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
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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.
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