in gratitude.
I have a feeling my Yoda friend did really have some personal practice for Lent that was perhaps just too tender to talk about, but if not, if really the joke about the submarines was the extent of his Lenten piety then so be it. He has sacrificed plenty by pulling countless seminary students (including this one) through the hard slog of theology classes often while experiencing excruciating back and hip pain.
May this season be a continual reminder of God's endless love of you. Peace, Rhoda
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A little cussin'...a little prayin'...
I consider myself to be a fairly patient person. I honestly do not have a fit in traffic (OK not very often anyway and never so much that people in other cars would know!) I can answer the same questions over and over. "What do you like to be called?" At least once a week someone asks me that. The thirty years of women clergy has still not resolved the question. My answer is "Rhoda." I don't mind answering that question over and over.
I'm also patient with my asthma and don't freak out at the first sign of wheezing. Some would say (read: husband) that I'm patient to the point of complacent. But longer than there have been ordained women clergy I have had asthma so I've developed a sort of patience about it.
But when it comes to computer stuff I am INSANELY impatient! Nothing gets me cussing a blue streak more than when something about the computer is messed up or when the server goes down, and I can't email. It's as though I have lost the ability to phone people if I can't email them. It's crazy! And I am not proud.
On my church computer there is some thing/hiccup/problem/#?*! - ing deal where as I'm typing along all of a sudden some HP product assistant screen pops up and completely interrupts what I'm typing. It doesn't happen all the time and there is no discernible pattern. There's probably a way to make it stop, but I haven't figured that out. It doesn't cause me to lose any work (or you could hear me cuss all the way to your house), and it goes away as soon as I click OK. I'm tired of pitching a fit about it, so I have decided....at least for a while...to make friends with it...and use it as a call to prayer.
So far that's been working great! Of course it's only been two days...ask me again in a few weeks! But when that screen pops up and interrupts me, I'm choosing to stop what I'm doing, and take a brief moment to mention someone to God, or to offer a prayer of thankfulness for someone, or ask for direction about something.
God permeates our lives through and through all the time. I don't always live like I believe that, but I do indeed believe that. I don't think God is making this HP screen thing pop up! But I do think God "enjoys" receiving our attention, and offering prayers in random short bursts works for me better than setting aside some lengthy time in the morning or evening. Sometimes I'm able to engage a more traditional "prayer time", but lately these little bursts have really inspired me, and made me appreciate prayer all the more.
I am reminded of one of my all time favorite books: St. Benedict on the Freeway, by Corinne Ware. She was on the faculty of the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin for a long time, and is one of those people you think is truly mystical and connected to something great. But at the same time she is fun and joyful and completely approachable. Her book offers a way to look at prayer and connection that I find to be SO helpful. It's all about finding God in the daily interactions and choosing to let common things like the friggin' HP screen thing or your garage door opener be "triggers" that keep us in touch all day every day with God.
God is huge and transcendent and indescribable and infinite. And God is as close as your next breath. Making a conscious choice to allow something that is indeed irritating become something that calls me to prayer is making a big difference in my very small life. A day may come when the HP thing gets removed from this computer. Heck...I think this computer is on its last legs sometimes, but in this meantime, this wonderful ordinary meantime, I'm grateful that I get a little random nudge to pray. Thanks be to God.
I'm also patient with my asthma and don't freak out at the first sign of wheezing. Some would say (read: husband) that I'm patient to the point of complacent. But longer than there have been ordained women clergy I have had asthma so I've developed a sort of patience about it.
But when it comes to computer stuff I am INSANELY impatient! Nothing gets me cussing a blue streak more than when something about the computer is messed up or when the server goes down, and I can't email. It's as though I have lost the ability to phone people if I can't email them. It's crazy! And I am not proud.
On my church computer there is some thing/hiccup/problem/#?*! - ing deal where as I'm typing along all of a sudden some HP product assistant screen pops up and completely interrupts what I'm typing. It doesn't happen all the time and there is no discernible pattern. There's probably a way to make it stop, but I haven't figured that out. It doesn't cause me to lose any work (or you could hear me cuss all the way to your house), and it goes away as soon as I click OK. I'm tired of pitching a fit about it, so I have decided....at least for a while...to make friends with it...and use it as a call to prayer.
So far that's been working great! Of course it's only been two days...ask me again in a few weeks! But when that screen pops up and interrupts me, I'm choosing to stop what I'm doing, and take a brief moment to mention someone to God, or to offer a prayer of thankfulness for someone, or ask for direction about something.
God permeates our lives through and through all the time. I don't always live like I believe that, but I do indeed believe that. I don't think God is making this HP screen thing pop up! But I do think God "enjoys" receiving our attention, and offering prayers in random short bursts works for me better than setting aside some lengthy time in the morning or evening. Sometimes I'm able to engage a more traditional "prayer time", but lately these little bursts have really inspired me, and made me appreciate prayer all the more.
I am reminded of one of my all time favorite books: St. Benedict on the Freeway, by Corinne Ware. She was on the faculty of the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin for a long time, and is one of those people you think is truly mystical and connected to something great. But at the same time she is fun and joyful and completely approachable. Her book offers a way to look at prayer and connection that I find to be SO helpful. It's all about finding God in the daily interactions and choosing to let common things like the friggin' HP screen thing or your garage door opener be "triggers" that keep us in touch all day every day with God.
God is huge and transcendent and indescribable and infinite. And God is as close as your next breath. Making a conscious choice to allow something that is indeed irritating become something that calls me to prayer is making a big difference in my very small life. A day may come when the HP thing gets removed from this computer. Heck...I think this computer is on its last legs sometimes, but in this meantime, this wonderful ordinary meantime, I'm grateful that I get a little random nudge to pray. Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Puttin' on the Ritz
Last week I was fortunate enough to have one of those occasions where I got to appreciate my journey to date. The Episcopal Church is VERY fond of pulling out worship services for all sorts of occasions. We even have a whole companion to our prayer book, and that companion book is called The Book of Occasional Services. We are a liturgical people...and that often means receptions with food and wine. Amen!
Last week I was formally "installed" as the rector (senior clergy person) of St. Thomas. There's lots of words and prayers and chanting and Communion of course. It's a celebration of new ministry, but it gets shorthanded as "installation" which kind of makes me sound like an appliance...which in some ways is the work of a priest. We should be "plugged in" to our communities, function without needing much fussing over, perform our duties regularly, and be missed when we "go out" but also be quite replaceable.
As I was getting dressed for the installation service (and yes that means I bought a new jacket and new shoes..duh!) I was flooded with memories in one of those surreal "is this what it would be like to watch your life pass before you eyes" kinds of moments. I had used this really cute pin to hold back the lapel of my new jacket while it hung in the closet because I hate to iron and I think this jacket can't be ironed. (That's my story anyway) The pin I used is a sort of laminated Ritz cracker that has been dusted with sequins.
It was given to me by my beloved New Testament professor from my M. Div program in Austin. I think she gave it to me for my 40th birthday...a number of years ago. (What? I'm sure you are thinking this girl can't be 40! OK maybe you are not thinking that...but humor me)
As soon as I touched the pin to take it off the jacket I was immediately transported back to a time in the seminary chapel when this professor met with me and several of my female M.Div student friends. We gathered in a circle and practiced saying the liturgy. (We really do have to practice saying the liturgy even though we are "just" reading it out of the prayer book.) I remember crying almost uncontrollably, partly because I couldn't seem to get all the reading and the hand signals and the handling of the "stuff" coordinated....it really is kind of like learning to drive!
And I was crying because I thought, "really? I'm supposed to be a priest? Are you kidding?" This professor was, as always, kind and patient, attentive and loving...as she had been throughout my seminary career and as she continues to be. I made it through the rest of that "play church" time, composed myself, and heard her say, "you can do this."
As I touched that pin on my jacket I could hear her voice, and Iwas reminded too of a book we read in seminary called The Sacraments of Life by Leonardo Boff. It is an outstanding book that captures what anyone knows who has ever treasured some little cup or ornament that is on one level not very valuable but on another level is THE thing you would grab if your house was on fire. The ordinary things in our lives, a pin, a coffee mug, a box, can become Holy if we allow them to do so.
That little Ritz cracker pin reminds me of that dear professor, reminds me of my dear friends from seminary, reminds me of other professors and friends I've had over the years....all of whom shaped me. I'm so grateful to have had some moments in my life like graduations, a wedding (OK, two if you are counting), ordinations (two for sure), this installation, where I had the opportunity to pause and reflect on how I got to that particular moment.
I wish everyone had more moments like those! We should do more milestone marking in our culture. There's a lot to be said for occasions that cause us to stop and reflect and think, even for a moment, "wow...how did I get here? Who brought me to this time in my life?"
Even if some sort of celebration is not in your future, I hope that you are surrounded by completely "worthless" things that you can see and touch and remember people who have loved you. Things that you would grab in a fire. Things that are utterly sacramental, utterly tangible signs of God's endless grace.
Last week I was formally "installed" as the rector (senior clergy person) of St. Thomas. There's lots of words and prayers and chanting and Communion of course. It's a celebration of new ministry, but it gets shorthanded as "installation" which kind of makes me sound like an appliance...which in some ways is the work of a priest. We should be "plugged in" to our communities, function without needing much fussing over, perform our duties regularly, and be missed when we "go out" but also be quite replaceable.
As I was getting dressed for the installation service (and yes that means I bought a new jacket and new shoes..duh!) I was flooded with memories in one of those surreal "is this what it would be like to watch your life pass before you eyes" kinds of moments. I had used this really cute pin to hold back the lapel of my new jacket while it hung in the closet because I hate to iron and I think this jacket can't be ironed. (That's my story anyway) The pin I used is a sort of laminated Ritz cracker that has been dusted with sequins.
It was given to me by my beloved New Testament professor from my M. Div program in Austin. I think she gave it to me for my 40th birthday...a number of years ago. (What? I'm sure you are thinking this girl can't be 40! OK maybe you are not thinking that...but humor me)
As soon as I touched the pin to take it off the jacket I was immediately transported back to a time in the seminary chapel when this professor met with me and several of my female M.Div student friends. We gathered in a circle and practiced saying the liturgy. (We really do have to practice saying the liturgy even though we are "just" reading it out of the prayer book.) I remember crying almost uncontrollably, partly because I couldn't seem to get all the reading and the hand signals and the handling of the "stuff" coordinated....it really is kind of like learning to drive!
And I was crying because I thought, "really? I'm supposed to be a priest? Are you kidding?" This professor was, as always, kind and patient, attentive and loving...as she had been throughout my seminary career and as she continues to be. I made it through the rest of that "play church" time, composed myself, and heard her say, "you can do this."
As I touched that pin on my jacket I could hear her voice, and Iwas reminded too of a book we read in seminary called The Sacraments of Life by Leonardo Boff. It is an outstanding book that captures what anyone knows who has ever treasured some little cup or ornament that is on one level not very valuable but on another level is THE thing you would grab if your house was on fire. The ordinary things in our lives, a pin, a coffee mug, a box, can become Holy if we allow them to do so.
That little Ritz cracker pin reminds me of that dear professor, reminds me of my dear friends from seminary, reminds me of other professors and friends I've had over the years....all of whom shaped me. I'm so grateful to have had some moments in my life like graduations, a wedding (OK, two if you are counting), ordinations (two for sure), this installation, where I had the opportunity to pause and reflect on how I got to that particular moment.
I wish everyone had more moments like those! We should do more milestone marking in our culture. There's a lot to be said for occasions that cause us to stop and reflect and think, even for a moment, "wow...how did I get here? Who brought me to this time in my life?"
Even if some sort of celebration is not in your future, I hope that you are surrounded by completely "worthless" things that you can see and touch and remember people who have loved you. Things that you would grab in a fire. Things that are utterly sacramental, utterly tangible signs of God's endless grace.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Those darn digital cameras
Two very dear people gave me a digital camera (pink of course) back in May of 2009 when I finished by Doctor of Ministry. One of the dear people, Sandy, teased me a LOT about my propensity for using those disposable cameras. Sandy insisted that I take one giant step toward embracing the 21st century (and now look at me, I'm blogging and everything). These sweet friends were completely right of course, and now I am a digital camera nut! I have THOUSANDS of pictures stored on my lap top and have even...are you ready for this...learned how to manipulate, send, post, etc! Though you are not going to see any evidence of that on this blog post. Enough already! I can only handle so much technology at one time.j
A few weeks ago my sweet husband and I were doing our annual year-end pilgrimage to the beach. It seems to us to be the best possible place to end one year and begin another. We were taking pictures wildly of course with the aforementioned pink digital camera. It is a delight to be able to take all the pictures you want knowing that you can delete at any time! No more worrying if I will "miss' a great shot of something gorgeous or funny because I've "used up' all the film. (Kids you will have to look up the definition of film on Wikipedia or some such sight).
I am grateful for the wild abandon with which I can take pictures now and grateful for my sweet Austin friends who gave me this wonderful camera. It did, however, get me thinking...which is what you are paying for on this amazing blog...you ARE paying, right? HA HA.
I don't want to return to the disposable camera days, but I do want to make sure that I slow down and treasure the moments I am capturing on film. My digital camera allows me to take pictures without really thinking, which is a delightful wrinkle in the fabric of technology. The danger comes, of course, when I move through some experience without thinking.
No need to marvel at that seagull, I can take a million pictures later. No need to stop and appreciate how darn cute my husband looks when he's wading into the freezing cold water in Galveston bay and doesn't know I'm looking off our balcony at him. This won't be the last chance I'll have to snap that photo I think to myself.
And on the one hand I'm really glad for that. Glad that if I take 50 pictures of seagulls I haven't "used up" the film in my camera causing me to miss a great shot later. But on the other hand...I can get pretty careless because I know there's an (almost) unlimited supply of film/space/whatchmacalit on my digital camera.
I don't want to be careless as I move through life. I want to soak up what I see and experience around me and still hold onto some bit of that feeling of "is this worth my last frame of film?" I realize a person could take this to extremes! Let's don't do that. I'm not saying that I want to be afraid all the time or miss what's right in front of me because I'm waiting for that one big picture.
I'm just saying that I waste a lot of "film", and I hope in this new year I can be more thankful and aware. More aware of my words, my time, more aware and thankful for love, more aware of my faith....striving not to take any experience for granted. Never putting a person in the category of, "I can just delete him/her later".
Digital cameras are so fun and provide for instant gratification! I love that. But I hope in this new year to retain a little of the "old school"... a little of the feeling that keeps me grateful and protective of each moment, because it really could be the last opportunity I have to capture it. Blessings to you and yours in 2011.
A few weeks ago my sweet husband and I were doing our annual year-end pilgrimage to the beach. It seems to us to be the best possible place to end one year and begin another. We were taking pictures wildly of course with the aforementioned pink digital camera. It is a delight to be able to take all the pictures you want knowing that you can delete at any time! No more worrying if I will "miss' a great shot of something gorgeous or funny because I've "used up' all the film. (Kids you will have to look up the definition of film on Wikipedia or some such sight).
I am grateful for the wild abandon with which I can take pictures now and grateful for my sweet Austin friends who gave me this wonderful camera. It did, however, get me thinking...which is what you are paying for on this amazing blog...you ARE paying, right? HA HA.
I don't want to return to the disposable camera days, but I do want to make sure that I slow down and treasure the moments I am capturing on film. My digital camera allows me to take pictures without really thinking, which is a delightful wrinkle in the fabric of technology. The danger comes, of course, when I move through some experience without thinking.
No need to marvel at that seagull, I can take a million pictures later. No need to stop and appreciate how darn cute my husband looks when he's wading into the freezing cold water in Galveston bay and doesn't know I'm looking off our balcony at him. This won't be the last chance I'll have to snap that photo I think to myself.
And on the one hand I'm really glad for that. Glad that if I take 50 pictures of seagulls I haven't "used up" the film in my camera causing me to miss a great shot later. But on the other hand...I can get pretty careless because I know there's an (almost) unlimited supply of film/space/whatchmacalit on my digital camera.
I don't want to be careless as I move through life. I want to soak up what I see and experience around me and still hold onto some bit of that feeling of "is this worth my last frame of film?" I realize a person could take this to extremes! Let's don't do that. I'm not saying that I want to be afraid all the time or miss what's right in front of me because I'm waiting for that one big picture.
I'm just saying that I waste a lot of "film", and I hope in this new year I can be more thankful and aware. More aware of my words, my time, more aware and thankful for love, more aware of my faith....striving not to take any experience for granted. Never putting a person in the category of, "I can just delete him/her later".
Digital cameras are so fun and provide for instant gratification! I love that. But I hope in this new year to retain a little of the "old school"... a little of the feeling that keeps me grateful and protective of each moment, because it really could be the last opportunity I have to capture it. Blessings to you and yours in 2011.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
When is a bush just a bush?
I love the season of Advent even with all of the related craziness of preparing for Christmas. It is THE most graphic illustration of "in-between" time. At our house we still have a few stray pumpkins lying around, and an Advent mediation book out on the coffee table, and we have our pitiful blow up Santa in our yard because A. we heart Santa even if he does look this year like he's has many collapsed vertebrae and needs a titanium rod inserted and B. when some time off from work, the husband's energy level and good weather all line up on the same day you by golly get your Christmas decorations up even if it's Advent. All of that mixed up together is totally at the heart of Advent.
It's a season to celebrate both the right now and the not yet. We get all of those weird readings about the end of time and John the Baptist going postal on anyone within earshot and we will soon hear the joyous, familiar readings about angels and a young scared pregnant girl. Advent tells us to wait, to remain hopeful, to keep and eye out and Advent tells us to (like Cher in Moonstruck) snap out of it! Snap out of it and tend what needs tending right in front of you. (OK that's not really what Cher was talking about when she slaps Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck, but I love that snap out of it line and find it appropriate for Advent.)
At my dear St. Thomas parish I'm facilitating an Advent book study using my favorite book of all time: St. Benedict on the Freeway. I know I'm prone to exaggerate, but for real, I love love love this book. Corinne Ware is the author, and it was my great pleasure to know her when I lived in Austin. Her book, and I would say, her life, teach that God can be found every single day. God is present not only on those high and lofty occasions but in the nitty gritty every day. And if we practice a certain internal stillness we are more likely to "catch" God at work. As Corinne points out, it doesn't mean adding more stuff to our to-do list. It means, "seeing the daily in another Light."
Advent is a season that calls us to listen and look: look for ways God is speaking, look for ways God is loving even in the rush and crush of our daily 21st century Western speed obsessed culture.
BUT....(or as some of my former Bible study girls would hear me say so often...) COMMA...sometimes the burning bush is in fact something on fire that we need to tend to quickly! And sometimes the burning bush is right in front of us and we, like Moses, need to stop, take off our shoes, look and LISTEN.
I won't be able to tell you nor can you tell me exactly what kind of bush is on fire! It is the work of faith to listen and observe carefully enough that one can tell if it's time to run get that fire hose or if it's time to take off those shoes and hear the voice of God. And, just to confuse things even more, it might be both! Yikes!
I invite you now in this blessed season of Advent to carve out moments for quiet, moments for deep breathing, moments of thankfulness. And in the carving out I feel certain that God speaks and leads us to clarity. Peace! Rhoda
It's a season to celebrate both the right now and the not yet. We get all of those weird readings about the end of time and John the Baptist going postal on anyone within earshot and we will soon hear the joyous, familiar readings about angels and a young scared pregnant girl. Advent tells us to wait, to remain hopeful, to keep and eye out and Advent tells us to (like Cher in Moonstruck) snap out of it! Snap out of it and tend what needs tending right in front of you. (OK that's not really what Cher was talking about when she slaps Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck, but I love that snap out of it line and find it appropriate for Advent.)
At my dear St. Thomas parish I'm facilitating an Advent book study using my favorite book of all time: St. Benedict on the Freeway. I know I'm prone to exaggerate, but for real, I love love love this book. Corinne Ware is the author, and it was my great pleasure to know her when I lived in Austin. Her book, and I would say, her life, teach that God can be found every single day. God is present not only on those high and lofty occasions but in the nitty gritty every day. And if we practice a certain internal stillness we are more likely to "catch" God at work. As Corinne points out, it doesn't mean adding more stuff to our to-do list. It means, "seeing the daily in another Light."
Advent is a season that calls us to listen and look: look for ways God is speaking, look for ways God is loving even in the rush and crush of our daily 21st century Western speed obsessed culture.
BUT....(or as some of my former Bible study girls would hear me say so often...) COMMA...sometimes the burning bush is in fact something on fire that we need to tend to quickly! And sometimes the burning bush is right in front of us and we, like Moses, need to stop, take off our shoes, look and LISTEN.
I won't be able to tell you nor can you tell me exactly what kind of bush is on fire! It is the work of faith to listen and observe carefully enough that one can tell if it's time to run get that fire hose or if it's time to take off those shoes and hear the voice of God. And, just to confuse things even more, it might be both! Yikes!
I invite you now in this blessed season of Advent to carve out moments for quiet, moments for deep breathing, moments of thankfulness. And in the carving out I feel certain that God speaks and leads us to clarity. Peace! Rhoda
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
New Prayer Book
Howdy! That is THE word here in College Station home of Texas A & M---and---St. Thomas Episcopal Church, of course! I like howdy and the friendliness it conveys. Even
though I spent years living in Austin and...you know...rooting for that other football team...I am loving this community and all of the Brazos Valley. But no matter how friendly everyone has been, there is still no substitute for time. I am joyfully and painfully aware of that on Sundays in particular.
My sweet husband bought me a new Book of Common Prayer/Hymnal combo to celebrate this new chapter in our lives. Yes, we are dorks who buy things like that to celebrate new events. Rob also buys me jewelry and I buy him his favorite bourbon...we are dorks...not Philistines. And every Sunday I am aware of how stiff my new prayer book feels. I've been using it only 9 weeks.
The prayer book/hymnal I was using before was my original one. The priest who sponsored me for seminary bought it for me because at that point, over ten years ago now, $100 was out of reach. $100 now is not exactly "couch cushion" money, but a little more attainable. (Please note that the cost of the prayer book/hymnal combo has not, unlike other things, skyrocketed. Can I get an Amen?)
That original prayer book got me through my last year in seminary, my first years as a deacon then priest in Austin and went with me to Houston. Sometimes as I participated in worship at the Cathedral in Houston an old note would fall out of that aging, weathered prayer book. Once it was a funny little note by a kid I adored who was in the 7th grade at the time he wrote the note. When I found the note again on a Sunday in Houston I realized that little 7th grade boy was now in college. Most of the notes, wrinkled and smeared, had names on them.
Most of the notes were names of people I had loved whose funerals I officiated.
I'm always so anxious that I will say the name wrong...even of someone I knew for years!
So for every funeral I make sure there's a post it note with the person's name on it so I don't have one of those horrible blank moments during the service! There aren't that many things that can go wrong in an Episcopal funeral....we stick to that prayer book sister! But it would be awful if the priest blanked on the name of the dearly departed!
I hadn't realized how many of those notes were still stuck in various places in my prayer book. But I'm glad. Finding those notes added another little piece to the string that keeps me connected with all sorts of people, people both living and dead. Early in my two years at the Cathedral, I didn't feel connected to folks in that community at all. So sometimes finding those names in the middle of a worship service helped me remember that connection is not only possible but never ending. I was oddly encouraged even though that encouragement was tinged with some sadness.
By the end of my time in Houston, I was so grateful to have made connections with people. My prayer book had new names added to it and new notes from little kids. Notes and names that tumble out from time to time when I open my old prayer book at home.
My new prayer book is dear to me because my beloved gave it to me and because it symbolizes a new chapter in my ordained life. I will be glad when it's not so stiff, when the pages aren't so crisp, when some notes come tumbling
out. I certainly am not anxious for people I'm now serving to die of course! I am anxious, however, to be more deeply rooted in this place. This place I can already tell is so wonderful.
But of course, there is no substitute for time! I could run over this prayer book and make it look far more weathered than it does. But all that would do is ruin a perfectly good prayer book! I will have to use it, over and over. Hold it when I'm laughing, crying, griping, praying, day dreaming. Hold it, even as I hold this community. And one day, this prayer book too will serve as a reminder of all those I love. Peace, Rhoda
though I spent years living in Austin and...you know...rooting for that other football team...I am loving this community and all of the Brazos Valley. But no matter how friendly everyone has been, there is still no substitute for time. I am joyfully and painfully aware of that on Sundays in particular.
My sweet husband bought me a new Book of Common Prayer/Hymnal combo to celebrate this new chapter in our lives. Yes, we are dorks who buy things like that to celebrate new events. Rob also buys me jewelry and I buy him his favorite bourbon...we are dorks...not Philistines. And every Sunday I am aware of how stiff my new prayer book feels. I've been using it only 9 weeks.
The prayer book/hymnal I was using before was my original one. The priest who sponsored me for seminary bought it for me because at that point, over ten years ago now, $100 was out of reach. $100 now is not exactly "couch cushion" money, but a little more attainable. (Please note that the cost of the prayer book/hymnal combo has not, unlike other things, skyrocketed. Can I get an Amen?)
That original prayer book got me through my last year in seminary, my first years as a deacon then priest in Austin and went with me to Houston. Sometimes as I participated in worship at the Cathedral in Houston an old note would fall out of that aging, weathered prayer book. Once it was a funny little note by a kid I adored who was in the 7th grade at the time he wrote the note. When I found the note again on a Sunday in Houston I realized that little 7th grade boy was now in college. Most of the notes, wrinkled and smeared, had names on them.
Most of the notes were names of people I had loved whose funerals I officiated.
I'm always so anxious that I will say the name wrong...even of someone I knew for years!
So for every funeral I make sure there's a post it note with the person's name on it so I don't have one of those horrible blank moments during the service! There aren't that many things that can go wrong in an Episcopal funeral....we stick to that prayer book sister! But it would be awful if the priest blanked on the name of the dearly departed!
I hadn't realized how many of those notes were still stuck in various places in my prayer book. But I'm glad. Finding those notes added another little piece to the string that keeps me connected with all sorts of people, people both living and dead. Early in my two years at the Cathedral, I didn't feel connected to folks in that community at all. So sometimes finding those names in the middle of a worship service helped me remember that connection is not only possible but never ending. I was oddly encouraged even though that encouragement was tinged with some sadness.
By the end of my time in Houston, I was so grateful to have made connections with people. My prayer book had new names added to it and new notes from little kids. Notes and names that tumble out from time to time when I open my old prayer book at home.
My new prayer book is dear to me because my beloved gave it to me and because it symbolizes a new chapter in my ordained life. I will be glad when it's not so stiff, when the pages aren't so crisp, when some notes come tumbling
out. I certainly am not anxious for people I'm now serving to die of course! I am anxious, however, to be more deeply rooted in this place. This place I can already tell is so wonderful.
But of course, there is no substitute for time! I could run over this prayer book and make it look far more weathered than it does. But all that would do is ruin a perfectly good prayer book! I will have to use it, over and over. Hold it when I'm laughing, crying, griping, praying, day dreaming. Hold it, even as I hold this community. And one day, this prayer book too will serve as a reminder of all those I love. Peace, Rhoda
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Home
This blog post will be chock full of confessions. Sadly, these confessions are pretty boring. Sigh. I'd love to be an international woman of mystery, but I am simply a chubby middle aged Episcopal priest, and all of those words in that sentence are about all of the mystery I can handle. I sort of remember becoming an Episcopal priest but when did I get to be chubby and almost 48? Wow. But I digress.
First confession, I like country music. A lot. I like other music too. I like Michael Franti and Spearhead, I like Kings of Leon, I like opera, preached about that one day. And I even like rapper Flo Rida...OK..let me rephrase that...I like the stuff he can perform on the Today show which is probably about .1 of his actual repertoire, and I think if you use words like repertoire and rapper in the same sentence you are clearly middle aged and not cool. But back to country music.
There's a very touching song by Miranda Lambert called, "The House that Built Me". It's about her journey back to her childhood home and her desire to "take only a memory" from the place. The song recounts the places in the home where she did her homework, learned to play a guitar in a back bedroom, and buried a beloved childhood pet in the backyard. It's a really poignant song, and it's been on my mind a lot.
My dear husband Rob and I are moving from Houston to College Station (insert Aggie jokes here). We close on our new house in the middle of July. I am almost 48 years old (I know I told you that already, but see I forget things). This is the first house I have ever purchased. (OK there was that one time that I helped someone buy a very small very cheap $80,000 house outside of Austin and yes it was a huge mistake and I lost a lot of money so be careful before you do that with someone).
I have been so caught off guard by the emotions brought on by buying this house. It's been nerve wracking of course. I think we have signed a literal ton of paperwork. It's like going to the financial gynecologist to get a mortgage these days (unless you are a Russian spy then it's really easy). Every dollar we have ever spent, every dip in a salary, every increase in a salary, every credit card bill (gulp) everything is under such scrutiny. I knew all of that would be weird and hard. But I get a lump in my throat thinking about owning this house. And getting to own it with my beloved.
My house growing up was not a house of peace. There was violence and alcohol and fear. There were times of joy too, but the noise of fear and sadness still rings most loudly when I think about that house on 11th street in a small town in west Texas. So I don't really long to go back there. That house doesn't ground me the way the house in Miranda Lambert's song grounds her. I did drive by it one weekend went I went to my 20th high school reunion. ( o Good Lord..I just realized the 30th reunion is this summer!)
That childhood house is smaller than I remember because like all kids things seemed so much bigger than they were. I drove by our church having remembered that there were hundreds of steps leading up to the front door. I think really there were 30. It's a funny thing about our memories of home. We can romanticize them or over dramatize them. I think it's hard to remember things exactly as they were in many cases. We can't help but remember things through the lenses we now wear.
But the house where I grew up did shape me even if it doesn't function as a touchstone for me now. The people and events that took place in that house, I am convinced, make me a better priest and a better wife. I heard a wonderfully wise priest say once that "an awful lot of good has been done in the world because of my (his) dysfunction". Amen to that!
This house in College Station is beautiful...I mean really and truly...not just through a biased mortgage holder's eyes...but it's beautiful beyond the aesthetic. This house feels like the home I've always wanted. If the previous eight years of marriage are an indicator (and Dr. Phil says that past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior) then this house will be a house of peace. I think this is the house that I'll long to return to when the day comes that we leave College Station. I feel like I'm getting a giant "do-over" on the home front, and I am so deeply grateful.
I know that millions of people in the world will never be able to own a home so owning this one (even with all this debt) renews my enthusiasm for work like Habitat for Humanity and Episcopal Relief and Development. There are lots of statistics available about how much better children fare when their parents own a home. It's amazing what truth there is in the old cliche about the pride of home ownership. We have been so grateful to live in church owned housing our whole married life. It has enabled us to save a lot of money and retire some (yes, only some) of our debt (and by our I mean mine).
But there is something in owning this home that has given me a sense of freedom. I know you are thinking, just wait until you try and sell it. And I'm sure there are many headaches associated on that end. But for now, I feel like Rob and I are home in a way that I have never experienced. Ever. And that is so grounding that it makes me want to crank up the car radio and really belt out right along with Miranda. I probably won't bury a pet (what with the asthma and all...Rob would be burying me in the backyard if we had a pet), and I'm pretty sure I won't learn to play guitar in the "back bedroom". But I know that I will make memories in this new house in this new city and at this new church.
I am grateful for all that has gone before. I stand a much better chance of not taking one single light bulb or one single dinner for granted. Thanks be to God.
First confession, I like country music. A lot. I like other music too. I like Michael Franti and Spearhead, I like Kings of Leon, I like opera, preached about that one day. And I even like rapper Flo Rida...OK..let me rephrase that...I like the stuff he can perform on the Today show which is probably about .1 of his actual repertoire, and I think if you use words like repertoire and rapper in the same sentence you are clearly middle aged and not cool. But back to country music.
There's a very touching song by Miranda Lambert called, "The House that Built Me". It's about her journey back to her childhood home and her desire to "take only a memory" from the place. The song recounts the places in the home where she did her homework, learned to play a guitar in a back bedroom, and buried a beloved childhood pet in the backyard. It's a really poignant song, and it's been on my mind a lot.
My dear husband Rob and I are moving from Houston to College Station (insert Aggie jokes here). We close on our new house in the middle of July. I am almost 48 years old (I know I told you that already, but see I forget things). This is the first house I have ever purchased. (OK there was that one time that I helped someone buy a very small very cheap $80,000 house outside of Austin and yes it was a huge mistake and I lost a lot of money so be careful before you do that with someone).
I have been so caught off guard by the emotions brought on by buying this house. It's been nerve wracking of course. I think we have signed a literal ton of paperwork. It's like going to the financial gynecologist to get a mortgage these days (unless you are a Russian spy then it's really easy). Every dollar we have ever spent, every dip in a salary, every increase in a salary, every credit card bill (gulp) everything is under such scrutiny. I knew all of that would be weird and hard. But I get a lump in my throat thinking about owning this house. And getting to own it with my beloved.
My house growing up was not a house of peace. There was violence and alcohol and fear. There were times of joy too, but the noise of fear and sadness still rings most loudly when I think about that house on 11th street in a small town in west Texas. So I don't really long to go back there. That house doesn't ground me the way the house in Miranda Lambert's song grounds her. I did drive by it one weekend went I went to my 20th high school reunion. ( o Good Lord..I just realized the 30th reunion is this summer!)
That childhood house is smaller than I remember because like all kids things seemed so much bigger than they were. I drove by our church having remembered that there were hundreds of steps leading up to the front door. I think really there were 30. It's a funny thing about our memories of home. We can romanticize them or over dramatize them. I think it's hard to remember things exactly as they were in many cases. We can't help but remember things through the lenses we now wear.
But the house where I grew up did shape me even if it doesn't function as a touchstone for me now. The people and events that took place in that house, I am convinced, make me a better priest and a better wife. I heard a wonderfully wise priest say once that "an awful lot of good has been done in the world because of my (his) dysfunction". Amen to that!
This house in College Station is beautiful...I mean really and truly...not just through a biased mortgage holder's eyes...but it's beautiful beyond the aesthetic. This house feels like the home I've always wanted. If the previous eight years of marriage are an indicator (and Dr. Phil says that past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior) then this house will be a house of peace. I think this is the house that I'll long to return to when the day comes that we leave College Station. I feel like I'm getting a giant "do-over" on the home front, and I am so deeply grateful.
I know that millions of people in the world will never be able to own a home so owning this one (even with all this debt) renews my enthusiasm for work like Habitat for Humanity and Episcopal Relief and Development. There are lots of statistics available about how much better children fare when their parents own a home. It's amazing what truth there is in the old cliche about the pride of home ownership. We have been so grateful to live in church owned housing our whole married life. It has enabled us to save a lot of money and retire some (yes, only some) of our debt (and by our I mean mine).
But there is something in owning this home that has given me a sense of freedom. I know you are thinking, just wait until you try and sell it. And I'm sure there are many headaches associated on that end. But for now, I feel like Rob and I are home in a way that I have never experienced. Ever. And that is so grounding that it makes me want to crank up the car radio and really belt out right along with Miranda. I probably won't bury a pet (what with the asthma and all...Rob would be burying me in the backyard if we had a pet), and I'm pretty sure I won't learn to play guitar in the "back bedroom". But I know that I will make memories in this new house in this new city and at this new church.
I am grateful for all that has gone before. I stand a much better chance of not taking one single light bulb or one single dinner for granted. Thanks be to God.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Nine Long/Short Months
Have you started your Christmas shopping yet? Just kidding....don't send me angry emails. Yesterday, March 25th, was the Feast of the Annunciation. You know what that means...yep...9 months from now all the Christmas presents you haven't bought yet will be unwrapped and piled up in a corner or already in need of a good laundering or ready to be taken to the vet! (That last party might not just apply to clothing or Christmas pets either!)
The Church recognizes March 25th as the day that Mary began her amazing, weird, beautiful, difficult, miraculous journey toward delivering the baby Jesus. I love that the Church marks such a thing. Of course we cannot know for sure when (and some would argue if) any of these remarkable events take place. There's no incontrovertible evidence that Jesus was born on December 25th. The whole Christmas season as we know it gets developed LONG after the time of Jesus and was in many ways about taking over a pagan winter solstice festival...but I digress. And who knows if Jesus was a "full term" baby! We are presuming so which means March 25th to December 25th.
In the season leading up to Christmas Eve, the season of Advent, we get the reading about the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary on that last Sunday of Advent. Then a few days later it's Christmas Eve and we have a sweet little pageant with small children in bathrobes and tinsel halos and a plastic baby Jesus doll held...depending on who Mary is that year....with varying degrees of tenderness. Sometimes the young actor carries the Jesus doll down the aisle by its hair...and sometimes the Mary child holds that doll like it is truly her precious baby. So given that most of us don't hear the Annunciation reading from Scripture until just a few days before Christmas eve, it is easy to forget that the very real, very young girl most likely had to spend more than a few days pregnant!
From my friends and family members who have been pregnant I know that the time of gestation feels both long and short. I know women get exhausted and elated, have trouble getting comfortable enough to sleep, and sometimes lack energy to do anything but sleep. It's a roller coaster of joy and anxiety, expectation and worry...and that's under the best of circumstances! Factor in a young unmarried girl in a time and place when unmarried pregnant girls could be stoned and that is one wild ride of a pregnancy!
It's a perfect reminder here in the season of Lent...a perfect metaphor for our journey of faith in this Holy season and beyond. The nurture of faith, like the nurture of a growing fetus takes time...a lot of time. I am, perhaps like some of you, impatient. I too live in an email/microwave/text messaging culture (although that text messaging business doesn't look too cool or go very quickly when I have to put my readers on to see the tiny little screen with those tiny little letters).
I love that right smack in these final days of Lent we read about the Angel Gabriel's wild announcement to Mary. In my head I hear that cartoon screech sound like when Bugs Bunny or some other character slides to a halt and sparks fly out from his feet. And after the initial shock of " O M G!! I'll have to buy Christmas presents again"...I take a deep breath and think for a while about the daily preparation that Mary had to make. One day at a time...morning sickness..growing belly...whispers around the village....Joseph standing by her...one day at a time the Blessed child grew and grew inside of her. And we too are called...one day at a time...one day at a time to nurture God within us... to nurture our faith bit by bit. Some days we may find ourselves nauseous all day...some days we have energy and excitement and can't stop smiling...some days we cannot rest for all the turmoil in our minds and bodies...some days we wonder if we can go on. All of that...all of that bit by bit moving us deeper and deeper into a life with God. Deeper and deeper to that which we too shall birth one day.
May you find peace in this season and every season, Rhoda
The Church recognizes March 25th as the day that Mary began her amazing, weird, beautiful, difficult, miraculous journey toward delivering the baby Jesus. I love that the Church marks such a thing. Of course we cannot know for sure when (and some would argue if) any of these remarkable events take place. There's no incontrovertible evidence that Jesus was born on December 25th. The whole Christmas season as we know it gets developed LONG after the time of Jesus and was in many ways about taking over a pagan winter solstice festival...but I digress. And who knows if Jesus was a "full term" baby! We are presuming so which means March 25th to December 25th.
In the season leading up to Christmas Eve, the season of Advent, we get the reading about the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary on that last Sunday of Advent. Then a few days later it's Christmas Eve and we have a sweet little pageant with small children in bathrobes and tinsel halos and a plastic baby Jesus doll held...depending on who Mary is that year....with varying degrees of tenderness. Sometimes the young actor carries the Jesus doll down the aisle by its hair...and sometimes the Mary child holds that doll like it is truly her precious baby. So given that most of us don't hear the Annunciation reading from Scripture until just a few days before Christmas eve, it is easy to forget that the very real, very young girl most likely had to spend more than a few days pregnant!
From my friends and family members who have been pregnant I know that the time of gestation feels both long and short. I know women get exhausted and elated, have trouble getting comfortable enough to sleep, and sometimes lack energy to do anything but sleep. It's a roller coaster of joy and anxiety, expectation and worry...and that's under the best of circumstances! Factor in a young unmarried girl in a time and place when unmarried pregnant girls could be stoned and that is one wild ride of a pregnancy!
It's a perfect reminder here in the season of Lent...a perfect metaphor for our journey of faith in this Holy season and beyond. The nurture of faith, like the nurture of a growing fetus takes time...a lot of time. I am, perhaps like some of you, impatient. I too live in an email/microwave/text messaging culture (although that text messaging business doesn't look too cool or go very quickly when I have to put my readers on to see the tiny little screen with those tiny little letters).
I love that right smack in these final days of Lent we read about the Angel Gabriel's wild announcement to Mary. In my head I hear that cartoon screech sound like when Bugs Bunny or some other character slides to a halt and sparks fly out from his feet. And after the initial shock of " O M G!! I'll have to buy Christmas presents again"...I take a deep breath and think for a while about the daily preparation that Mary had to make. One day at a time...morning sickness..growing belly...whispers around the village....Joseph standing by her...one day at a time the Blessed child grew and grew inside of her. And we too are called...one day at a time...one day at a time to nurture God within us... to nurture our faith bit by bit. Some days we may find ourselves nauseous all day...some days we have energy and excitement and can't stop smiling...some days we cannot rest for all the turmoil in our minds and bodies...some days we wonder if we can go on. All of that...all of that bit by bit moving us deeper and deeper into a life with God. Deeper and deeper to that which we too shall birth one day.
May you find peace in this season and every season, Rhoda
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