Job and Responses to Human Suffering

Our church is off-lectionary right now as we explore the book of Job.  The readings for Sunday, July 31, 2016:

Job 3:  1-10, 4:  1-9, 7:  11-21

The book of Job wrestles with a great theological question:  why do the righteous suffer?  It's a question that still seems relevant today.  I would modify it a bit:  why do some people have such suffering in their lives, while others go through life relatively unscathed?

We see in the response of Job's friends a response that many of us might still espouse today:  people suffer because they deserve it--what goes around, comes around.  We reap what we sow.

But of course, the problem with that response is that some people suffer far out of proportion to any wrongs they may have committed.  So often in a human life, the punishment does not fit any wrongdoing. 

I wish I had a tidy theological answer, but I don't.  Many of us like the views of the friends in Job because it suggests that some of our lives are within our control.  But most of us, especially as we get older, realize how little of a human life is up to the human actor.

We see Job's response, which is a typical human response to the question of human suffering.  Job asks why, Job laments, Job wishes that he'd never been born.  Psychologists would likely tell us that these responses are quite common.

I find it refreshing that Job, the most righteous of men, has these responses.  I like knowing that even the righteous have their breaking points--it makes me feel a bit more O.K. about my own breaking points.

So, if we all must suffer, then what?

This realization leads us to a more pressing theological question:  where is God in all this human suffering?  We will wrestle with those questions in the coming weeks.

How Would Jesus Vote?

This week brings us to the end of two political conventions.  It will be interesting to see how the political landscape now changes--or doesn't.

I have always been interested in the intersection between faith and politics.  How does our faith inform our voting choices?  How important is it to have a candidate who shares our faith views?  Can we see a candidate as moral, if our faith views don't align?  How important is behavior?

I am intrigued by the various responses to Donald Trump.  Clearly, if there's a faith community who formed him, we don't know what it is.  He doesn't spend regular time with any community whom I would recognize as faithful to a religious tradition, although perhaps they are--could it be that they're just not comfortable talking about their faith?

Trump has a long reputation for not making good on his promises, for stiffing contractors and various types of small business owners--my faith tradition would not see this behavior as meshing with a man who is faithful.

Of course, for every person with  a betrayed-by-Trump story, we might be able to find one where Trump went above and beyond the call of duty.  This man has had numerous family configurations--is it telling that no family member has emerged to tell a horror story?

I can do this same analysis on the Democratic side.  I believe that Hillary Clinton has stayed true to many of her Methodist values--but why is it so hard for her to just tell us the truth about some of the issues which have threatened to sink her?

So, how would Jesus vote?  I believe that Jesus would look at all of our power structures and analyze who is helped and who is hurt.  I believe his vote would be with the ones who would look out for the ones who are outside the power structures.

I will be listening closely for those messages in the hundred days before I head to the voting booth.

Lessons from Saint Martha's Feast Day

Today is the feast day of Saint Martha, one of the few named women of the Gospels.  You may remember her from the story in Luke, where she hustles and bustles with household chores and grows ever more exasperated with her sister Mary, who isn't helping. 

For a theological approach, see this post.  I've written about her frequently through the years.  Today, I want to think about Martha and her lessons for those of us who are trying to carve out a life with more meaning.

At first glance, it's counterintuitive.  Martha is not living a particularly creative life or a life with depth.  How can she?  She's much too busy trying to manage and micromanage.  And therein lies the lesson.

Martha scurries around so much that she can't be present for Jesus. How often are our current lives similar? We often get so consumed by the chores of our daily life that we neglect to make time for what's really important.

Keep in mind that even though the story revolves around women, men are not exempt from this paradigm. All humans must wrestle with the question of how to balance the chores that are necessary to sustain life with the other kinds of nourishment that we need so desperately. Unfortunately, often the chores win.

I can hear some of us shrieking by now: "Yes, but those chores must be done!" Really? Are you sure? What would happen if you didn't vacuum this week? What would happen if you wore your clothes an extra time or two before laundering them? What would happen if you surrendered to the dust?

Jesus tells Martha that she worries about many things, and the implication is that all of the issues that cause her anxiety aren’t really important. It's a story many of us, with our increasingly hectic lives, need to hear again--maybe every day.

We need to be reminded to stay alert. Busyness is the drug that many of us use to dull our senses. For some of us, charging through our to-do lists is a way of quelling the anxiety. But in our busyness, we forget what's really important. We forget to take time to work on the creative aspects of our lives that matter most to us.

Give up one chore this week and use that time to return to an activity that matters.

There's one other story about Martha that gives valuable instruction for those of us struggling to find our creative lives.  We also see Martha at the story of Lazarus, her brother, who has been dead in the grave for several days when Jesus comes.  She is convinced that her brother would still be alive if Jesus had gotten there in time.  And she's worried about the smell when Jesus orders the grave opened.  Here she is, about to witness a miracle, and she's worried about the social niceties.  She wants a miracle, but she wants it on her terms.

I see the same thing in many a creative life.  I've had chapbooks chosen for publication, but I yearn for a book with a spine.  When I get the book with a spine, I expect to yearn for something else yet again.  We live in a time where distribution of words is miraculously easy--and yet I often wish that someone else would do the hard work.

I've seen friends who finally get the book deal, and then they complain over items that seem minor to me, issues of copyediting which baffle me as I watch the battles from the sidelines.  I see so many instances of creative types trying to micromanage the miracles coming their way.

I see similar dynamics in many a person's struggle to discern what's important and what's not--and in larger institutions too.  We see churches that wish for more attendance, while neglecting to rejoice in the relationships that a smaller church encourages.  I see people with an idealized view of family life who cannot relax into the family that actually exists around them.  I know many a person who doesn't appreciate a job until it's gone.

 I have hopes that our lives will follow the model of Martha.  Even though she seems slow to understand the lessons of Jesus, he doesn't get exasperated and send her away.  He continues to try to shape her, gently and insistently.  He tells her that she worries about many things, but that her sister sets a good example.

The sister, Mary, is fully present.  My hope for us all is that we, too, can be fully present to our lives, to that which needs us to bring it into the world.

Hearing the Call: The Spiritual Director Version

I have a memory of being at Mepkin Abbey, and talk turned, as it so often does, to alternate careers.  I talked about being a spiritual director.  My friend said, "Do you realize how often you talk about being a spiritual director?  Maybe you should look into that."

I thought of that friend last week when I had a conversation with a different friend about what I would do if this job ended suddenly.  I said, "I would be a spiritual director."

I always feel like I'm blurting out something shameful, but I'm guessing that by now, people who know me are not surprised to find my thoughts running in that direction.  I used to think that being a pastor was the way to do more spiritual direction, but I've come to realize that the duties of many pastors don't leave much time for individual spiritual direction.

Yesterday, an Admissions person came to me with a transcript.  She wanted to see how many of the classes the student could use at our school.  I said, "This person got a degree in pastoral counseling.  You don't see that very often."

The Admissions person said, "You have that degree too, right?"

I was a bit surprised.  I said, "No, just a regular English major kind of degree.  If I went back to school, I might get this degree."

After I was done answering her questions and she went back to her desk, I prayed: "So, Holy Spirit, you do move in interesting ways."

When I was a teenager, going to Lutheran youth groups, and when I was in college, we talked often about what God calls us to do.  I always thought of "the call" as something big and dramatic, bushes bursting into flames, dreams that are clearly God and not delusion.

But now I'm thinking that the call can come in the form of persistent yearnings that go underground for awhile and then pop up when people say, "So, what will you do next if this job collapses?"

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

I ran this commentary last week--turns out, I was ahead of myself. 

The readings for Sunday, July 31, 2016:

First Reading: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm: Psalm 49:1-11 (Psalm 49:1-12 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Second Reading: Colossians 3:1-11

Gospel: Luke 12:13-21

Here is another Gospel where Jesus tells us how to live, and he does it both directly ("Take heed and beware of all covetousness; for a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions") and through the use of a parable.

In this parable we meet a common figure in Jesus' parables, the person saving up treasures on earth. Recognize yourself? We've moved away, many of us, from needing larger barns, although I've met more than one person who moved to a bigger house, just to have room to put all their stuff. In fact, the average square footage of new construction grows increasingly large, while the US family grows smaller. Barn, silo, house--it's all the same to Jesus. And it all goes back to the human need for security. We store up treasures because we're so afraid of the future.

Jesus comes to preach the radical Gospel of sharing. One aspect of his good news is that we have a Creator who will provide for us. That news is supposed to free us up to give away what we have. Not just our surplus, but all of it.

Most of us don't even do a good job of giving away part of what we have. We're not good at sharing. We're good at hoarding, although if you look at the US savings rate, you might argue we're not even good at that. Most of us fill our longing for security by buying more and more and more--and wondering why we feel so empty.

Usually, as we get more money, we want more money. We turn our attention to building our wealth and securing our wealth--and it takes a lot of time and attention. That process takes time and attention away from what matters: our relationship with God and our care for God's Kingdom.

Does that mean we shouldn't save our money? More and more, I've come to think that if we save more than we give to charity, we're on shaky spiritual ground.

Let me be the first to admit. I DO save more than I give to the poor. I'm working towards getting to the point where I give equal amounts to the poor and to my savings account. But I truly think that I'd be better off if I gave MORE to the poor and less to my savings. I agree with Archbishop Desmond Tutu who said that the unequal distribution of wealth across the globe is the greatest moral crisis of our time. I'd like to be a one-woman redistributor of wealth. But I'm not there yet.

Again and again, Jesus calls us to recalibrate our values. Again and again, Jesus reminds us to turn to God. Even if we're not ready to embrace the vision that Christ has for us, even if we're not ready for full throttle Kingdom living, we can move that way. We can boost our charitable contributions. We can leave bigger tips. We can give change to panhandlers. We can invite the lonely over for a meal. We can speak up in support of the poor (advocate for affordable housing? tell our senators and representatives to fund the food stamp program? there are so many possibilities). If we're not ready to let go of our assets, we could think about how our investments could be used to support our values. Instead of giving each other stuff for every holiday, we could think about what it is we really want: maybe we want charitable contributions, or maybe we want to agree to go on a spiritual retreat or a pilgrimage, or maybe we want a prayer partner.

As with all movement, it's amazing how a small change in direction changes our trajectory over the course of a lifetime. At the very least, we can meditate on passages like these, and pray for the strength and courage to trust God and not our money.

Love in a Time of Political Conventions

We know that others have gone before us on this path.  They leave us signposts, hidden in the corners:

We make our own way, but we know that others are near:

We remember the wisdom of the elders: 

As the politician told us:  "This understanding of love is embodied in the African saying: 'If you want to go fast, go alone, but if you want to go far, go together.'”  (Cory Booker at the DNC):

What We Talk About When We Talk About Job

This week, our congregation begins a multi-week study of Job.   We began with Job 1:  1-22, which lays out the plot of the story:  Job is prosperous, and Satan has a proposal for God, to see how much heartache Job can take.  The rest of the story may be familiar to us:  Job suffers many trials and tribulations, while God and Satan look on.  Job's friends and families get a voice.  What will happen?

Before we get too far into the story, let's talk about some basics.  We will get into spiritual trouble if we take this story literally.  Remember that Lutherans believe in the truth of the Bible, while acknowledging that it may not be a literal truth or a historic truth.  What is the truth of this story?

Many of us may have felt as if God--or Satan--plays a game of chance with our lives.  I've heard more than one parishioner tell another that if we just pray enough, God will solve the thorny issues which plague us.  We've been told, by well meaning people, that God will never send us more than we can stand--but that's theologically problematic.  If I'm a weaker person, will I avoid suffering?  No.

We may feel as if supernatural beings have taken bets on our faithfulness and sent us affliction, but do we really believe in that sort of universe?  That kind of universe scares me far more than one built on free will and humans living with the consequence of their choices--although that one scares me far more.

The book of Job addresses the issue of human suffering, but does it really set out to explain the cause of human suffering?  Perhaps it tells us about the human response to human suffering.

Most of us will suffer when we've done nothing to deserve that suffering--the book of Job explores that all-too-human situation.  But the story doesn't tell us that we suffer because God has whims and God sends us suffering to see how we'll react--that's not the God that we have come to know through the person of Jesus.  That's not the God we see throughout most of the Bible.

Poetry Sunday: "Morning in America: 1984"

Yesterday's post about Tim Kaine's social justice formation in Honduras took me back to my own social justice formation days in college.  After one argument about the USSSR, my father said, "Have you ever read The Communist Manifesto?  You should read it and find out what the Soviets really have in mind."

And so I did.  I bought my very own copy which felt very transgressive and radical.  The content of that book, however, did not seem so very radical.  And it didn't have a blueprint for the Soviet takeover of the world.

In those days, my father and I could not have foreseen the imminent collapse of the Soviet Union.  We also would not have forecast that a later political candidate, Donald Trump, would have so many connections to the current leader of Russia.

Decades later, I wrote a poem about those days.  It first appeared in The Julia Mango and in my chapbook, I Stand Here Shredding Documents:


Morning in America: 1984

I read The Communist Manifesto on the DC Metro,
surrounded by commuters going to their downtown jobs
and tourists in town to see their government in action.

I wear sensible shoes and my hair in a braid.
I work in a tough part of town, that summer
that DC has the nation’s highest murder rate.

That season is also the one when the social
service agency runs out of resources. My summer job:
to answer the phone, to tell the downtrodden there is no money.

Between calls, I return to Marx. I picture
him, prowling the streets of Europe, winding up in the British
Museum, where he could write and stay warm.

I write my own poems. I imagine they will change
the world, that all I must do to rid the planet of injustice
is to point out the inequities, nothing to lose but our chains.

Church Training and Political Readiness

I am intrigued by several aspects of Tim Kaine, newly picked to be Hillary Clinton's running mate.  If you're looking for more analysis of the Republican National Convention, see this blog post.  But since this is my theology blog, let me focus on some of the religious aspects of Kaine:

--He took time off from law school to go with Jesuits to Honduras.  That alone would be enough for me--but there's more.

--This NPR story tells us that he helped to run a school in Honduras.  He's got some education experience, presumably in the Jesuit tradition.  Hurrah!

--The same story tells us that he worships at a majority black Catholic church.  In my younger, more radical days, his Catholicism might have been a deal breaker for me--no longer.

--He sings in the choir.  I want to know about his favorite choir experiences.  I want to believe that being part of a musical group is great training to be part of a political team.

I will be interested to see how the Democratic National Convention will proceed next week.  I like that both Hillary Clinton and Tim Kaine have done social justice work.  I hope the tone of next week's politics will call us to our better selves.  This week's politics out of the Republican National Convention made me want to renew my passport and flee.

After the Demonic Possession: the Feast Day of Mary Magdalene

On July 22, we celebrate the life of Mary Magdalene. Take a minute with the reading for her feast day: John 20:1-2, 11-18.

There are many approaches to Mary Magdalene.  Some people focus on her notorious past, while a variety scholars remind us that she might have been painted with the brush of prostitution to discredit her.  I often find my mind returning to her demon possession.  Was she mentally ill?  What does the idea of demon possession have to say to modern people?

I am thinking metaphorically, not literally.  I do not believe in demonic possession, at least not in the ways depicted by modern popular culture.  But I have seen so many varieties of demons who drive us that I can't dismiss the idea by saying it's all mental illness.

One traditional approach to Mary Magdalene is to see her as one of the many healed by Jesus.  She's not the only one with demons flushed away, but she is the most famous.

I wonder if she missed the demons, once Jesus cleaned them out of her. As anyone who has wrestled with modern demons knows, our demons are comfortable, which is why it’s often hard to let them go. I imagine Mary Magdalene, in the quiet of the night, having trouble sleeping, missing the hiss of the demon who told her she wasn’t good enough.

It’s strange company, the demons that we keep inside us, but it’s often better than the loneliness of no company.

I think of Mary Magdalene, as I imagine her: always ready to let go of the annoying demon of feminine expectations, but who wishes she could summon back the demon of compulsiveness. I imagine her finding it hard to get anything done without that devil driving her ever onward.

As I think of the Easter morning story, I wonder if we’re seeing a vestige of Mary Magdalene’s possessed personality. What drove her to the tomb? I understand the ancient customs surrounding the care of dead bodies, and I understand the laws regarding dead bodies and the Sabbath. But in one Gospel, it’s only Mary who is so deeply concerned about the body of Jesus. What drives her to the tomb?

In Mary’s reaction to the man she assumes is the gardener, I recognize my own demon of anxiety. I watch her ask a perfect stranger about the body of Jesus. I watch her throw all caution and decorum away, so desperate is she to complete this task, as if completing the task will restore the world to right order.

Many of us suffer in the grip of these demons of anxiety, these beliefs that somehow, through our manic quest for control, we can keep the world from spinning into chaos. We might argue for the benefits of medication, and indeed, if it’s a matter of brain chemicals that are out of balance, we would be right.

But all too often, something else is at the root of our modern possession. Maybe we haven’t stopped to grieve our losses, as Mary needs to do in the garden. Maybe it’s the fear of loss that is coming to all our lives. Maybe it’s that insistent hiss from both inside and out that says that we will never be enough: good enough, clean enough, accomplished enough, nice enough, attractive enough, loved enough.

The Easter message comes to cast out these demons again and again. Christ reminds us that he’s here, always waiting, always watching, always ready for us. Even if we don’t recognize him, Jesus will not cast us away. It is the voice of Jesus that can silence all of our demons and help us to be at peace. Christ’s voice calls us to what’s important in our lives.

Prayer Loom in Pictures

Our church first experimented with a prayer loom for Holy Week, specifically with our Maundy Thursday service.  I had thought we might do more with it in the months that followed, but we didn't.  Happily the prayer loom was just fine left all alone.

Last week, I moved it to the arts and crafts area of VBS.  It looked like this, with the Holy Week prayer stands still there:

We had four groups of elementary school children come through the arts and crafts room last Thursday.  With each, I explained the concepts of prayer and talking to God, and how the strands of yarn represented our prayers.  The children were eager to choose their yarn and start weaving:

I talked about how we could write people's names on strips of cloth or tags of paper and weave them in.  A few children did that.

One group wove one strand of yarn and went to painting with watercolors.  One group spent the whole time weaving.  One group had some of the children interested in the loom for the whole time while the others painted.  At the end of the night, the loom was significantly fuller.

I have now moved the prayer loom and the basket of yarn to the back of the sanctuary, with a sign (which I borrowed from this site) that invites everyone to weave more prayers:

It will be interesting to see what it looks like in the months to come.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 24, 2016


First Reading: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm: Psalm 49:1-11 (Psalm 49:1-12 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Second Reading: Colossians 3:1-11

Gospel: Luke 12:13-21

Here is another Gospel where Jesus tells us how to live, and he does it both directly ("Take heed and beware of all covetousness; for a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions") and through the use of a parable.

In this parable we meet a common figure in Jesus' parables, the person saving up treasures on earth. Recognize yourself? We've moved away, many of us, from needing larger barns, although I've met more than one person who moved to a bigger house, just to have room to put all their stuff. In fact, the average square footage of new construction grows increasingly large, while the US family grows smaller. Barn, silo, house--it's all the same to Jesus. And it all goes back to the human need for security. We store up treasures because we're so afraid of the future.

Jesus comes to preach the radical Gospel of sharing. One aspect of his good news is that we have a Creator who will provide for us. That news is supposed to free us up to give away what we have. Not just our surplus, but all of it.

Most of us don't even do a good job of giving away part of what we have. We're not good at sharing. We're good at hoarding, although if you look at the US savings rate, you might argue we're not even good at that. Most of us fill our longing for security by buying more and more and more--and wondering why we feel so empty.

Usually, as we get more money, we want more money. We turn our attention to building our wealth and securing our wealth--and it takes a lot of time and attention. That process takes time and attention away from what matters: our relationship with God and our care for God's Kingdom.

Does that mean we shouldn't save our money? More and more, I've come to think that if we save more than we give to charity, we're on shaky spiritual ground.

Let me be the first to admit. I DO save more than I give to the poor. I'm working towards getting to the point where I give equal amounts to the poor and to my savings account. But I truly think that I'd be better off if I gave MORE to the poor and less to my savings. I agree with Archbishop Desmond Tutu who said that the unequal distribution of wealth across the globe is the greatest moral crisis of our time. I'd like to be a one-woman redistributor of wealth. But I'm not there yet.

Again and again, Jesus calls us to recalibrate our values. Again and again, Jesus reminds us to turn to God. Even if we're not ready to embrace the vision that Christ has for us, even if we're not ready for full throttle Kingdom living, we can move that way. We can boost our charitable contributions. We can leave bigger tips. We can give change to panhandlers. We can invite the lonely over for a meal. We can speak up in support of the poor (advocate for affordable housing? tell our senators and representatives to fund the food stamp program? there are so many possibilities). If we're not ready to let go of our assets, we could think about how our investments could be used to support our values. Instead of giving each other stuff for every holiday, we could think about what it is we really want: maybe we want charitable contributions, or maybe we want to agree to go on a spiritual retreat or a pilgrimage, or maybe we want a prayer partner.

As with all movement, it's amazing how a small change in direction changes our trajectory over the course of a lifetime. At the very least, we can meditate on passages like these, and pray for the strength and courage to trust God and not our money.

Ukuleles on Retreat

Each time I post about my ukulele experiences, I am surprised by how many people respond with wishes that they, too, could learn.  Because some of these people are also people who go to the Create in Me retreat, I've wondered about teaching people some basic ukulele chords at the next retreat.

One of the joys of travelling by car is that I could bring a lot of ukuleles with me; I know ukulele musicians who would probably let me borrow instruments for half a week.

We'd realistically only have 2 days--could we learn enough so that people could go on to teach themselves?  I think so.  And more importantly, people could experiment with the instrument to decide if they like it enough to buy one.

The larger issue is one that is present at every retreat:  we offer lots of activities and lots of opportunities to try a variety of arts and crafts.  Would enough people be interested in ukuleles to justify the effort of bringing them and teaching people?

I have a vision of an initial workshop followed by several 15 minute sessions each day--if people then want to keep practicing, they can.  If not, they cement what they learn, and then they're free to try other things.

This approach might turn out to be a good way to learn an instrument, as part of a temporary community which can gather multiple times throughout the day--a luxury that most of us don't have in our non-retreat lives.

Ukulele Metaphors

Yesterday, our weeks of ukulele lessons culminated in a recital of sorts.  We played "This Little Light of Mine" as the first song of our VBS service:

I love this picture of me and the ukulele:

Yesterday was a day of church endings of several starts:  our week of Vacation Bible School came to an end with our VBS Sunday service, and our 5 weeks of ukulele came to an end.  I've been seeing church friends and acquaintances much more often than I will for the rest of the summer, as we take our vacations and go back to work/regular life and get ready for school to start.

In so many ways, it's been a wonderful time, and I'm somewhat sad for it to come to an end.  It reminds me of other high festival times, like Holy Week or Advent/Christmas.  It's been a great opportunity to have something similar in the summer, which is so often a time of vanishing/ramping down in U.S. churches.  It's been good to stay connected to people.

There's no doubt in my mind that we've deepened the spiritual lives of the VBS kids--will it stick?  I don't know, but I know the statistics:  it's these kinds of experiences, along with church camp, that are the best predictors of adult church participation.

Have we deepened the spiritual lives of the ukulele group?  To be fair, it wasn't designed to be that kind of group or experience.  It was designed to teach a group of people efficiently and to provide fellowship--it's done that.  Most of us started out with no experience, and we can now pluck our way through a song.  We'll keep meeting on the last Sunday of every month, so it's been a success, since we want to keep going.

We are also preparing ourselves for the potential of something larger:  teaching children?  becoming more of a part of worship?  We don't know yet, but we're strengthening the foundation.

In so many ways, that's a metaphor for spiritual and church life.  We gather to strengthen ourselves, both individually and as a larger group.  We know that God has gathered us for a reason, even if we're not sure what it is.  But we prepare, and thus, we are ready.

VBS Brief Retrospective with Pictures

A week ago, I was exhausted at the thought of the coming week:  work in the day, Vacation Bible School in the evenings.  And it was exhausting, but it was also good.  Here's a look back, with pictures.

On Monday, we did the project that the kids liked best:

We squirted the colored vinegar into the trays of baking soda to make bubbly colors and structures.  We could have done that all night, if we'd had more baking soda and more time.

On Tuesday, we mixed equal parts glue, water, and borax to make cave goo.  We also added some food color.

On Wednesday, I thought we'd have a calmer project, making bats out of construction paper and toilet paper tubes.  It was hard to keep everyone focused.

And so, I had some trepidation on Thursday, when we were going to experiment with the prayer loom.  But the kids really liked it.

On Friday, we decorated t-shirts with fabric markers.  I was happy to see that some of the kids were capturing what they had learned during the week.

Time is short--time to go to church for VBS worship.  I may blog more about the week later.  The prayer loom deserves a deeper exploration.

VBS and the Prayer Loom

Last night, I led the VBS children through use of the prayer loom.  I first got the idea from someone's Facebook post which led me to read this article.  I thought, let me tuck this away for Vacation Bible School.  But then my pastor wanted to build one for Maundy Thursday, so we did (see this post for more on that process).

We have 4 groups of children in a given night, groups of 7-12 children.  First we had a brief discussion about prayer and what we do when we pray.  Then I took a strand of yarn and said, "When I pray, I ask God to look out for everyone I love and everyone I don't even know.  If I know anyone is going through anything and can use help, I let God know.  For example, my dad is having surgery tomorrow to take a skin cancer spot off his forehead"  . . . I started weaving . . . "and when I pray, I ask God to be with my dad."

I also showed them how I could write people's names on strips of fabric I had prepared, but they weren't interested in those.  I used a hole punch on a piece of construction paper and wrote the name of the person I prayed for--several children followed my lead.

Through the night, I wondered if they understood the prayer aspect or if they just liked playing with the wide variety of yarn.  One group wove one piece of yarn each and then they were done--on to watercolor paint!  One group wove during the whole time.  In one group, several children wove all sorts of yarn into the loom, while others seemed uninterested.

At the end of the night, a child who is six years old came to me with a plastic lei that she'd worn all night, that she'd let her friends borrow before demanding it back.  She handed it to me and said, "You go home and give this to your dad so that he won't die tomorrow."

There was so much I could have said, but I was most tempted to explain that my dad wasn't likely to die.  But in the end, I said, "Thank you so much."

All the way home, my brain returned back to the issue of prayer, of VBS arts and crafts, of what children understand and what they don't.  I thought of the earnest child offering me her beloved lei, and I vowed to remember that children likely understand far more than I think that they do.

Prayer Looms, Politics, and VBS

Tonight, as President Obama leads a town hall meeting on race, I will be leading VBS children through use of the prayer loom.  I first got the idea from someone's Facebook post which led me to read this article.  I thought, let me tuck this away for Vacation Bible School.  But then my pastor wanted to build one for Maundy Thursday, so we did (see this post for more on that process).

I didn't unloom the prayers that we wove through the loom, so tonight we'll say a few sentences about prayer, and then we'll choose some yarn.  I'll have some big beads available too.  Then we'll add the yarn to the weaving that's already there.

I also have some cloth--we could write our prayers on cloth--but as I've been watching the children this week, I'm shifting that plan.  Maybe we'll use paper.  And instead of writing, maybe we'll draw our prayers.

This project was the one that I was most looking forward to, but I won't lie--this week has been the most exhausting VBS week that I remember.  We have large groups of children, and it's a mix of elementary school ages.  We have more boys, and they are more rambunctious this year.  It is so hard to get their attention, to keep them focused, to keep them from throwing things.

I confess that I always thought I would like to be an Art teacher in an elementary school.  I have this bucolic view of children bent over drawings done in crayon, of safety scissors snipping out interesting shapes, of clay being molded into new creatures.

I always forget that only some children would do this.  Many more would be sticking clay to each other, cutting their clothes, drawing guns to use during recess.

I hope that I have unexpected reserves of patience tonight.  This project is one that is closer to my heart, and I hope it goes well.

I will make a braid of my own.  I will weave my wishes for all the ones I love, both known and unknown.  I'll be mindful of President Obama's town hall meeting tonight, and I'll weave some prayers for healing and support for each other and a vision for a way forward into our loom.  I'll weave hopes for the VBS children and all children into the loom--in some ways, they are so very fortunate, and in more ways, this generation will face enormous challenges.

I can't solve those challenges--none of us can, all alone.  But by working together, we can weave a beautiful tapestry of solutions, a web which will hold us from the abyss.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 17, 2016:


First Reading: Genesis 18:1-10a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Amos 8:1-12

Psalm: Psalm 15

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 52

Second Reading: Colossians 1:15-28

Gospel: Luke 10:38-42


Ah, the Mary and Martha story, another story that's familiar to many of us who have been going to church through the years. It's one of those stories that provokes howls of rage from people. Like the story of the Prodigal Son, it may trip our "That's not FAIR!!!" switch. It's easy to see how the Good Samaritan is the model for our behavior. The Mary and Martha story prickles us more.

Many of us were probably raised to be the Martha. I have a friend who won't let herself even exercise until her household chores are done, so engrained is the idea of "work first, play later" into her psyche--unlike some of us, who see exercise as one of the daily chores that must be done before we can play.

Think about the last time that someone visited you. If you're like many of us, you spent the days and weeks before the visit getting ready: cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, laundry, restoring order. By the time your guests arrived, you may have been too exhausted from getting ready for them to be fully present.

That's the story we see in this week's Gospel. Martha scurries around so much that she can't be present for Jesus. How often are our current lives similar? We often get so consumed by the chores of our daily life that we neglect to notice the Sacred in our midst.

Keep in mind that even though the story revolves around women, men are not exempt from this paradigm. All humans must wrestle with the question of how to balance the chores that are necessary to sustain life with the spiritual nourishment that we need so desperately. Unfortunately, often the chores win.

I can hear some of us shrieking by now: "Yes, but those chores must be done!" Really? Are you sure? What would happen if you didn't vacuum this week? What would happen if you wore your clothes an extra time or two before laundering them? What would happen if you surrendered to the dust?

Jesus tells Martha that she worries about many things, and the implication is that all of the issues that cause her anxiety aren’t really important. It's a story many of us, with our increasingly hectic lives, need to hear again--maybe every day.

We need to be reminded to stay alert. Busyness is the drug that many of us use to dull our senses. For some of us, charging through our to-do lists is a way of quelling the anxiety. But in our busyness, we forget what's really important. We forget to focus on Christ and living the way he commanded us.

Give up one chore this week, and return to the Gospel. Notice that Jesus never--NEVER--focuses on the household chores. Jesus doesn't say, "Blessed are those who keep a clean house, for those have already possessed the Kingdom of God."

You may think that Jesus said, "Cleanliness is next to godliness." Jesus did not.

All of our busyness takes our focus away from God. God will not appear with white gloves to assess our spiritual progress by way of household upkeep. The assessment of our spiritual progress will focus on much more serious issues than those.

All those chores keep you away from your earthly relationships. Jesus called on us to care for the poor and the dispossessed, not the dusty objects that clutter our houses.

Jesus reminds Martha that Mary has chosen what’s important: listening to God. What are you choosing today?

Oh Me of Little Faith

Last night was the first night of Vacation Bible School, and I confess I had been feeling anxiety.  We are trying new crafts--"cave slime" made from glue and borax and "soda-lightful bubbles" with trays of baking soda and colored vinegar.  I am anxious about how it will all work.  I have a back up plan--watercolor paints.  I usually try new projects, but they're usually activities that I've done with adults, and so my anxiety is about how kids will react--not about my inability to visualize the process or my ability to visualize disasters.

So I went to church last night with no real sense of how it would work.  I mixed food color into the vinegar, which I had poured into small bottles.  I spread newspaper across the tables.

What is the purpose of this project?  We talked about how faith in Jesus gave us hope, and hope is a bubbly thing.  Then I squirted the colored vinegar on the baking soda, and we watched it fizz.  Then everyone got their own trays and got to play--part science project, part art.

The kids delighted in the colors, which they mixed.  Some kids liked a soupy mixture, while others tried to make clay.  As the colors swirled and sizzled, we talked about what it looked like:  "You created a planet!"  Some kids were careful, while others dove right in, leaving their hands deeply colored in purples and greens.  Some kids managed to get baking soda all over themselves.  I wonder what their parents thought of it all.

I had friends who cycled through the room, who reminded me that I was worried that kids would get bored.  We laughed at my lack of faith.  Most of these kids would have kept concocting "pictures" until we ran out of baking soda and colored vinegar.

Now it's on to cave goo--and then we're back to more traditional crafts (traditional to me, that is).  Pictures to come later.

Be Courageous

I have now been doing sketching and spiritual doodling for several months now.  As I look back over what I've created, I sometimes feel like past Kristin has sent present Kristin a message that she needs right now.

As we continue through these weeks which bring us so much news of violence and tumult, this sketch speaks to me (I created it in late April):

The quote that comes from a PBS show I was watching on the creation of the sculpture on Mt. Rushmore.

I have been reading a lot on social media and regular media, talking to people, watching the news, hearing the news on NPR, and we can all use this message right now.  We've had a week of despair and violence--now is the time to roll up our sleeves and be the transformation of society that we want to see.

I want a leader to rise up and lead us towards a better tomorrow.  I want that as much as the next person.  But in these days, it's good to remember what the ancient prophets tell us:  we are responsible for the transformation of society.  We cannot count on our societal institutions--unless we are part of them, working towards the changes we want to see.

So let us be courageous.  Let us remember the words of John the Baptist:  we are not the Messiah.  But God does count on us.  We are crucial in the work of the redemption of creation.  We may not understand how just yet.  But let us yoke our power to that of the greatest force of transformation.  Let us pray for the vision and then for the courage to move towards that vision.

Return from Exile

Our church has been off-lectionary.  We've been considering the Old Testament stories of exile--and then we get to texts where exiles return to their homeland.  Last week we had texts from Ezra, and this week we'll look at texts from Nehemiah.

We live in a time of exile, a time when more humans are on the move across the globe than any time since the end of World War II.  Our various cultures will be shaped and changed by this movement.  In our country, which is separated by vast oceans from some of the more tumultuous places on the planet, we don't always see the flow of people that places like Europe do--but it is happening.

What does it mean to return home, once the exile is over?  Will humanity wrestle with this question or will these twenty-first century migrations be permanent?

In Ezra, we see a brilliant approach to the end of exile:  give the people a big project.  Let them rebuild the temple.  The people are rebuilding an actual structure, and they're also rebuilding community as they do so.

Of course, the temple itself is soaked with meaning.  At one point, the temple has defined the ancient Hebrew people:  how they worship and relate to God and how they relate to each other, how they move through the week and how they structure their priorities.

Many people have declared that we live in a post-Christian world, a post-religious world, and in modernized countries, that may seem to be the case.  So what will give our lives meaning?

I could argue that we live in a world that seems more chaotic every day because so many are searching for some larger meaning--and without some moorings, it's easy to make choices that unravel our society, rather than knit us together.  We see many worship at the altar of violence of all sorts.  We see many decide that accumulating wealth can give our lives meaning.  We see so many turn inward, which leaves the poor and the destitute to their own devices.

I yearn for a leader who could come and give us a big, positive project to unify our society.  And yet, Ezra also shows us the danger of that:  the unification to rebuild the temple attracts the ire of the neighbors. 

Perhaps my yearning for unity is a false idol too.  We live in a time when many of us feel exiled, even if we're not physically unable to return home.  We live in a time when many of us need our metaphorical temples to remind us of what God calls us to be.  The words of the ancient prophets call us back to our truest selves.

Reassembling the Wreckage

In this time of unraveling and violence, let us remember the God who calls to us:

Let us remember that the world still contains beauty:

Let us remember the fragility of that beauty:

Let us cry our tears as we walk on this path together:

And then we must get back to the work that must be done:

Heavy Heart, Weary Mind

I woke this morning with my heart already heavy with the news of more police shootings this week.  And then I turned on the computer and learned of shootings in Dallas.

I wish I had words of wisdom; I don't.  I do take comfort from the fact that these events get coverage and that most people I know are similarly heavy hearted.  I do think that change will come.  Like many people, I wish that change would come faster.  And maybe I'm getting that wish--this piling up of coverage might lead to faster change, but that can be dizzying too.

Some people will posit that our various social media and other technology, like cameras in our ever-present phones, are hastening this change.  That statement seems true to me.  Now it is easy to document daily life, including the horrifying turn of events.

I am also taking comfort from the Facebook posts that many people would decry.  In this time of violence, I take comfort in seeing the children of friends and friends of friends who are participating in summer camp, enjoying summer pleasures, and thriving.  While all is not right with all of the world, we are not in the end times. 

There is still goodness in the world, still a world of goodness to remember on the days when the darkness swells and seems poised to overcome us.

In these days, I remember the words of prophets both ancient and modern, the words that assure us that in the darkest days, the light still burns.  We can dwell in the shadows, in the dark valleys, but we don't have to stay there.  The light beckons, and we can add our own light to it.

Swimming with the Almighty in the Dark

Today is going to be a crazy, hectic day, the kind of day where I leave the house at 7:30 a.m. and don't return for 12 hours--and not much down time along the way. 

I knew that to get any exercise, I needed to get it done early.  And so, at 5:30 this morning, I went out to the pool and started swimming my laps.  I'm not usually swimming for exercise in the dark.

As I swam, I thought about how my experience was a metaphor for life with God.  In the following meditation, is God the pool, the dark, the swimmer?  All of the above?  Something else?

As I swam, I thought about how familiar it all was and also, how different.  I was comforted by the sounds of the birds singing in the trees, and creeped out by the unfamiliar and unexpected things my fingers touched (mainly leaves, with the occasional dead bug).  In the dark, the landscape looks like I remember, yet so different at the same time.  I heard the rustle of the wind in the palm trees, and I didn't flinch, but when I heard a different scampering, my brain went to fear.

I was held up by the water, never in danger of drowning, since the maximum depth is five feet or so.  I was in the safety of my back yard.  And yet I live in an urban part of the country, with millions of people never far away.  I never truly feel safe, but I go forward, hoping for the best.

In the dark, it's easy to feel a mystical presence.  It's easier to live with the fact that I'm not as sure of my senses, especially my sense of sight, as I am in broad daylight.  It's easier to believe that there might be more, much more, beyond what my senses tell me.

There are delights that come with the daylight, to be sure.  This morning, I saw a cardinal in a papaya tree--that, too, seemed a mystical miracle.  I was eye to eye with a baby lizard, a creature I wouldn't have seen in the dark.

Let me continue to sing the delights of all creation, both the one I see clearly, and the one in the shadows.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, July 10, 2016:


 First Reading: Deuteronomy 30:9-14

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Amos 7:7-17

Psalm: Psalm 25:1-9 (Psalm 25:1-10 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 82

Second Reading: Colossians 1:1-14

Gospel: Luke 10:25-37


This week's Gospel presents one of the stories that even non-Christians are likely to have heard before: the story of the Good Samaritan. Those of us who go to church have heard it so regularly that we may have lost sight of the message. The fact that we hear it so regularly should tell us how important the message is.

We could focus on the fact that it's the lowly Samaritan (a foreigner!) who helps the victim, not the priest and the Levite, who hold high status in the Jewish society. We could focus on the victim, who, after all, invited trouble by traveling alone. In the details of how the Samaritan doctors the victim, binding his wounds with oil and wine, we see the foreshadowings of Christ's crucifixion.

But go back to the story again. Note the first few verses of the Gospel; in many ways, these verses sum up the whole Bible: Love God and love each other more than you love yourself. Most of us, when hearing those commands, say, "Great. I'm on target. Love God--check. Love other people--yup, most of the time." The story of the Good Samaritan is told to demonstrate what Jesus means when he gives us the Great Commandments. And here we see the size of the task that Christ gives us.

Many of us think of Love as an emotion, something that we feel. Here Jesus shows that that kind of emotional love is cheap, and not at all what he has in mind. We show our love by action, what we do for those who need us. It's not enough to see our fellow humans and think about how much we love them. Frankly, many of us can't even do that. Monitor your thoughts and feelings as you drive around town, and be honest. Are you really feeling love? Most of us are lucky if we can pull off feeling benign neglect. Many of us go through our days feeling murderous rage. Many of us go through our lives numbed by depression and pain, and trying desperately not to feel anything.

There's a way out of this pit. We must go through life behaving as if we love each other. We can behave ourselves into love. We don't have to start out by stopping for every crime victim we see. We don't have to start out by giving away our money. Although these are worthy goals, we can start where we are. When someone cuts you off in traffic, offer up a prayer for them. Smile at your snarling comrades at work. When someone wants some sympathy, offer it. Leave the waitstaff a more generous tip. Help out, even when you don't have to. Stop keeping track of who has done what, and you must stop right now, if keeping that list makes you feel aggrieved, because you've done so much more than everyone else. Instead of keeping track of your losses, keep track of gratitude. Share what you have, and it's especially important to share what you have with people who haven't had the lucky breaks that you have had.

In this Gospel, it's easy to see the Good Samaritan as a Christ figure: the outsider who stops to help, who takes charge of the victimized who have been left to bleed to death by the side of the road, the one who finds care for the victim and pays for it. We often lose sight of the fact that we are called to be Good Samaritans to the world. Once you start looking for opportunities to bind the wounds of the world, you'll find it easy to do that task daily. And then you'll fulfill the greatest commandment. God makes it clear that we show our love for God by loving each other.

Poetry Tuesday: "Setting Free the Fireflies"

Last night, we sat on the front porch and played patriotic/American music on our mandolins and violin.  I am amazed at how much I have retained since May.  I know now which spot on the mandolin corresponds with which note.   I picked up "This Land Is Your Land" fairly quickly last night, and I could play it without looking at the instrument too often. 

As we sat on the porch, people hiked by on their way to watch the fireworks at the beach.  It felt like old-timey, small town America--except that those people didn't live in the neighborhood--they had just parked there.

This morning, as I picked stray firecracker debris out of the pool, I was missing my grandmother and all the times my family gathered at Myrtle Beach.  I was remembering my cousin, grown with children of his own, who delighted in collecting firework debris off the beach in the morning.

I'm missing my dead family members and my living ones.  Sigh.

Lutheran theology teaches us that our dead loved ones have gone on to Heaven, but it doesn't encourage living Lutherans to talk to the dead.  The whole idea of our loved ones singing in angel choirs and watching over us--those aren't Lutheran ideas, and most days, I'm glad.

Some days, however, I wish I was part of a religion that had more communication with dead ancestors.

On those days, I turn to poetry.  Writing gives me a way of remembering, of processing my yearning for times and people and places that are gone.  Poetry gives me a way of condensing that yearning into art.

Here's a poem I wrote years ago, before my grandmother died, and even before her house was sold.  Already, I was missing it, but more than that, I was missing my childhood. It was first published in The Palo Alto Review.



Setting Free the Fireflies




The apartment smells like my grandmother’s
house in the summer,
a childhood time before air conditioners
ruled the season.
Gentle breezes,
smelling of mowed lawns
and ripening tomatoes,
lapped their way around our beds.
The nights glowed
with that candle-like quality
which comes from distant street lights
beaming through window blinds
left open to the breeze.
Long after the yeasty smells
of my grandmother’s early morning baking
dissipated,
my parents crept into the bedroom
where I slept on sheets
made scratchy
from clothesline drying.
They took my jar
of carefully caught fireflies
and set my natural nightlight
free.

Independence, Today and Every Day

Before we get too lost in our Independence Day cook-outs, our pool parties, our fireworks displays, let us remember the document that launched us on this path.

How long has it been since you read the Declaration of Independence?  Every year on Independence Day, National Public Radio airs a reading of this important document.  Go here to hear the reading and to read along, or simply to read it for yourself.

I am always struck by the importance of these ideas, still, two and a half centuries later.  The outlining of the King's abuses, sadly, still seem relevant, especially as we consider political situations across the globe.

I think about what those signers of the Declaration tried to accomplish--how far we have come, how close we are to those goals, how we've surpassed them, the progress we still have to make.  I think about people in our country who still suffer all sorts of oppression.  In the early part of this century, a commentator said that it's never been easier to own a slave, and he was talking about our country too.

I also think about people across the globe who struggle to achieve the kinds of freedoms that so many of us in industrialized nations take for granted.  It's a cliché, to be sure, but it's important to remember.

History reminds us that those liberties can fairly easily be taken away, and most of us will never blink an eye--at least until it's too late.  We live in precarious times--perhaps we always live in precarious times, but I'm more aware of it this year, with terrorist actions and the Brexit vote.

But let me not get bogged down in fears.  Instead, let me be inspired by those men who signed the Declaration of Independence on this day in 1776.  They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor, so great was their belief in what they were doing.  It's a good day to think about our commitments, our values, what we hold most true.

Of course, it's always a good day to do that--let me always be trying to live a life that's in sync with my truest values.  Let me always be ready to stake my sacred honor on principles that are that important.

Today let us pray for those who are oppressed by tyranny of any kind.  Let us pledge allegiance to our God who sets us free.

Bearing Witness

I saw Elie Wiesel when I was in grad school--it would have been in the late 80's or early 90's.  I paid nothing to go see him.  Our campus pastor knew that he was coming to Columbia, South Carolina, and he could take a group--he asked me if I wanted to go, and I said sure.

I knew who Wiesel was, but I had only read Night; I've still only read Night.  I can't remember anything about what Wiesel said the night that I went to see him at a church or a synagogue in Columbia, but I remember being inspired.  If I had to guess, I'd guess that he talked about systems of repression present in the world at that time, probably South Africa or Central America.

I'm interested in Wiesel's ideas about our responsibilities to bear witness.  When I read the discussions of many artists today, we cover lots of topics, but rarely do I hear us explore the need to bear witness.

NPR quotes him as saying about the Holocaust:   "To forget the victims means to kill them a second time. So I couldn't prevent the first death. I surely must be capable of saving them from a second death."

Sadly his views on injustice seem more relevant than ever:  "Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.  Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant."

I let go of my copy of Night long ago because I figured I'd always be able to find a copy when I needed it.  A shame--I'd like to spend the afternoon rereading it.

So, maybe I'll read a different work of witness--Angels in America is still calling me.

Mandolin Practice, Spiritual Practice

In later months and years, when I think back about these particular days, I hope I will remember this:

I hope that I keep picking up the mandolin, so that the above picture represents what we've continued to do.

A few weeks ago, we took our mandolins out of their cases, as we do every half year or so.  I was immediately frustrated and in despair about how much I had forgotten.  I dug the teach yourself mandolin book out of the bookcase to try to remember which note corresponds to which hand position.

At the end of our session, I suggested leaving the mandolins out on the guitar stands so that we'd pick them up and practice more.  My spouse agreed and added this warning:  "But if we don't practice, they go back in their cases."

So far, it's worked.  Every few days, we've picked up the mandolins and plucked out a tune.  Currently, we're working on "The Rose"; in the picture above, that's the music that we were writing on the staff.  I am thrilled that in just a few weeks of a bit of practicing here and there, I've gone from someone who can't remember anything about how the notes on the page correspond to the instrument to someone who can play a song that's recognizable.

I'm intrigued by how I might apply these lessons to other aspects of creativity.  If I only have a few minutes here and there, how might I make the most of these minutes?

I think of my grad school friend who spent the summer working as an assistant for James Dickey.  He had typewriters throughout the house so that he could be ready to go whenever inspiration struck him.

On Friday night, when the picture was taken, we watched cooking shows on PBS and practiced our mandolins, during the commercials.  PBS claims to be commercial-free, but it really just bundles its commercials to come at the end of the show--lots of time to practice. 

On Saturday, we did something similar with commercial TV--I prefer the sustained practice time that we had on Friday.

As a result of these small snippets of practice, I can now play several songs with very few goofs.   I am getting to the point where I don't need to think so much about which note goes with which fingers.

I suspect that we would see improvement with any practice, not just creative practice.  In a year, how different might our spiritual lives be if we worked spiritual practices into the small, free times in our schedules?

 Maybe if we keep going, I'll learn how to tune the mandolin too!

On Leave from Call

One of the wonderful things about Facebook is that it's allowed me to reconnect with many people from college days--classmates whose company I enjoyed, but we weren't close enough to stay in touch after college.  I've been amazed by how many of us went on to seminary at some point and became pastors.

I know a lot of pastors, both classmates from college, people I've met on retreat, people I've met through a variety of church work.  Just last Sunday, a woman asked me if I've ever considered becoming a pastor.  When I said yes, she said, "You'd be very good at it."

Over the past year or two, I've noticed how many pastors seem to be going on leave from call.  Will they return?  What will the Holy Spirit call them to do?

One former classmate who graduated with me is going on leave from call after a year of ferocious health crises for both him and his wife.  They want to move to be closer to family, including grandchildren.  I am astonished that classmates of mine have grandchildren--aren't we all just 27 years old?

I am also staggered when I make a list of all of my friends and acquaintances enduring health crises.  Aren't we too young for these kinds of grown up diseases?

I am also staggered when I make a list of all of my friends and acquaintances enduring job crises.  Some are lucky enough to be in a profession that makes provisions for these kinds of times, provisions like going on leave from call.

I'm also thinking about the whole idea of "the call," the way it has traditionally been perceived, and alternate ways of thinking about it.  Traditionally, if you talk to most pastors, they can tell you about their call. Most professions allow you to blunder in sideways, but not ministry, at least not in the main-line Protestant churches. You’re expected to be able to talk about the time you heard God calling you to ministry.

God calls us in so many ways.  What would happen if we changed our language?  Instead of being on leave from call, we said something else.  It's an odd notion, after all--that we can be on leave from what God calls us to do.

What call would make us so excited that we'd never think of leaving?  And what past callings might have worked for our 22 year old selves, but need to be forsaken by our older selves?