Go check out this blog, by a man who's visiting all the religious communities in his neighborhood over the coming year. He recently went to an MCC church and found that the people there were less like Will and Grace and more like those seeking to know God's will and live in God's grace.
He's also been to a number of other churches, as well as a mosque. He is gracious, honest, and saves his harshest critiques for those whom I suspect he feels the closest theological affinity. But there's a lot of charity and grace in every post. I'm totally sucked in!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Appreciating My Colleagues
I realized that my last few posts may be interpreted as "bashing" my clergy colleagues here. I knew I'd be the odd one out when I moved here, but I didn't realize by how much. It is truly challenging, and sometimes a little draining, to be the only clergy voice for progressive Christianity (or heck, even "middle-of-the-road" Christianity, for the most part), but I've accepted my role as a missionary for theological liberalism here. And, for the most part, it's well-received - at least to my face.
And while it's true that there is a lot of theological disagreement among us, it's also true that when we are face-to-face, at least, "Iowa nice" prevails. While I don't love all that "Iowa nice" is and means, I do find that I appreciate how it allows us to work together on what we can agree upon, and not waste all our time bickering over points of doctrine about which we'll never agree.
So, today I want to share some things I really cherish about my clergy colleagues in this community. All of these are snark-free:
1. We spend our time together focusing on what we can agree upon, not the many things that divide us.
2. We work to feed the hungry and provide spiritual nourishment to one another's members in a variety of ecumenical services throughout the year.
3. My colleagues "play nice" when they speak at our church for the Lenten Luncheon series (and they know I will, too, when I speak at their churches).
4. My fellow women ministers and I have some special bonds that have allowed us to peel back "Iowa nice" to discuss some of our differences rather frankly and respectfully, and to grow in genuine friendship and collegiality. There's a couple of services that our three churches do that "the guys" don't seem interested in. (More's the pity.)
5. My colleagues keep me honest, and help ground me in the text. We don't come to the same conclusions, but we draw from that common well.
6. We are genuinely interested in each other's personal lives - we rejoice when there is cause to rejoice, and we lift each other up in prayer in times of difficulty. (I wish we shared more, but I'm grateful for what we do share.)
7. We support some of each other's ministries, such as food pantries and soup kitchens. (I hope they'll also support a new mission venture we'll be starting soon.)
8. I am grateful that there are other churches besides ours in the community, because I know our church is not a perfect fit for all Christians. I'm grateful that I can say some true and wonderful things about my colleagues to those Christians who are looking for something we can't provide.
9. My colleagues welcomed our sabbatical pastor with open arms and truly made her feel welcome this summer.
10. I'll soon have a clergy colleague who is also pretty theologically progressive, and I look forward to our growing in faith, service, and perhaps joint ventures with our congregations!! I hope we can be a balm and boon for each other.
For my clergy friends, what do you appreciate about your colleagues and partners in ministry? And for my lay friends, what do you appreciate about collegial relationships among clergy leaders in your communities?
And while it's true that there is a lot of theological disagreement among us, it's also true that when we are face-to-face, at least, "Iowa nice" prevails. While I don't love all that "Iowa nice" is and means, I do find that I appreciate how it allows us to work together on what we can agree upon, and not waste all our time bickering over points of doctrine about which we'll never agree.
So, today I want to share some things I really cherish about my clergy colleagues in this community. All of these are snark-free:
1. We spend our time together focusing on what we can agree upon, not the many things that divide us.
2. We work to feed the hungry and provide spiritual nourishment to one another's members in a variety of ecumenical services throughout the year.
3. My colleagues "play nice" when they speak at our church for the Lenten Luncheon series (and they know I will, too, when I speak at their churches).
4. My fellow women ministers and I have some special bonds that have allowed us to peel back "Iowa nice" to discuss some of our differences rather frankly and respectfully, and to grow in genuine friendship and collegiality. There's a couple of services that our three churches do that "the guys" don't seem interested in. (More's the pity.)
5. My colleagues keep me honest, and help ground me in the text. We don't come to the same conclusions, but we draw from that common well.
6. We are genuinely interested in each other's personal lives - we rejoice when there is cause to rejoice, and we lift each other up in prayer in times of difficulty. (I wish we shared more, but I'm grateful for what we do share.)
7. We support some of each other's ministries, such as food pantries and soup kitchens. (I hope they'll also support a new mission venture we'll be starting soon.)
8. I am grateful that there are other churches besides ours in the community, because I know our church is not a perfect fit for all Christians. I'm grateful that I can say some true and wonderful things about my colleagues to those Christians who are looking for something we can't provide.
9. My colleagues welcomed our sabbatical pastor with open arms and truly made her feel welcome this summer.
10. I'll soon have a clergy colleague who is also pretty theologically progressive, and I look forward to our growing in faith, service, and perhaps joint ventures with our congregations!! I hope we can be a balm and boon for each other.
For my clergy friends, what do you appreciate about your colleagues and partners in ministry? And for my lay friends, what do you appreciate about collegial relationships among clergy leaders in your communities?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Stories Told and Untold
Several days ago, a friend sidled up to me and said she wanted to show me something. It was the bulletin from her church’s Sunday worship the previous week. She had circled a responsive reading, which was all about “life” and abortion. I know this woman is pro-choice, and she was visibly upset. She proceeded to tell me that the whole service was on this theme, that her community’s crisis pregnancy center has moved into the church, and that the minister had said during the service that she’d hoped the church would step up and volunteer with this organization.
I listened to this woman share her anger and frustration. I listened as she shared sorrowful family history – a few generations back – that helped to form her pro-choice convictions to this day. In the midst of my anger and frustration, I began to think.
I thought, of course, of the many people who affirmed the message at this church service. They probably felt pleased that their pastor was taking a stand. They probably were challenged by her words that "all life is precious." I hope they heard in that the idea that it is not just the lives of the unborn that are precious, but that drug addicts and rapists and racists and other ne'er-do-wells are precious in God's eyes (though I'm a little skeptical that that happened, though there could be perfectly innocent reasons for that.)
But I also thought about the other women in this church who’d been present. I thought about how many of them had had abortions. I especially thought about a couple I know, who are largely pro-life but who had made the heart-wrenching decision to end a much-hoped-for pregnancy when they learned their son would never develop more than a brain stem before living for a few months in constant, excruciating pain. What would this service have been like for them?
And I began to think of some of the women I counsel. Those who have gotten pregnant after marital rape; those who have cheated on partners only to find themselves pregnant from that one-night stand; those who feel as though abortion is the only choice for them in their circumstance, but who also believe they should be sterilized at the same time because they will never be “worthy” to be parents again; those who have never heard a person of the cloth say that not all Christians oppose abortion, and who, upon hearing my voice, are just grateful that a minister is not judging them or telling them what to do, but simply affirming their journey with God and their heartfelt decision.
I wondered, Was there room in this worship service for these women? Was there a place for their experiences? Were these stories also told in the midst of all this “choosing life” and “abortion is murder”? And if not, why not?
It is not my place to tell my colleagues what to preach, when or how. For many, including me, this is an issue of justice (though my colleagues in this community do not agree with me on the nature of this justice), and I respect their right and duty to speak out as they feel called to do, just as I do.
But I still wonder. How many of the women in the pews, and their partners or children or friends, will be unable to share these burdens with their pastor for fear that they will be condemned? How many people will erect barriers between themselves and their communities of faith because they now believe it is unsafe to bring this part of their lives in the doors of the church? How many people will, like my friend and her husband, simply stew in their anger at the injustice of their church opposing abortion while also failing to support efforts that PREVENT the need for abortion? How many women will be shamed into silence, lest they be judged by the one person who is supposed to represent the love and grace of Christ to them?
I don’t always know the outcome of the stories these women tell me, and I have made my peace with that lack of knowledge. But their stories have become a part of me. Their grappling with competing needs, fears, and desires mirrors my own faith-wrestling. I do not want any of these stories to become “tokens” or two-dimensional images upon which we can project our own morality or judgment. So I cannot bear to see this issue reduced to an oversimplified choice between “good” (that is, continuing a pregnancy) and “evil” (that is, ending a pregnancy). These women and their families are very real to me, and I carry their stories inside of me. Their burdens have, in some small way, become my own, and I stand with them in the muck and the mess of our lives and together we wonder where and how God is at work, and to what ends. These lives matter, too. They are precious in God's sight.
Why, then, when there is so much talk of "life being precious," are these stories left untold?
I listened to this woman share her anger and frustration. I listened as she shared sorrowful family history – a few generations back – that helped to form her pro-choice convictions to this day. In the midst of my anger and frustration, I began to think.
I thought, of course, of the many people who affirmed the message at this church service. They probably felt pleased that their pastor was taking a stand. They probably were challenged by her words that "all life is precious." I hope they heard in that the idea that it is not just the lives of the unborn that are precious, but that drug addicts and rapists and racists and other ne'er-do-wells are precious in God's eyes (though I'm a little skeptical that that happened, though there could be perfectly innocent reasons for that.)
But I also thought about the other women in this church who’d been present. I thought about how many of them had had abortions. I especially thought about a couple I know, who are largely pro-life but who had made the heart-wrenching decision to end a much-hoped-for pregnancy when they learned their son would never develop more than a brain stem before living for a few months in constant, excruciating pain. What would this service have been like for them?
And I began to think of some of the women I counsel. Those who have gotten pregnant after marital rape; those who have cheated on partners only to find themselves pregnant from that one-night stand; those who feel as though abortion is the only choice for them in their circumstance, but who also believe they should be sterilized at the same time because they will never be “worthy” to be parents again; those who have never heard a person of the cloth say that not all Christians oppose abortion, and who, upon hearing my voice, are just grateful that a minister is not judging them or telling them what to do, but simply affirming their journey with God and their heartfelt decision.
I wondered, Was there room in this worship service for these women? Was there a place for their experiences? Were these stories also told in the midst of all this “choosing life” and “abortion is murder”? And if not, why not?
It is not my place to tell my colleagues what to preach, when or how. For many, including me, this is an issue of justice (though my colleagues in this community do not agree with me on the nature of this justice), and I respect their right and duty to speak out as they feel called to do, just as I do.
But I still wonder. How many of the women in the pews, and their partners or children or friends, will be unable to share these burdens with their pastor for fear that they will be condemned? How many people will erect barriers between themselves and their communities of faith because they now believe it is unsafe to bring this part of their lives in the doors of the church? How many people will, like my friend and her husband, simply stew in their anger at the injustice of their church opposing abortion while also failing to support efforts that PREVENT the need for abortion? How many women will be shamed into silence, lest they be judged by the one person who is supposed to represent the love and grace of Christ to them?
I don’t always know the outcome of the stories these women tell me, and I have made my peace with that lack of knowledge. But their stories have become a part of me. Their grappling with competing needs, fears, and desires mirrors my own faith-wrestling. I do not want any of these stories to become “tokens” or two-dimensional images upon which we can project our own morality or judgment. So I cannot bear to see this issue reduced to an oversimplified choice between “good” (that is, continuing a pregnancy) and “evil” (that is, ending a pregnancy). These women and their families are very real to me, and I carry their stories inside of me. Their burdens have, in some small way, become my own, and I stand with them in the muck and the mess of our lives and together we wonder where and how God is at work, and to what ends. These lives matter, too. They are precious in God's sight.
Why, then, when there is so much talk of "life being precious," are these stories left untold?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Friend of the Blog
I keep forgetting to add my dear friend to my blogroll. She's a fellow UCC solo pastor, a wise woman, wife and mother, and just all around awesome. Go check out her blog here.
Unexpected Gifts of Pregnancy
When I announced to the church my pregnancy, I expected a variety of reactions. Almost everyone was excited and enthusiastic. I knew that for some, however, this joy was tempered. Some in this church have faced infertility. Some have chosen not to have children. Some have lost children, both in infancy and beyond.
I know the families who’ve lost children in this church. Some have lost them to suicide, to accidents, or to medical issues. Those stories have been shared with me tenderly and sorrowfully by the mothers and fathers. They have been shared with my by others in the church, who need for me to know why we can’t chop down that tree (it is a memorial tree).
I also know the stories of the couples who had tried for years to have children, only to make peace with their childlessness. Some of those wounds are decades old, but they still sting a little whenever a pregnancy is announced or a new baby brought to church. Their joy for others is often tempered with their own private sorrows.
And I know the stories of parents estranged from their children – and of children who’ve chosen estrangement from their parents. Sometimes I know the reasons behind these decisions, but sometimes the whole situation just seems like a sorrowful mystery to me, as it often is to the people involved. I am grateful for all these stories, even as my heart breaks for them.
But it wasn’t until I announced my pregnancy and began to talk freely about my fears of miscarriage that I began to hear those stories. Women told me about miscarriages they’d had, of the “successful” pregnancies they went on to have, and of how the latter did not cancel out the former, but did help provide a larger framework for their parenting. They spoke with a tinge of sadness for what they had lost, as well as thanksgiving for what they had. I quickly noticed that they only told these stories around other women who’d had children.
It has been a strange initiation into motherhood. These stories are seldom told outside of the church kitchen – if indeed, they make it into the doors of the church at all. Even though I’m an advocate for reproductive justice, and even though I’ve spoken of miscarriage, the loss of children, and childlessness in the past, and even though I’ve sat in these people’s homes for more than seven years, listening to their lives and praying with them, it has only been in the past few months that many people have chosen to share these stories with me.
It isn’t because they don’t feel the stories are important. And it isn’t because they are finally releasing a torrent of information now that I can relate. Somehow, in some mysterious way, my pregnancy has opened up a door to these conversations. Was it something I’ve said?
I don’t think so. If I could have planned it, it would not have turned out this way. If I had wanted to be strategic about all this, I can tell you absolutely that I would have failed miserably. This is a great mystery to me. But the stories are here, now, for us and for God to see, and my call is to touch those stories lovingly and with great grace, as if I were handling a small, delicate child who needs my love, my softness, and my attention.
It is the deepest privilege I know to have access to the hearts of others. May God grant us grace to hold those hearts and their contents tenderly, weeping and laughing and finding redemption and hope in every unfolding.
I know the families who’ve lost children in this church. Some have lost them to suicide, to accidents, or to medical issues. Those stories have been shared with me tenderly and sorrowfully by the mothers and fathers. They have been shared with my by others in the church, who need for me to know why we can’t chop down that tree (it is a memorial tree).
I also know the stories of the couples who had tried for years to have children, only to make peace with their childlessness. Some of those wounds are decades old, but they still sting a little whenever a pregnancy is announced or a new baby brought to church. Their joy for others is often tempered with their own private sorrows.
And I know the stories of parents estranged from their children – and of children who’ve chosen estrangement from their parents. Sometimes I know the reasons behind these decisions, but sometimes the whole situation just seems like a sorrowful mystery to me, as it often is to the people involved. I am grateful for all these stories, even as my heart breaks for them.
But it wasn’t until I announced my pregnancy and began to talk freely about my fears of miscarriage that I began to hear those stories. Women told me about miscarriages they’d had, of the “successful” pregnancies they went on to have, and of how the latter did not cancel out the former, but did help provide a larger framework for their parenting. They spoke with a tinge of sadness for what they had lost, as well as thanksgiving for what they had. I quickly noticed that they only told these stories around other women who’d had children.
It has been a strange initiation into motherhood. These stories are seldom told outside of the church kitchen – if indeed, they make it into the doors of the church at all. Even though I’m an advocate for reproductive justice, and even though I’ve spoken of miscarriage, the loss of children, and childlessness in the past, and even though I’ve sat in these people’s homes for more than seven years, listening to their lives and praying with them, it has only been in the past few months that many people have chosen to share these stories with me.
It isn’t because they don’t feel the stories are important. And it isn’t because they are finally releasing a torrent of information now that I can relate. Somehow, in some mysterious way, my pregnancy has opened up a door to these conversations. Was it something I’ve said?
I don’t think so. If I could have planned it, it would not have turned out this way. If I had wanted to be strategic about all this, I can tell you absolutely that I would have failed miserably. This is a great mystery to me. But the stories are here, now, for us and for God to see, and my call is to touch those stories lovingly and with great grace, as if I were handling a small, delicate child who needs my love, my softness, and my attention.
It is the deepest privilege I know to have access to the hearts of others. May God grant us grace to hold those hearts and their contents tenderly, weeping and laughing and finding redemption and hope in every unfolding.
Monday, November 29, 2010
A Thousand Little Things
Now, I am just as much a romantic as the next gal, but I've learned in my marriage that the little things do tend to add up more than the grand, romantic gesture. Don't get me wrong - Backbencher does the flower and candy thing as well as the next man, and he's been known to surprise me with Christmas and birthday gifts that I'd mentioned once or twice in passing months ago. (The "months ago" thing sometimes means I had forgotten I'd wanted that item, but it is so endearing!) But overall, I think I appreciate the everyday things Backbencher does to let me know I'm on his mind.
Here is just a selection:
- He always turns on my seat warmer when we ride in his car, usually long before I would have remembered it's an option.
- He has been known to walk the dogs when he senses I need a lazy morning.
- He got me a gift certificate to 1800FINDASPA for our first wedding anniversary, because traditionally, the first anniversary is "paper" and, well, gift certificates are made of paper. (And he knows I love massages.) Naturally, he also gave me a book.
- He will read a book faster than he normally would if he knows I want to read it, too.
- He suggests that I take the first shower when we have to leave early for childbirth class. (And he often showers the night before, too!)
- He folds towels, even if I'm the one who washed them.
- He remembers to buy my favorite kind of ice cream when we run out.
- When we got back from visiting his family at Thanksgiving, I had to run over to the church (20 yards away) to turn up the heat for Sunday's worship service. I took a shortcut past the side of the house, not bothering to go in, and when I returned to the house 5 minutes later, he had already turned on the back porch light. He also does this when I have evening meetings (we have a one-car garage that I use, and it's behind the house).
It's that last one that really gets to me. Even if our paths don't cross after the morning, and I get home late in the evening, there is always a well-lit back porch welcoming me home. He never fails to remember to light my way home. In the day-to-day living with another human being, it is the small, everyday things Backbencher does for me far more warming to my heart and soul than the rare grand gesture.
This Advent, a new year begins, and I'm so lucky to share it with Backbencher.
Here is just a selection:
- He always turns on my seat warmer when we ride in his car, usually long before I would have remembered it's an option.
- He has been known to walk the dogs when he senses I need a lazy morning.
- He got me a gift certificate to 1800FINDASPA for our first wedding anniversary, because traditionally, the first anniversary is "paper" and, well, gift certificates are made of paper. (And he knows I love massages.) Naturally, he also gave me a book.
- He will read a book faster than he normally would if he knows I want to read it, too.
- He suggests that I take the first shower when we have to leave early for childbirth class. (And he often showers the night before, too!)
- He folds towels, even if I'm the one who washed them.
- He remembers to buy my favorite kind of ice cream when we run out.
- When we got back from visiting his family at Thanksgiving, I had to run over to the church (20 yards away) to turn up the heat for Sunday's worship service. I took a shortcut past the side of the house, not bothering to go in, and when I returned to the house 5 minutes later, he had already turned on the back porch light. He also does this when I have evening meetings (we have a one-car garage that I use, and it's behind the house).
It's that last one that really gets to me. Even if our paths don't cross after the morning, and I get home late in the evening, there is always a well-lit back porch welcoming me home. He never fails to remember to light my way home. In the day-to-day living with another human being, it is the small, everyday things Backbencher does for me far more warming to my heart and soul than the rare grand gesture.
This Advent, a new year begins, and I'm so lucky to share it with Backbencher.
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
White Crosses in Yards
In our little town, a number of white crosses have appeared in several front yards. At first I thought it was a rash of pet deaths, but I soon learned that it was the effort of our local Methodist Church. A sweet effort for some reason I wasn't really clear about. To proclaim the household's (presumably Protestant, since it's not a crucifix) Christian identity? To be a safe haven for wandering Christians? A testimony of faith?
Today I learned that it was in response to this story, about an incident in Frankenmuth, Michigan a couple of years ago. Of course, in the version told to the ministerial fellowship, the ACLU got dragged in. (Doesn't it always, in these cases?) Le sigh. I checked it out on Snopes, and was gratified that at least the minister didn't play up the complainer's supposed "atheism." But as a card-carrying member of the ACLU, I am always so annoyed when they become the bogeyman for all the "persecution" Christians face.
Later, it made me wonder: what happened to the man in the story? No doubt he was a pot-stirrer, and it sounds as though he might have been a newcomer to town. Perhaps he was not the most sympathetic character. But as much as the Christians in this town claimed "victory," I wonder how this man felt ministered to by his Christian friends and neighbors. Did he learn about the love of Jesus from all those crosses? Did he experience the grace of God from their overwhelming opposition to his (admittedly rather petty) complaints?
Or was he confirmed in a belief that Christians tend to lord it over non-Christians and Christians who don't share their views of church-state separation? Was he treated as an outcast, a collaborator with the enemy, and unclean?
Jesus sure ate a lot of meals with people whom the "majority" looked down upon or disdained. I may be preaching to the choir here, but I pray that when we are bold to proclaim the Gospel, we are focused on proclamation that opens hearts and minds to Jesus, not on pummeling others to get our own way.
Today I learned that it was in response to this story, about an incident in Frankenmuth, Michigan a couple of years ago. Of course, in the version told to the ministerial fellowship, the ACLU got dragged in. (Doesn't it always, in these cases?) Le sigh. I checked it out on Snopes, and was gratified that at least the minister didn't play up the complainer's supposed "atheism." But as a card-carrying member of the ACLU, I am always so annoyed when they become the bogeyman for all the "persecution" Christians face.
Later, it made me wonder: what happened to the man in the story? No doubt he was a pot-stirrer, and it sounds as though he might have been a newcomer to town. Perhaps he was not the most sympathetic character. But as much as the Christians in this town claimed "victory," I wonder how this man felt ministered to by his Christian friends and neighbors. Did he learn about the love of Jesus from all those crosses? Did he experience the grace of God from their overwhelming opposition to his (admittedly rather petty) complaints?
Or was he confirmed in a belief that Christians tend to lord it over non-Christians and Christians who don't share their views of church-state separation? Was he treated as an outcast, a collaborator with the enemy, and unclean?
Jesus sure ate a lot of meals with people whom the "majority" looked down upon or disdained. I may be preaching to the choir here, but I pray that when we are bold to proclaim the Gospel, we are focused on proclamation that opens hearts and minds to Jesus, not on pummeling others to get our own way.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Funerals and Family Dynamics
Speaking generally, funeral preparation is a fascinating time to observe family dynamics at work, and to especially see the ways that dysfunction plays out through generations of a family system. You can see why the son of these parents married this person, and how their children ended up as they did. You can see why these two people were drawn to each other, even if the motivation appears to be to get as far away from family as possible.
This isn't really a surprise. Take a system, throw in a radical and permanent change to that system, and add a forced sense of proximity to other family members. Oh, and social pressures to behave in a certain fashion.
Unfortunately, it's also a terribly tragic time of loss for the family, and often for the whole community. To think only about the system is destructive and heartless; but to fail to think about the system is short-sighted and ultimately ineffective.
The bottom line is: families are complicated, and funerals bring this into high relief. HIGH relief.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Sad News and Happy News
Backbencher and I have sad news and happy news to share. Finally!
First, the sad news. Many of you know that an opportunity for us to adopt a child literally fell into our laps this spring. Just before I left for Costa Rica, we learned that the birth mother - someone we knew from another circle in our lives (and I'm not trying to be deliberately vague, but SW Iowa is a small place and she deserves her own anonymity if she wants it) - has decided to parent her child after all. This was very sad news for us, even if it was not altogether unexpected. She'd decided so early in her pregnancy, and she has a lot of support for both decisions she has made.
Now, to the happy news: The very morning before we heard the sad news, we learned that I am pregnant! I am about 12 weeks along now and all appears to be progressing well. If one can gauge by nausea, we are breeding a champion in my uterus. That is a much politer way to say that I have been "blessed" with intermittent, all day dry heaves, along with the occasional unpredictable incident of pukeatuge. I am fervently praying this part of pregnancy ends in the next two weeks. (Do not scare me with your stories of pregnancy-long morning sickness - I have heard it before and do not wish to hear more. Also, my stomach is unaccountably weaker than it used to be, so even these stories set me off a bit.)
Longtime friends and family know of my iron constitution and bone-deep loathing of throwing up (though really, who enjoys that particular experience?), and are quite sympathetic. Unfortunately, nothing reliably works for me. So thank you for the advice to stuff myself silly with Saltines (done and done), eat or drink every form of ginger imaginable (ditto), or to eat every waking hour. Just pray away the puking, please - but keep the baby.
This news, while it doesn't cancel out the sad news, is overwhelming and wonderful for us. We have known we wanted to be parents for almost as long as we've been together (and I've always known I wanted to be a mom), and we are delighted that, Ohala, we will get to meet our first child in 2011. I am also incredibly grateful at the timing of these events, because I know the weakness of my faith, and I would have been DEVASTATED with only the sad news. We have worked through a fair bit of our grief at the loss of that child, but I for one feel buffeted by the knowledge that we will indeed be parents next year. That has muted the grief somewhat, though I think it goes without saying that babies are not interchangeable.
Oh, and I'm due on Palm Sunday. Hi-larious. One colleague pointed out that God clearly wants me to experience the twin blessings of motherhood and ministry right from the outset. Another colleague offered to preach on Easter for me.
We'd covet your prayers for us, as well as for the birth mother, of whom we are deeply fond and with whom we continue a friendship. All of this is hard, but that is the way of the world. She deserves love, support and prayers as much as any new parent does. And God knows we will need lots of support!
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
In Which I Come Out as a Pacifist Hippie
....and perhaps a disappointment to my father, who spent 20 years in the Army and more than 2 additional decades as a military consultant.*
The failure to repeal DADT is, in the end, hardly surprising. Others can speak far more eloquently than I about the appalling cowardice of the Democratic Party when it matters to progressive issues. Others can speak far more passionately than I about the crippling terror of the military closet.
But those aren't the real reasons I'm unsurprised about the failure to repeal DADT. In the military, young men and women are trained to reject one of the most fundamental values that families, religious communities, and communities teach them. They are trained, in short, to kill - to violate one of the Big Ten. For Christians, at least, this is a grievous sin. And our goverment supports - no, expects, DEMANDS - this from our servicemembers! Our government celebrates those who kill "the enemy."
Our culture celebrates, even valorizes, those who are most effective at violating one of the Ten Commandments. (And then we wonder why so many returning from war have trouble readjusting to civilian life.) Why, then, should we be surprised that our military also trains young men and women to reject another fundamental value - that of telling the truth? For thousands of gay and lesbian service members, they are trained - again, expected, DEMANDED - to lie about who they are, and who they love, in order to serve their country.
I'm not under any illusions: allowing gay and lesbian servicemembers to live openly will not force our culture to reexamine our lust for blood or our paradoxical insistence that we live in a "Christian nation" while training our young people to violate the commandment against killing. It will not turn us all into pacifists. But perhaps, if we are going to ask our young people to kill, the least we can do is let them be honest about who they are.
*I kid. He's proud of my ability to think independently and come to my own conclusions, even when we disagree. For my part, if anyone had to do what my dad did, I guess I'd rather it was him doing it than someone else.
The failure to repeal DADT is, in the end, hardly surprising. Others can speak far more eloquently than I about the appalling cowardice of the Democratic Party when it matters to progressive issues. Others can speak far more passionately than I about the crippling terror of the military closet.
But those aren't the real reasons I'm unsurprised about the failure to repeal DADT. In the military, young men and women are trained to reject one of the most fundamental values that families, religious communities, and communities teach them. They are trained, in short, to kill - to violate one of the Big Ten. For Christians, at least, this is a grievous sin. And our goverment supports - no, expects, DEMANDS - this from our servicemembers! Our government celebrates those who kill "the enemy."
Our culture celebrates, even valorizes, those who are most effective at violating one of the Ten Commandments. (And then we wonder why so many returning from war have trouble readjusting to civilian life.) Why, then, should we be surprised that our military also trains young men and women to reject another fundamental value - that of telling the truth? For thousands of gay and lesbian service members, they are trained - again, expected, DEMANDED - to lie about who they are, and who they love, in order to serve their country.
I'm not under any illusions: allowing gay and lesbian servicemembers to live openly will not force our culture to reexamine our lust for blood or our paradoxical insistence that we live in a "Christian nation" while training our young people to violate the commandment against killing. It will not turn us all into pacifists. But perhaps, if we are going to ask our young people to kill, the least we can do is let them be honest about who they are.
*I kid. He's proud of my ability to think independently and come to my own conclusions, even when we disagree. For my part, if anyone had to do what my dad did, I guess I'd rather it was him doing it than someone else.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Sabbatical Goodness
Dear friends, I am off to Costa Rica for the next month, living with a host family and learning Spanish. I am only slightly terrified, as I know about 40 words in Spanish and won't know anyone in this program. And my darling Backbencher and I will be apart for the whole month. If you live in the area, please ply him with food and drinks in my absence.
You can expect that posting will be non-existent during that time, but I might surprise you....
You can expect that posting will be non-existent during that time, but I might surprise you....
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Congratulations California!
We here at Casa LiturgyGeek frequently miss The Pocket Mardis, a delightful blog run by a friend. Happily, Mardis still regularly posts pithy comments on Facebook, and today made me laugh out loud. In response to the ruling declaring California's Prop 8 unconstitutional, Mardis wrote: "Congratulations, California: You're finally almost as cool as Iowa."
As a native Californian now living in Iowa, I could not be prouder that where I currently reside, adults are free to marry, and today I am delighted that my home state is one step closer to the equality we've been living with for the past 16 months.
As a native Californian now living in Iowa, I could not be prouder that where I currently reside, adults are free to marry, and today I am delighted that my home state is one step closer to the equality we've been living with for the past 16 months.
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Better a Delay Than a Disaster?
Our college cross-country coach, Coach Page, was a fount of vaguely useful information that I've grown to appreciate more and more over the years, even if at the time we thought he was kind of a goof. Thanks to him, I know that the easternmost state is not Maine but Alaska, and I'm always filled with some trepidation now that I no longer routinely pack the "Big Five" when I travel (towel, soap, toilet paper, padlock, and sunscreen).
Coach Page was also fond of reminding us, whenever we were stuck in traffic in NYC or Newark, "Better a delay than a disaster." I had occasion to remember these words during my sabbatical travel a couple of weekends ago. Returning home from the Great East Coast Baby Tour via train, I was deeply engrossed in a novel given to me by one of my friends (Let the Right One In, if you're interested - a painfully poignant literary novel) and did not think much that we were stopped at a station for what seemed like a longer-than-usual stop. I assumed it was a smoke break until we learned that there was indeed a delay and we could get out and stretch our legs for a while.
We soon heard the rest of the story: a freight train a few miles up had struck and killed a person. The investigation and recovery would take some time. And, of course, life would never be the same for the family of the one who had been hit. Speculation was rampant regarding the nature of the death - no one assumed it was accidental, and there was even some annoyance at the "selfishness" of the individual. Incomprehensibly, one man began to describe for me the nature of the clean-up task when trains hit cows. (I stopped him quickly, and crassly, as I told him I did not need the details, having already walked this journey with a friend whose son was killed by a train.)
What happens when your delay is someone else's disaster? As impotent as it sounds, you pray and pray. Which I did, off and on, for the rest of that journey. And still do. I invite you to pray for the family of Nicholas Van Alstine. Trusting that God has received Nicholas into the arms of love, grace and wholeness, pray that his family will have the consolation of the Holy Spirit, and the abiding presence and gentle comfort of friends for a long time to come.
Coach Page was also fond of reminding us, whenever we were stuck in traffic in NYC or Newark, "Better a delay than a disaster." I had occasion to remember these words during my sabbatical travel a couple of weekends ago. Returning home from the Great East Coast Baby Tour via train, I was deeply engrossed in a novel given to me by one of my friends (Let the Right One In, if you're interested - a painfully poignant literary novel) and did not think much that we were stopped at a station for what seemed like a longer-than-usual stop. I assumed it was a smoke break until we learned that there was indeed a delay and we could get out and stretch our legs for a while.
We soon heard the rest of the story: a freight train a few miles up had struck and killed a person. The investigation and recovery would take some time. And, of course, life would never be the same for the family of the one who had been hit. Speculation was rampant regarding the nature of the death - no one assumed it was accidental, and there was even some annoyance at the "selfishness" of the individual. Incomprehensibly, one man began to describe for me the nature of the clean-up task when trains hit cows. (I stopped him quickly, and crassly, as I told him I did not need the details, having already walked this journey with a friend whose son was killed by a train.)
What happens when your delay is someone else's disaster? As impotent as it sounds, you pray and pray. Which I did, off and on, for the rest of that journey. And still do. I invite you to pray for the family of Nicholas Van Alstine. Trusting that God has received Nicholas into the arms of love, grace and wholeness, pray that his family will have the consolation of the Holy Spirit, and the abiding presence and gentle comfort of friends for a long time to come.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Special Friends of the Blog
Emily and Tim are very special friends; she's a UCC minister I've known for a decade, and he's a Lutheran seminary graduate and all-around genius. They are in Jerusalem for the next year and just finished a dig. They are thoughtful theologians, deeply faithful people, and deserve a wide audience. Please follow their blog here and tell your friends.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Miracles on Sabbatical
I am on sabbatical for the next three months. I'd love this to mean that I'd actually have time to blog, but that might be optimistic to the point of falsehood. I will be teaching a class at my old seminary on leadership in a smaller-membership congregation, learning Spanish in Costa Rica, practicing Spanish in Peru, and baptizing a few babies during this time. I will also be reading, praying, living.
A gem came my way today as I was talking with a friend about her dying relative. I said that I would pray for all of them, and that while I could pray for a miracle, I didn't sense that was what was wanted or needed. My friend said, "You can pray for the miracle of peace." Peace in this friend's relative's dying, peace in the hearts of the survivors, peace in the journey to death.
It was such a wonderful nugget that I had to share with you. May you experience the miracle of peace in your life today, if only for a moment.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Generous-Hearted Children
At our church, the person who brings the elements for Communion typically, but not always, helps serve at the table. When that person chooses not to, I ask another person to serve with me. Since part of the job of the minister is to nurture "call," I often ask one of the youth (or adults) who I think has the gifts for pastoral ministry.
This morning, I made an assumption that the person who brought Communion would not want to serve and so I asked one of our youth, G. She agreed, and we practiced what she would say while holding the chalice. Just before worship started, the woman who brought Communion came up to me to ask me what she was supposed to say. "Ooops!" This woman, Mrs. N, is a dear soul and in the early-to-middle stages of Alzheimers, so it actually would have been more confusing to explain the situation to her and ask if it was okay to let G serve.
I turned to G and said, "G, I'm terribly sorry. I made an assumption that turns out was wrong. Mrs. N would like to serve Communion after all, and since we usually let the person who brought Communion help, I really need to honor that. I hope you aren't too disappointed." She said, "Nope, that's fine" so cheerfully that I just wanted to hug her. Grace abounding from my mistake. I assured her that the next time I needed a Communion server, it would be her.
She smiled and said. "That's fine. I was actually wondering how I was going to get to take Communion since I was serving." And this is where it gets really good!
I asked, "Did you think you weren't going to get Communion because you were serving it?"
"Yes." (Everyone in our church gets to take Communion, no matter their age, membership or baptismal "status.")
"So, you were willing to sacrifice taking Communion in order to help serve the rest of the church?"
"Yes."
She did not understand why I started to cry at that moment.
Generous-hearted children like this are what keeps the faith Christ has entrusted to us alive and growing, even in the midst of declining membership and giving. Generous-hearted children like this know what it means to serve, to minister, to care, and they do it without weighing costs and benefits. Perhaps she does not love Communion the way I do, but considering the way our children race forward to receive the bread and juice, I think it more likely that she was willing to sacrifice participating in the feast of God's presence in order to facilitate that presence for others.
Fortunately, she also learned that those are not mutually exclusive. So the next time I need someone to serve with, I will ask G. And when we have finished serving the congregation, we will turn and serve each other the feast of God's presence. And today, I leave church overflowing with the fullness of that Presence, thanks to G.
This morning, I made an assumption that the person who brought Communion would not want to serve and so I asked one of our youth, G. She agreed, and we practiced what she would say while holding the chalice. Just before worship started, the woman who brought Communion came up to me to ask me what she was supposed to say. "Ooops!" This woman, Mrs. N, is a dear soul and in the early-to-middle stages of Alzheimers, so it actually would have been more confusing to explain the situation to her and ask if it was okay to let G serve.
I turned to G and said, "G, I'm terribly sorry. I made an assumption that turns out was wrong. Mrs. N would like to serve Communion after all, and since we usually let the person who brought Communion help, I really need to honor that. I hope you aren't too disappointed." She said, "Nope, that's fine" so cheerfully that I just wanted to hug her. Grace abounding from my mistake. I assured her that the next time I needed a Communion server, it would be her.
She smiled and said. "That's fine. I was actually wondering how I was going to get to take Communion since I was serving." And this is where it gets really good!
I asked, "Did you think you weren't going to get Communion because you were serving it?"
"Yes." (Everyone in our church gets to take Communion, no matter their age, membership or baptismal "status.")
"So, you were willing to sacrifice taking Communion in order to help serve the rest of the church?"
"Yes."
She did not understand why I started to cry at that moment.
Generous-hearted children like this are what keeps the faith Christ has entrusted to us alive and growing, even in the midst of declining membership and giving. Generous-hearted children like this know what it means to serve, to minister, to care, and they do it without weighing costs and benefits. Perhaps she does not love Communion the way I do, but considering the way our children race forward to receive the bread and juice, I think it more likely that she was willing to sacrifice participating in the feast of God's presence in order to facilitate that presence for others.
Fortunately, she also learned that those are not mutually exclusive. So the next time I need someone to serve with, I will ask G. And when we have finished serving the congregation, we will turn and serve each other the feast of God's presence. And today, I leave church overflowing with the fullness of that Presence, thanks to G.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Added to the Blogroll
Duke Divinity's Faith and Leadership Blog. I could waste a few days here catching up, but I have too much to do today.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Another Great Blog
Is here, at Dirty Sexy Ministry. I think that my UCC twin would especially enjoy this blog, but I liked it for the running post I read a week or so ago. Kicked my prayer life into a much-needed gear.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Leave the Shellfish Out of It, Please
Dear secular progressives, even Christian progressives, and all the rest of you GLBT allies who use the Bible to support the cause of equality,
I thank you for your work trying to help people of faith see the logic in supporting civil equality for our GLBT brothers and sisters. We are in this work together, and I am grateful for the ways that you support families like mine.
One quibble, friends. When you are using the Bible to argue that lots of stuff in the Hebrew Scriptures (aka Old Testament) are no longer binding on Christians, please, please, please do not bring up the shellfish argument. You know, the one that begins, "Well, do you eat shellfish and wear clothing of mixed fibers? Then you, too, are violating the Levitical Codes and have no room to speak about homosexuality." By all means, use the clothing argument all you want - beat it into the ground for all I care. I will even give you what I believe is a compelling argument as to why the abomination of mixed fibers is a moral issue for us today.
But please, please, please, leave the shellfish out of it. Acts 10 specifically addresses how Peter is commanded by God to eat non-kosher foods, and the implication is clear that the church is released from this obligation of the Holiness Code. (Which is part of why most Christians don't keep kosher.)
When you continue to use the argument that because Christians eat shellfish, they are in violation of the Holiness code, you just sound ignorant of the Christian story. And while the odds are slim that you are ever going to win over evangelical/fundamentalist Christians anyway, using this argument closes the door for them to listen to anything you have to say, because they just assume you "don't get it."
If you want to use the clothing argument, be prepared to hear, as I have often heard, that some of the Holiness Code is still in effect (you know, especially the stuff about same-sex genital contact) because it is about MORALITY, while some of it isn't because it was about how people understood hygiene or some other "time-bound" or culture-bound rules. When that rebuttal comes your way, go ahead and ask whether or not God cares about the kinds of cloth that touches the skin of God's people. If people are created in God's image and we are vessels of the Holy Spirit, then it stands to reason that God really, really cares how our bodies are attired. Therefore, one would think that the mixed-fiber commandment is, indeed, a MORAL issue. (If nothing else, you may convince some folk to wear more all-natural hemp fabric.)
In the end, however, one of the best arguments I've heard about welcoming our GLBT friends and family members comes from Christian singer-songwriter Jennifer Knapp, who recently came out to the chagrin of many in the Christian community. She said in an interview with CNN, "I would rather be judged before God as being an honest human being. If I am in any way unpleasing in his sight, I can only hope and pray that he gives me the opportunity to find who I am supposed to be."
Bless you, Jennifer, on your life, your music and your witness. May God continue to be pleased at your honesty and the integrity with which you live your life.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Raising Up Progressive Christian Youth
For the past couple of years, we've had a "youth group" for our 4-7th graders. It's expanded from 3 to about 12, with 9-10 coming regularly. We have snacks, a check-in, some Bible study, and then usually a game or topic to explore.
Last week, somehow we got on the conversation of homosexuality. (I may have mentioned something about my moms, as I sometimes do as a matter of course - they are my parents, after all.) Here's the funny thing: the kids didn't get squicked out by this information, even if they reacted as if it was the first time they were hearing this (it isn't, but I've learned that kids don't really have a memory for this sort of thing unless they were to actually MEET my moms). One of the kids wanted to know why some churches taught that homosexuality was wrong. "I mean, God made everyone, right?" she asked. "So saying that God doesn't love gay people or doesn't accept them means that God doesn't accept what God made."
She was very insistent on this point, repeated it several times, and continued to express her utter disbelief that a church could fail to teach anything other than this obvious (to her) truth.
I'd love to say, "Where did this all come from?" but I know where it comes from. It comes from a congregation that has welcomed 4 same-sex couples in the last year alone (please remember we are in a small town in rural Iowa, so even one couple, same-sex or opposite-sex, qualifies as a pretty big deal), a church and pastor that has married 8-9 same-sex couples since marriage equality came to our state, a minister that supports the full inclusion of GLBT persons into the full life of the church (and who has two moms), a church community that wrestles with this issue and consistently chooses hospitality and welcome over total unanimity, families who are drawn to this church precisely because of our pattern of extravagant welcome, and a denomination who supports the work of a) wrestling with difficult texts, b) coming to a variety of conclusions as a result of that wrestling, and c) not coming to easy answers but rather a continual stretching and general comfort with ambiguity.
It comes from other parents who are unwilling to judge GLBT persons and modeling that behavior in church. It comes from this child's own parents, who are extremely comfortable with all sorts of difference. And it comes from the Spirit of God in this youth, who is (like so many of her peers) deeply concerned with fairness, equality, and sharing God's love.
In short, I'm realizing that our youth are being formed and transformed in the very ways we have hoped, prayed, and worked toward for many years. Thanks be to God!
Last week, somehow we got on the conversation of homosexuality. (I may have mentioned something about my moms, as I sometimes do as a matter of course - they are my parents, after all.) Here's the funny thing: the kids didn't get squicked out by this information, even if they reacted as if it was the first time they were hearing this (it isn't, but I've learned that kids don't really have a memory for this sort of thing unless they were to actually MEET my moms). One of the kids wanted to know why some churches taught that homosexuality was wrong. "I mean, God made everyone, right?" she asked. "So saying that God doesn't love gay people or doesn't accept them means that God doesn't accept what God made."
She was very insistent on this point, repeated it several times, and continued to express her utter disbelief that a church could fail to teach anything other than this obvious (to her) truth.
I'd love to say, "Where did this all come from?" but I know where it comes from. It comes from a congregation that has welcomed 4 same-sex couples in the last year alone (please remember we are in a small town in rural Iowa, so even one couple, same-sex or opposite-sex, qualifies as a pretty big deal), a church and pastor that has married 8-9 same-sex couples since marriage equality came to our state, a minister that supports the full inclusion of GLBT persons into the full life of the church (and who has two moms), a church community that wrestles with this issue and consistently chooses hospitality and welcome over total unanimity, families who are drawn to this church precisely because of our pattern of extravagant welcome, and a denomination who supports the work of a) wrestling with difficult texts, b) coming to a variety of conclusions as a result of that wrestling, and c) not coming to easy answers but rather a continual stretching and general comfort with ambiguity.
It comes from other parents who are unwilling to judge GLBT persons and modeling that behavior in church. It comes from this child's own parents, who are extremely comfortable with all sorts of difference. And it comes from the Spirit of God in this youth, who is (like so many of her peers) deeply concerned with fairness, equality, and sharing God's love.
In short, I'm realizing that our youth are being formed and transformed in the very ways we have hoped, prayed, and worked toward for many years. Thanks be to God!
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