Hollowed Out Halloween

Here we are at Halloween, that strange day that drives Evangelicals crazy, that day that seems such a patchwork of spiritual traditions, including Wiccan and other Pagan traditions. Here we are headed towards one of the spiritually thin times/places, that space where our world and other worlds might collide.

I confess that I have misgivings about Halloween, but they're not the ones you might expect from someone who regularly writes about theological issues and the life of both the Church and my own church.

Halloween has never been that time for me. I've felt assaulted by noise and crime and adults acting foolishly and children rudely demanding candy--but never have I felt glimmers of the otherworld.

I think about all the money we spend on candy and costumes and decorations--although I'm not seeing as many decorations this year. Yes, I'm that person who thinks about all the ways that our Halloween spending robs the poor--both in money that we don't give to charity and in the ways that we set the bar so high for lower income people who can't compete on that level.

This year, to be honest, I haven't given much thought to any of these issues at all.  Unlike other years, Halloween has kind of crept up on me.  We have had record breaking heat, so it's hard for me to even process that we are at the end of October.  It still feels like August outside--82 degrees before sunrise and humid.  Ugh.

We will probably have a fairly quiet Halloween evening at home.  We are not expecting many trick or treaters. We've never had many trick or treaters, but that's O.K. with me. 

Despite our expected lack of trick or treaters, we've now eaten our way through not 1, but 2 (2!!!) bags of candy. My spouse bought them, and he ate most of them. The first bag was not a surprise, as they were fruity kinds of things--Skittles and various chewy things like Starburst. The second bag was Twix and Baby Ruths and not the kind of candy either of us would usually choose. My spouse frequently expresses his disdain for chocolate, yet he ate much of that second bag.

It's Halloween morning, as I write. We could still have a more intentional Halloween. We could spend a few moments in meditation as we light our Jack-o-Lantern candles. We could think about the gloom that we want to chase away. We could think about the light that we want to shine into the world. As we give out candy, we could say a silent prayer for each recipient: "May your days be sweet and your life be sweeter."

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 3, 2019:


First Reading: Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm: Psalm 149

Second Reading: Ephesians 1:11-23

Gospel: Luke 6:20-31

This Sunday we celebrate All Saints Day. It's a strange time of year for us Lutherans. We celebrate Reformation Day, we celebrate Halloween, we celebrate All Saints Day. To celebrate All Saints Day, we have the Gospel reading about the actions of Jesus which most frightened and disgusted some of his contemporaries. Would his actions have left modern people similarly outraged?

Think about his actions and your current life: what would make you feel most threatened? Jesus healed the sick, and most of us would be OK with that, especially if we're the sick people. We tend not to worry too much about technique or qualifications, if we feel better.

Do we feel threatened by Jesus forgiving sins? Probably not. We've had two thousand years to get used to the idea, after all. But if one of our contemporaries started traveling around, telling people their sins are forgiven--well, that's a different matter. Even if they make these pronouncements in the name of Jesus, we might feel queasy.

The action of Jesus that really seems to send people of all sorts into orbits of anger is his habit of eating with the outcasts of society. Most of us are prone to that discomfort. If you don't believe me, take a shabbily dressed person to a nice restaurant. See what happens. Suggest that your church operate a soup kitchen where the destitute will eat lunch every day; suggest that lunch be served in the sanctuary. See what happens. And it's not just your fellow church members--your local government might also chime in about what can and cannot be done on church property.

Here's the Good News. Jesus saw the value in all of us. Jesus especially saw the value in the least of us. When you're feeling like a total loser, keep that in mind. If Jesus came to your community, you'd be the first one invited to the table.

That's the good news about All Saints Day and Reformation Day. We tend to forget that all the saints that came before us were flesh and blood humans (including Jesus). We think of people like Martin Luther as perfect people who had no faults who launched a revolution. In fact, you could make the argument that many revolutions are launched precisely because of people's faults: they're bullheaded, so they're not likely to make nice and be quiet and ignore injustice. They're hopelessly naive and idealistic, so they stick to their views of how people of faith should live--and they expect the rest of us to conform to their visions. They refuse to bow to authority because they answer to a higher power--and so, they translate the Bible into native languages, fund colleges, rescue people in danger, insist on soup kitchens, write poems, and build affordable housing.

The world changes (for the better and the worse) because of the visions of perfectly ordinary people--and because their faith moves them into actions that support that vision. If we're lucky, those people are working towards the same vision of the inclusive Kingdom that Jesus came to show us.

Closing Down the Homestead Center for Unaccompanied Minors (aka Heinous Incarceration Center) for Good

On my way to work this morning, I heard an interview with a local immigration lawyer.  She's been helping the immigrant children who had been held at the Homestead Detention Center.  She delivered the news that the center has been closed permanently, at least for unaccompanied children.

Back in August, the center was closed suddenly, with children whisked away in the middle of the night.  We were told it was because of inadequate protection from hurricanes.  We were expecting children to return in November, when hurricane season winds down.  But now they won't return.

The immigration lawyer gave credit for this decision to the continuous demonstrations that happened at the center.  She specifically mentioned religious groups and other social justice organizations, along with the visits from lawmakers.  I let myself feel happy for a minute, even though I was not part of the groups camped out in Homestead and perching on ladders to report on conditions in the center.

I realize that the building will likely be repurposed.  A private prison company owns the building, and there's no shortage of opportunity to make money off the prison-industrial complex.

I realize that children will be held elsewhere, at least until this administration leaves office.  There are advantages to having a big country--one reason why I would argue for letting more people in, not less.  But there are disadvantages--it's easier to spirit children away in the middle of the night and harder to keep track of them.

I wrote these words back in August when the Homestead center closed abruptly.  I still hold onto them today, and I hope to hold onto them my whole life:  I am deeply worried that we are seeing some larger evil, and that it's so large that I can't really believe that I'm seeing it. I am strengthened knowing that I am part of a larger structure, many larger structures actually, that are committed to resisting this evil.

Interfaith Reformation Service

Our Reformation Sunday sounds like the beginning of a joke:  a Lutheran pastor, a Muslim iman, and a Jewish rabbi walk into a suburban church.  But at our church, it wasn't a joke.

We had our first interfaith Reformation service, and I suspect it won't be our last.  We also had a city commissioner and the executive director of the Florida Council of Churches.

Each one of them spoke, and the messages were what you would expect:  the value of diversity, the value of outreach, the value of community.  And the speakers weren't unfamiliar to many of us.  We've done many events with the mosque, which is in the same block as our church, and the rabbi came to an anti-gun violence worship service that we did.

I missed some of the elements of a traditional Reformation service.  We did not sing "A Mighty Fortress"--but did I miss it?  A bit. 

I volunteered to shift the worship space decorations from green to red.  But I still needed an element to fill in a hole:

I knew that we would be having an interfaith service--so what would be ecumenical and still speak to Reformation?  I thought about a flame or a labyrinth or spiral.  My spouse suggested a butterfly.  In the end, I went with what I knew I could pull off:

Here's a close up:

I though it worked nicely in the space:

Here's an even longer view:

It's simple, but I liked it.  And creating the spiral was oddly satisfying.

The Turning Point of Reformation Sunday

Fifteen years ago, I celebrated Reformation Sunday in a chapel at Mepkin Abbey.  Let me be clear:  I may have been the only one celebrating.  We had no red paraments or stoles, and nobody wore red.  We did not sing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God."  We went much further back in church history chanting Psalms the way that people have for several millenniums.

I was there with a Lutheran and an Episcopalian.  The Lutheran was relieved to have a reason not to go to the high church celebration that her congregation planned for Reformation.  She said she was in the mood for the severe honesty of the Psalms, not the self-congratulatory language that often crept into Reformation Sunday.

I was happy to be able to get to the monastery.  I'd fallen in love with the work of Kathleen Norris, and I wanted a taste of what she experienced at a different monastery.  Of course, I discovered her work years after I moved away from South Carolina, where I would have only had to travel 10 miles to discover Mepkin Abbey.  In 2004, it took a plane ride.

I've since traveled back many times.  The monastery has changed, and I have too.  After that first trip, I felt transformed.  Re-entry was tough, and I yearned to go back permanently, even as I knew it was impossible.  I know I'm not the first person to fall in love with an object we cannot have, but I don't know how many people fall in love with a monastery.

As I reflect further on that week-end, I realize it was a confluence of holidays.  That year, Reformation Sunday fell on the actual day that Martin Luther nailed those theses to the door:  October 31.  Of course, it was also Halloween.  I remember sitting on a bench where we could see across the river, and I realized that we were watching children trick-or-treating.

At one point, my friend and I walked as late afternoon was shifting to dusk, with Spanish moss hanging down off the majestic trees, and we saw two monks walking ahead of us.  They looked as much like ghosts as they looked like monks.

It was 2004, the year of a big election which was just days away, and one of the monks asked if we were going to vote.  We assured him that we would.  He said, "I hope you vote for the right one."

I've always wished that I had engaged him more, asked him to elaborate, but in those days, I worried that engaging with the monks would seem disrespectful, especially if we talked about politics.

I think that it was that visit when one of the older monks prayed that our nation would wake up to realize how morally wrong it was to send our women to fight in wars and that we would soon bring them home.  I thought about how that might have once offended me, when I was a younger woman, but as an older person, I found it touching, even as I might have prayed that we bring everybody back from a war.

Looking back, I am shocked to realize how much longer that war in Afghanistan and Iraq would last.  I am shocked that we still have troops in both countries and that it feels more like a pause than an end to those conflicts.

On Monday, November 1, I realized that the chapel had changed.  It was All Saints Day, and we gathered in a dark chapel lit by candles that morning.  There was a framed print, and I'm almost sure it was John August Swanson's River of Souls.  At that point, I'd never been part of a church that used art in that way.  We had flower arrangements and banners that had been made decades before I was born and paraments and music.  I had attended churches that changed the paraments as the liturgical seasons changed, but that was it.

That week-end, and the visits I would make later combined with Create in Me retreats, ignited a yearning to be part of a church where we did more with the various elements to deepen worship.

In a way, I am now part of a church like the one I envisioned.  It's far from ideal--I'd like to have more of a team of people who inspire each other.  I miss the interactive services that we used to have.

But at least I have a pastor and  church members who are open to these ideas.  There's no altar guild with a stranglehold on the sanctuary.  Most of the church seems to support the idea of creative elements in our church--or at least, there's not a lot of active opposition.

There are advantages to being part of a very small congregation.

This afternoon, I will have my own celebration of Reformation.  I'm going to finish my application to the spiritual director certificate program.

Maybe 15 years from now, I'll look back on this Reformation Sunday and think about the turning point of a different Reformation Sunday.

Planning for Joy

This week has been one of the more exhausting weeks of my adult life:  it began with an accreditation visit, and I haven't really recovered.  Actually, this week has been exhausting not because of the week itself, but because of all the weeks leading up to it.

I am still waiting to feel the happiness about a fairly successful accreditation visit.  Part of the reason I am still waiting is that we have shifted to some of the policing parts of my job that I like least:  who is letting their class go early, who is voicing emotions that should not be expressed to others, how to explain the need for more staffing.  It is the grinding stuff that wears me out.  It reminds me of how many of us can't rest in grace but need the harshness of law and judgment to feel comfortable.

Or maybe I'm reading theology where there is none.  The lack of theology would help explain many a situation.

Yesterday I decided I needed to insert spots of joy into my week-end.  I have plans to bake pumpkin cinnamon rolls.  I will write something that brings me joy--I have written many accreditation documents so I deserve a different kind of writing.

I will take some time to enjoy the pumpkins on the porch.  At work, I have been enjoying the pumpkins I bought for next week's pumpkin decorating station:

I even found the bewitching fabric remnant that I got a few years ago and set aside for myself:

And I couldn't resist this bit of whimsy (even though I was sad that I couldn't stay up until 8 p.m. on Tuesday to watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown):

Let me also hope for some sleep this week-end.  Part of my lack of joy and my irritability stems from deep exhaustion.

And I will also get some reading time in.  On Wednesday, my copy of Tressie McMillan Cottom's Thick arrived and I consumed half of it on the spot.  I will finish the book this week-end--the thought of doing that brings me joy, as does the actual reading.

Meditation for Reformation Sunday

Here we are at another Reformation Sunday. As we celebrate the actions of Martin Luther centuries ago, you may be wondering what we’re experiencing right here.

Maybe you’re in an angry space; maybe you’re saying, “Hey, I have some theses of my own that I’d like to nail to a nearby church door.” It’s been a tough few years for many of us, as we’ve watched our families, our denominations, and the nations of the world wrestle with various issues.

Maybe you feel a bit of despair this Reformation Sunday as you think about the Reformations you thought you were witnessing. Maybe you’re wondering what happened to all that reform. Not too long ago, we might have thought that technology would transform us—or maybe we were ancient-future folks, hoping for more contemplative elements in our services, more praying of the liturgy of the hours, more pre-Reformation elements. Maybe we wish we were Quakers and could just sit in silence.  Maybe we wish we had different programs in our church, different outreaches, different approaches.

Maybe you’re feeling irritated as you wish we could just go back to being the church that we were in the 1950’s, before so many denominations lost their way. Maybe you’re tired of being the only one at work who’s living a liturgical life.

Or maybe you’re feeling joy. Maybe you’re delighting in hearing about different kinds of intentional communities. Maybe you’re seeing a different way to do Christian education which inspires hope for the next generation of believers. Maybe you’re feeling your creativity enhanced by your spiritual practices, or maybe it’s your spiritual life that’s enhanced by your artistic practices.

Maybe you're happy with the ecumenical efforts of your church.  Maybe your church has gone beyond reaching out to other Christians, and you're thrilled with how interfaith it all is.  Or maybe you're yearning for that ecumenical piece.  Or maybe you wish we could just go back to focusing on the one element of the Christian faith that we like best.

No matter where you are this Reformation Sunday, take comfort from the knowledge that the Church has always been in the process of Reformation. There are great Reformations, like the one we'll celebrate this Sunday, or the Pentecostal revolution that's only 100 years old, but has transformed the developing world (third worlds and those slightly more advanced) in ways that Capitalism never could. There are smaller ones throughout the ages as well. Movements which seemed earth-shattering at the time (monastic movements of all kinds, liberation theology, ordination of women, lay leadership) may in time come to be seen as something that enriches the larger church. Even gross theological missteps, like the Inquisition, can be survived. The Church learns from past mistakes as it moves forward.

Times of Reformation can enrich us all. Even those of us who reject reform can find our spiritual lives enriched as we take stock and measure what's important to us, what compromises we can make and what we can't. It's good to have these times where we return to the Scriptures as we try to hear what God calls us to do.

Once the dust settles, each of the previous time periods of Reformation has left the Church enriched, but enriched in ways that no one could have predicted--that's what makes it scary, after all. As we approach Reformation Sunday, I'd encourage each of us to tap our own inner Martin Luther. What is the Church doing well? What could be changed for the better? What part can we play?

Prayers for the Last Day of an Accreditation Visit

We have served as shepherds in this process:

We have spent months at our desks to compile all the reports, on reams and reams of paper:

All is ready for the second day, the day when we hope to answer any remaining questions:

We know that we are surrounded by those who keep us in their thoughts and prayers.  They wish us well:

We have faith that we are in a labyrinth, not a maze:

I offer prayers for all who meet with auditors today.  Let our speech be true and concise.  Let us know the answers to the questions that are asked.  Let our words and actions be pleasing to all who judge us.

Accreditation Day Arrives

It is finally here--the first day of our accreditation visit has arrived.

The files have been checked, re-checked, and checked again--likewise, the binders.  The room is set up with extra electric cords and plugs.  We have food and beverages of all sorts.  If I walked into the room, I'd find it welcoming, which is my goal.

On Friday, I carried a basket of coffee pods and a basket of a variety of teas.  One of the students asked about it, and I told her that I was getting the room ready for the auditors who would be here and that I wanted them to feel welcome.  She said, "You do that really well."  And then she went on to tell me about how she really loved the campus and felt a bit sad that she was in her last quarter. 

Hurrah!

But back to today.  Let me take a moment to visualize success.  We are ready.  We do good work, and we can talk about that work in a coherent way.  We have documentation to back up our words.

Let it begin.

Aging in 30 Year Increments

When I was in my 20's, I didn't expect to ever miss being in my 20's.  The parts of being in my 20's that I do miss, now that I am 54 years old, are not what I would have expected to miss.

When I was 24, I thought that 54 year old Kristin would miss her younger body.  But since I've always had a love-hate relationship with my body, I thought I would miss my less wrinkled face and my younger hair color.  At 54, my face just has a crease here or there, and my hair has enough colors, as it always has, that the greys blend in.

Yesterday I felt pain in my shoulders and realized I had spent a week or two with my shoulders squinched up around my ears because of stress and anxiety.  That was my everyday posture in my 20's.  Happily, it is not my posture these days.

I miss the non-arthritic feet of my 20's, and the back that could go for a run shortly after rising.  But my legs and arms are still strong, and the pain in my back does ease at some point during the day.  I am grateful for spin class, which gives me a way to get a vigorous work-out without the ruinous impact on the joints of the long distance running of my youth.

What I miss most about my 20's is the sense of hope in the future, a multi-faceted future where the main difficulty I had was deciding what bright and shiny path to follow.  I'm also certain that when I was in my 20's, as now, I felt a crippling fear of making the wrong choice, missing opportunities, and such.  I'm pretty sure the 84 year old Kristin will miss the opportunities and wide vistas that 54 year old Kristin had.

I also miss the newness of my marriage that I had in my 20's.  We'd been together long enough that I no longer had that fear of screwing up. There was the hope for the future. We were still new enough to each other that we were romantic and worked hard to keep each other.

Now it's just grinding day after grinding day--no one's fault, but I miss being younger--having more time.

I don't exactly want my spouse to be different. I just want our lives to be different. I still have hope that life can be different, but exhaustion at the thought of making it different.

The one comfort that I have is that most people I know, of all ages and across the economic spectrum, are feeling the same way.  We're all exhausted.

Let me share a benediction, a prayer like hope:  Let us remember all the ways we love each other and the good qualities we have, even if they're not the qualities we wish we had.  Let us be aware of all the blessings that we have, no matter what age we're in.  Let the sorrow for what has passed away move through us quickly, leaving us grateful for what remains and hopeful for all that we have yet to discover.  Let us be alert to the possibility of discovering new hope and yet undiscovered delights, no matter what our current age and circumstances.

Butterfly Garden Gratitude Lessons

I don't want to keep starting blog posts by talking about how weary I am.  But I am so weary.  Let me also record some gratitude.

--I have been writing a bit in these days of weariness.  I have also been reading a bit.

--Yesterday I wrote this Facebook post:

"The milkweed is blooming this week--these are plants that have been eaten back to bare stalks several times since I bought them in July. They are hardy souls.

We are too.

The monarchs have returned to the milkweed to enjoy the new growth. Even the non-poets can see the metaphor."

--I have been taking very small breaks at school to enjoy the colors of the flowers in the butterfly garden.  Yesterday I took my camera.  And lo and behold, a monarch butterfly came, and I captured this great shot:

--I am in the process of finishing my application for the certificate program in spiritual direction--by which I mean that I've gotten the paperwork to the people who will write letters of recommendation.  I will write my essay over the next 2 week-ends, and have the application in the mail by Oct. 28.

--Let me remember the gratitude lessons from the butterfly garden.  Shriveled plants can regenerate.  What looks like abandonment might not be.  Concrete vistas can be transformed.

Resurrection Lessons from the Butterfly Garden

At school, for the past several weeks, I have been racing from pillar to post (what an interesting phrase!) getting ready for the upcoming accreditation visit (Monday--gulp!).  I've worried a bit about the effect of it all on the folks who aren't as much a part of the preparations.  I've tried to be present and stop whatever I've been doing when a non-accreditation task needed attention.  But I know that some of the intensity can't help but be felt by my colleagues and the students.

Yesterday one of my colleagues stopped by to say, "I thought you'd want to know that the monarchs have returned to the milkweed plants."  And we had a short conversation about how we hadn't seen the butterflies lately and how great it was to have them return.

It was a small moment, but it reminds me of how people have cared for me during these intense weeks.  There have been numerous conversations where people helped me process conversations, plans, and directives, where we came together to figure out the best approach.  You might argue that those people are just doing their jobs when we put our heads together.  I would argue that they are going above and beyond.

Similarly, the cleaning crew came in and got the accreditation room cleaned up once the drywall repair was done.  Just doing their job?  In one way--but in an important way, their thorough work meant that I had one less task.  A week ago, the decision was made to change the room, which meant that time to get it ready has been running out.

There was a point yesterday when I wasn't sure I would be home in time for my online Mepkin contemplative group.  There was talk of a complete revision of binders, but they weren't as off-kilter as an e-mail made us fear.  By the end of the day, I got home with time to spare.

We settled into our contemplative time together by describing our psychic space.  I mentioned that I was deeply tired.  I didn't plan to say this, but I did:  "We have an accreditation visit on Monday and Tuesday, so I'd appreciate prayers if you've got some to spare."

They all nodded and said they'd pray.  I was surprised by how comforted I felt.  I was also surprised that I was able to ask for prayers.  Why is it so hard for me to ask for help?  And asking contemplative Mepkin types to pray--that really isn't a burden.  Hmmmm.  Let me sit with this awhile.

The milkweed is blooming this week--these are plants that have been eaten back to bare stalks several times since I bought them in July.  They are hardy souls.

We are too.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 20, 2019:


First Reading: Genesis 32:22-31

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Jeremiah 31:27-34

Psalm: Psalm 121

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 119:97-104

Second Reading: 2 Timothy 3:14--4:5

Gospel: Luke 18:1-8


For many years, this Gospel lesson troubled me. I tend to approach Jesus' parables as teaching us something about the nature of God, so I always look for the character who is supposed to resemble God. In this parable, of course, I immediately assume that the Judge is the God stand-in. But what does that say about the nature of God? Do we really worship a God that is so distracted that he'll only respond if we beat the door down several times?

What does it say about us that we are so quick to see God as the male, corrupt judge?

Maybe God in this story is the widow. How would this change our view of God, our view of religion, if we saw God as the more helpless characters in Scripture, as opposed to an authority figure?

It's a scarier view of God, to be sure. Most of us, if we're honest, would say that we prefer God the smiter to God the helpless widow. Even viewing God as a parent allows us to abdicate some responsibility. We’re 3 year olds, after all, praying to our parent God; we’re allowed to have temper tantrums and to refuse to do the right thing.

This parable teaches us that we're to cry out for justice day and night. If you're having trouble praying, turn your attention towards the people who are suffering in this world. Pray for whichever population is being slaughtered today. Pray for the survivers of genocide. Pray for those on the run from slaughter chasing at their heels. Pray for the people, whomever they might be this week, who are suffering from a natural disaster. Pray for all who need to have continuing courage to resist dictatorship. Pray for all who sit in prisons throughout the world. Pray for the poor, beleaguered planet as it swelters beneath a merciless sun.

If the stones can cry out for justice (a line from a different Gospel), so can you. And you can take comfort from the fact that God cries out for justice right along beside you.

Remember, the parable promises a positive outcome. Go back to the first verse: "And he told them a parable, to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart." That's the lesson of the parable. Always pray. Don’t lose heart.

Parables from the Pumpkin Patch

I have often wondered about the parables of Jesus.  Most of us church going folk have heard them so often that they've lost their power to shock or surprise.  Most of us forget (or have never been taught) how shockingly bizarre they would have seemed when people first heard them.

As we were offloading pumpkins, I thought about what insight the pumpkins, the patch, and our work together might offer us.  Let me play.

The Kingdom of God is like a patch of pumpkins that have been separated from the true vine.  But as they gather together, they can remember what life was like before the separation.  They can act as if they are still connected to the life giving vine and the earth--and in doing so, they will eventually find the true vine again.

The Kingdom of God is like a patch of pumpkins.  They see themselves as vastly different one from another, and yet they are more alike than they know.

The Kingdom of God is like a patch of pumpkins:  some are big, some are small, some are deep orange, some are white, and some are shades in between.  God delights in this variety, and we should too.

What does the Kingdom of God look like?  A small church that comes together to take pumpkins off a truck.  Some of the members scramble on the truck to get the pumpkins from the back to the front.  Others walk slowly with pumpkins in their hands.  Those who can't walk create a line and hand pumpkins one to another.  Those who can't stand will help with sales.

The Kingdom of God is like a pumpkin.  It can be made into a sweet pie or a savory soup.  It binds disparate ingredients together into a whole.  It grows slowly but surely, in environments that would kill less sturdy plants--and thus, a patch of pumpkins can sustain a tribe in a harsh climate.

The Kingdom of God can be used in many ways:  the purely decorative gourd or ingested from the skin to the seeds.  The Kingdom of God can provide the nutrients and fiber to keep our bodies full.  The Kingdom of God can soothe our aesthetic yearnings.  The Kingdom of God nourishes us in ways we didn't know we needed.

Week-end Retrospective

It was a great week-end.  On Friday, we had planned to have hamburgers with my sister-in-law who is staying in our cottage.  But torrential rains had set in, so we shifted plans.  We made a quick chili mac kind of dish--or was it a spaghetti and meatballs?  It was pasta with little meatballs and several types of cheeses.  I might have put beans in it and some tomatoes.  But it was delicious nonetheless, and we ate our supper on the porch, watching the rains sweep through, catching up with each other.

On Saturday, our once in a blue moon book club met to discuss Colson Whitehead's The Nickel Boys.  This book club is amazing, even though we're only 4 people total.  They always notice some parts of the book that I overlooked.

Our host made his famous-to-us cinnamon rolls.  Yummmmm.  And we agreed that we will go down to the Arsht Center on Nov. 4 to see Ta-Nehesi Coates.  I need more of those kinds of events in my life.

I spent Saturday afternoon at the pumpkin offload at my church.  I thought it might be too humid or rainy, but the rains held off, a breeze picked up, and we got the pumpkins off the truck.  Saturday night we had our delayed hamburgers, and then we relaxed on the porch for a bit.  The porch now has pumpkins on display.  And even better, we watched the family across the street decorate their house for Halloween.  The older child, who is five, tried on a variety of Halloween costumes.  At one point, he had on a hockey mask and a toy chainsaw, and he greeted the people walking by with a friendly, "Hi!"

Sunday morning was a big event at our church.  We had the vote to see if we will sell part of our property.  The motion to sell got a unanimous vote.  I was part of the team counting the votes.  It was a drama free day, and as we all know, it could have been otherwise.

My morning shouldn't have wiped me out--I had gotten a lot of sleep from Saturday to Sunday, but I did take a 2 hour nap yesterday afternoon.  That set me up to have trouble falling asleep.  But I did get a lot of online teaching work done.  I have another class starting tomorrow, and I needed to get all the dates entered into the course shell.

And now it's off to do the bread run and spin class, and a long day at work, visiting classes to let students know that in a week, our accrediting team will be here.

A week.  Wow.  Let me get on with the work of the day.

Pumpkin Offload 2019

Today I am sore.  But it's a good kind of sore.  Yesterday was the annual pumpkin offload at my church.  We buy part of a truckload (the 18 wheeler kind of truck, not the Ford F150 kind of truck) of pumpkins that come to us straight from the fields of New Mexico.  We have to get them out of the truck and into the front grassy area.

Some years, it's taken over 5 hours.  Yesterday we did it in just under 2.  Because it was a Saturday afternoon we had a lot more help--it's been tougher in years when it's a school night.

Because it was a Saturday afternoon, we had some people we didn't know show up:  3 kids on bikes and a homeless guy   We also had teenagers of church members that we hadn't seen in awhile come to help. 

Not everyone can help.  But that's fine.  They can cheer from the sidelines or just enjoy the parade of pumpkins.

This year we got a larger amount of the smaller pumpkins.  Over the past several years, we've noticed that people don't buy the bigger pumpkins like they used to.

Because more of us are using pumpkins and gourds for decorating than for carving or cooking, we got a lovely assortment of those.  Bonus:  the littlest children can set those up, while those of us with bigger muscles can get the bigger pumpkins off the truck.

Here and there we found some rotted pumpkins.  Back to the earth they go.

At the end, we swept the hay out of the truck.  We put it on the pathways between the pumpkins.  Does it protect the grass?  Does it protect our shoes?

Some children further north get to jump in leaves.  Our children jump in hay.

This year, our pumpkin offload was tinged with even more nostalgia than usual.  There's the usual nostalgia--children whom I have known since they were in elementary school are now teenagers.

And then there's the larger nostalgia--our church is in the process of possibly selling the front part of the 4 acre property.  If the sale goes through, we will build a new structure in the back.  Where will we be this time next year?

We may be in exactly the same place, offloading pumpkins, transforming a church yard into a pumpkin patch.  We may not.

Of course, that's our situation every year.  We just aren't always as aware of it.

Noah's Offspring

Although I have been up for hours, I don't have much time left for blogging.  But that's O.K.  I have returned to writing my apocalyptic novel--what joy!  And let me be clear, my lack of writing has had more to do with my lack of time than with being blocked or scared or unsure of where to go next.

I also had an idea for a poem, which has been fun.  I've been thinking about Noah's descendants choosing their majors in college.  Of course they would be influenced by the family stories about the flood.  I'm not done with it yet, but it's been good to feel the poetry juices flowing again.

Last night we had plans to grill burgers, but the weather was rather Noah-like, so we shifted to a chili mac kind of creation.  We ate on the front porch, which was lovely--watching the rain, drinking some wine, enjoying good food.  It was a satisfying end to a tiring week.  I went to bed early, so being up in the wee small hours of the morning (even earlier than those hours, truth be told) has been O.K.

Soon I will head across town to my once in a blue moon book club.  We will discuss Colson Whitehead's The Nickel Boys.  What an amazing book.  The violence wasn't as graphic as I was afraid it would be.  We will eat amazing cinnamon rolls and enjoy good conversation and good company.

Later today I'll work off some of those calories by offloading pumpkins.  Yes, it's time to help out my church.  One of our big fundraisers is a pumpkin patch.  The pumpkins come to us on a big 18 wheeler, and we have to get them off the truck and into the front of the church.  It's as close as I get to harvest activities this time of year.

And maybe later, we'll grill those burgers.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 13, 2019:


First Reading: 2 Kings 5:1-3, 7-15c

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7

Psalm: Psalm 111

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 66:1-11 (Psalm 66:1-12 NRSV)

Second Reading: 2 Timothy 2:8-15

Gospel: Luke 17:11-19

We've spent a lot of time lately wrestling with texts which offer us guidelines for discipleship which may seem close to impossible for modern people to follow: give away our wealth? Surely Jesus didn't mean that.

This Sunday's Gospel gives us a task which should be easier. We need to practice gratitude. It seems like it should be such an easy thing, but some people find it easier to give away their money than to be grateful. We focus on the prayers that we perceive of as unanswered. We find ourselves obsessing over people who seem to receive better blessings than we do. We nurse our disappointments, our hurt, our anger. We are in spiritually dangerous territory when we do this.

If you can pray no other prayer, get into the habit of saying thank you. If you think you have nothing over which you'd like to offer thanks, think again. Do your body parts work as well as can be expected? Even if you're not in the best health, you can probably focus on something that's a blessing. Once I saw Arthur Ashe on the Phil Donahue show, where he had appeared to talk about his recent diagnosis: he had AIDS. But he seemed so cheerful, and when asked about that, he said that he focused on what his body could do. He grinned and said, "I've never had a cavity." If only more of us could follow his large-spirited lead.

When you think about what's lacking in your life, you might focus on your lack of funds. But compared to the rest of the world, you've extremely wealthy. Want to know just how wealthy? Even if you're in the lower tiers of poverty in the US, you're still fairly well off compared to the rest of the world. You're still likely to have safe water and electricity and some sort of roof over your head--even a TV!

My friend Sue used to do a type of gratitude exercise with her children. When they saw a magnificent sunset or a field of flowers or a tree ablaze in autumnal leaves, they’d yell, “Great show God!” It could be a bit startling if you were the one driving the car and not expecting this outburst. Yet the spirit was infectious. Even today, when I see something beautiful in nature, I murmer, “Great show, God.”

The beautiful thing about cultivating a garden of gratitude is that it opens our hearts in a unique way. Being grateful can lead to those other spiritual disciplines that seem so hard taken out of context. We’re saying “Thank you” more often, which puts us in a space where prayer comes more naturally. We are aware of all the blessings that we have and we’re more inclined to share. Our hearts and our brains and our hands move in unison to work with God to create the kind of reality that God wants for each of us to experience.

Shredding Iron Curtains

On this day thirty years ago, the Iron Curtain shredded.  More specifically, there were protests, soldiers didn't shoot, and one month later, East Germans began to dismantle the wall that separated them from West Germany, and soldiers didn't shoot them.  It's a story that could have had a much worse outcome.

Instead, it changed the face of Europe and the larger world.

Many people don't realize that part that prayer played in this story.  Months before the pivotal moment, a Lutheran pastor who began to hold weekly Monday meetings in his church to pray for peace. This movement spread to other churches, and soon it was a mass movement of thousands of people. Communist officials later said, "We were prepared for everything except the prayers and candles" (quote from this story on All Things Considered).  People waited for the bullets. But the power of peace defeated the forces of violence.

For more on the prayer meetings, including pictures of the church, see this post by a Lutheran bishop, Mike Rinehart.

I am also struck by the administrators who played a part in the story. In a story in The Washington Post on November 1, Mary Elise Sarotte tells about the East German official who was holding a boring news conference when he announced that travel restrictions would be loosened. The journalists immediately began to ask questions, but he hadn't read the briefing very carefully, so he made it up as he went along, announcing that the changes would be taking place immediately. The journalists reported, the ordinary citizens began to assemble, and the guards at the border were overwhelmed:

"Before long, the guards at Bornholmer Street were outnumbered by thousands of people; the same thing was happening at several other checkpoints. Overwhelmed and worried for their own safety, Jäger and his fellow guards reasoned that the use of violence might quickly escalate and become uncontrollable. They decided instead at around 9 p.m. to let a trickle of people cross the border, hoping to ease the pressure and calm the crowd. The guards would check each person individually, take notes and penalize the rowdiest by refusing them reentry. They managed to do this for a while, but after a couple of hours the enormous crowd was chanting, 'Open the gate, open the gate!"

After more debate, Jäger decided that raising the traffic barriers was the only solution. Around 11:30 p.m., the decades-long Cold War division of Germany ended.

Throughout the night, other crossings opened in much the same way."

I think of that boring bureaucrat and the blundering news conference, and I am reminded that even if we have the most dull jobs in the world where we feel like we affect nothing, we still might be an agent for social change. I think of those border guards who chose not to shoot. Even if they did it for fear of losing their own lives in the chaos that would ensue, that choice changed the future.

So in these days where many of us need hope that individuals may be able to have an impact, let us remember the autumn of 1989, where prayer spilled out of churches, people held candles, gates were opened, borders breached, and no bullets fired.

Let us remember that peaceful protests can change the world.  Let us light our candles.

Bread and Butterfly Initiatives, and All of our Arcs

Today is the last day of week one of our Fall term.   There are many difficulties with a term that starts on a Wednesday--this week, I've been feeling like we've been going through week 1 for about a month. 

In addition to the week 1 tasks, we've been getting ready for our accreditation visit.  There are binders and folders and a room to get ready. 

Today the accreditation visit happens at our Gainesville campus.  We've been hearing how ready that campus is, but it still must be a bit of a nervous time up there.  Let me send them good wishes.

In addition to this intense time of impending accreditation visit, there are all the various reports that need to be written, rewritten, and revised yet again.  And we really should be doing some of the activities that those reports say we will be doing--many of the reports are improvement plan reports, so we need to actually do the work of improvement.

I am that kind of bone tired.  I am thinking of the last few miles of the half marathon I ran back in 2001.  I remember being so thirsty and having a quarter of an orange that I kept in my parched mouth.  I just kept putting one tired foot in front of another and inched ever closer to the finish line.

Yesterday a student asked if I had an extra notebook; her mom hadn't had time to do the back to school shopping.  I said that I didn't have a notebook, but I had paper.  I gave her a legal pad.  When she returned it to me, she had written me a note, thanking me for all I did to make the school a better place.  She specifically mentioned the bread and the butterfly garden.

When I think of things I've done to influence retention, I, too, think of the bread and the butterfly garden.  I do not think of increasing the Average Registered Credit (ARC), that idea that if we could just get every student to take one more class, all sorts of problems would be solved; every male administrator to whom I've ever reported has been a big believer in increasing ARC.

Let me record a poem thought that just jabbed me.  I've been at with a group planning a retreat around the theme of Noah and that ark--let me write something that weaves together that ancient thought of an ark, and the modern idol of the ARC.  Let my subconscious chew on that--maybe on Thursday I'll have a poem.

I also thought about writing a poem in the voice of the water.  I've also thought of the fairy tale of the Little Mermaid and her sea foam destiny.  Sea foam and dead sailors and some explanation for why the sea always wants to swamp us.

I feel better knowing that I have poems percolating, even if I don't have time to do much writing these days.  Two weeks from now, we'll be at our last day of accreditation visit, and I anticipate having a bit more time and energy for other projects once we get to that point.

A Quick Trip to Lutheridge

I am back from a quick trip to Asheville, North Carolina--or more specifically, Lutheridge, the church camp just outside of Asheville.  It's very close to the airport, and Allegiant has added one more daily flight to Asheville, so it was an easy trip.

On the way up, I got to go through the security line that's easier--I didn't have to take off my shoes.  I was through the line before I knew it.  Yesterday, in the much tinier Asheville airport, I had to take the books out of my backpack and put everything on the conveyor belt in a specific order.  A female security agent patted me down and said that something about my hair had triggered the closer investigation.  Was I wearing product?  She stared into my hair, and I thought of the bit of grits that had somehow gotten into my hair at breakfast.  Happily, I was allowed to go on my way.

Allegiant is the kind of airline that charges for everything.  I paid the $20 for an exit row seat--well worth it.  I did not pay the $30 each way to be able to bring a carry-on bag.  I stuffed everything I needed into my back pack.  Since I was there only one night, it was doable.  I left my laptop at home, along with my camera, and all the various creativity supplies that usually go with me.  I wore my black jeans, which are some of the most comfortable pants I have when it's not too hot.  I left for the airport from work--otherwise, I would have worn shorts for the whole trip.

On the way up, and in the long wait in the airport before the trip up, I consumed the new Atwood book, The Testaments.  It's one of her best books since Oryx and Crake and Year of the Flood.  Wow.  I won't say much more because I don't want to ruin the book for anyone.

I flew up for a retreat to plan the Create in Me retreat, the creativity and spirituality retreat that happens the week-end after Easter each year.  I am amazed at all that we manage to accomplish in such a short period of time.

Unlike some years of the retreat to plan the retreat, I didn't have much time to do anything except for retreat planning.  But I did take a walk yesterday after lunch.  It was overcast but not rainy, and finally some autumnal temperatures.  I could take a walk in black jeans and not sweat!

In days to come, perhaps I will write more about my dreams and hopes for the future, my fears about the various climates that are impacting my life.  Today I must get on with the activities of Sunday--off to church and various church-related activities.

Traveling on Feast Days

This week has been another week of long hours at work, dizzying twists and turns in the national news, lots of grading--I begin to wonder if this kind of week is going to be more the norm than the exception.  I know it will be the norm for the next 3 weeks, as we get ready for the accrediting team visit.

This week I missed a day of blogging.  Sigh.  But I am caught up on my grading for my online classes, if only for this moment.

Today I go to spin class, then I go to work.  I will go to the airport at 10; I'm travelling while my spouse stays here to hold down the home front.

Today I hop on a plane and go to North Carolina for one day--I return tomorrow afternoon, home by 6 pm if all goes well. It's extravagant, in a way, but I got a cheap airline ticket. I'm going to the retreat to plan the Create in Me retreat, the creativity retreat in the spring that I go on most years. I get to stay at the camp for free, and I get a quick vacation. One year I tried being on Skype for the retreat to plan the retreat, and it was very frustrating--the technology didn't work, but in a glitchy way, so that I kept thinking it was something I could solve. It's much better to meet in person.

One reason why my ticket is cheap is that I didn't pay for any baggage.  Allegiant charges even for carry-on bags, which I think they define as anything that has to go in the overhead compartment.  I have a back pack where my flannel pajamas and the books I'm reading take up all the room, with socks and undies packed in the edges.

I have 3 books in my backpack:  The Testaments by Margaret Atwood, The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead, and 21 Lessons for the 21st Century by Yuval Noah Harari.  I plan to begin with Atwood.  I feel like I have important books with me--and even better, there will be some time to read!  I am so happy that I still look forward to having time to read and that there are still good books.

If I was traveling by car, I might take a different assortment, a larger assortment.  I have not read many volumes of poetry this year.  Perhaps when I return.

I will not be taking my laptop--that would cost more money, so it stays at home, meaning that I will have more time to read.  I won't be doing much writing.  Or maybe I'll surprise myself.  I do have a legal pad and pens.  There's always paper.

I am looking forward to being away, to seeing friends I have known for decades as we gather to plan the retreat.  I am looking forward to being on the plane, where I won't be connected to the wider world.

I will feel better, as I always do, when I'm through the security line.  That's what always makes me most anxious when I contemplate air travel.

Today is the feast day of Saint Francis.  This morning I've been thinking of the last few times I've traveled on feast days.  I often get some poem ideas.  There's something about the intersection of the feast day and the change of scenery that sparks my poet brain.

Today I can't imagine what that spark will be.  That's part of the wonder of it, part of what keeps me wanting to write poems.  The surprises in poetry delight me more than the surprises in any other kind of writing.

The Lord's Prayer: Forgive Us

This week my church returns to our study of the Lord's Prayer. We've gotten to the passage that has several interpretations. Fill in these blanks: Forgive us our _________, as we forgive _____________.

Think of how that first blank has been filled: forgive us our sins, forgive us our trespasses, forgive us our debts. It has also been interpreted: Save us from the time of trial. I've seen interpretations that talk about evil. Here's how the Message says it: "Keep us forgiven with you and forgiving others.

Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil."

I read the interpretation from the Message, and my first thought is: well, there's no need to say more. It's beautiful in its simplicity, and in the way that it covers so much in just a few words.

Most of us were probably taught this part of the prayer as a way to remind us that we need to forgive everyone. I was taught that we forgive everyone whether or not they've asked for forgiveness. As an older person, I see the harm that this approach can do. Forgiveness can lead to a dangerous lack of boundaries.

I also know that anger and holding onto hurt will damage us far more than forgiveness will. Our current society offers any number of examples of that.

The time that we inhabit also offers us examples of evil moving through the world. Now more than ever the prayer to keep us safe from the Devil seems necessary.

We may not believe in a supernatural being called Satan or the Devil, but it's hard to argue that there is no current of evil moving in the world. Some years some of us are lucky, in that we may not feel the force of evil directly--but always, ALWAYS, somewhere in the world, evil runs rampant and destructive. Some years, evil moves to the surface of the world in a way that few deny. But even if we're having a lucky year of being left alone, evil always lurks and waits for an opportunity.

We pray for protection, all sorts of protection, with this petition. We need to be saved from the larger evil in the world, and we need to be saved from the evil force that we unleash from the way we handle hurt and disappointment. We need to remember that we're not perfect, but we are forgiven. We need to keep our hearts soft and forgiving. We need to be protected from those who would take advantage of our soft hearts and forgiveness. We need to move forward without getting sucked into the destructive spirals of self-loathing and shame.

We need this petition each and every day.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 6, 2019


First Reading: Habakkuk 1:1-4;2:1-4

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Lamentations 1:1-6

Psalm: Psalm 37:1-10 (Psalm 37:1-9 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Lamentations 3:19-26

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 137 (Psalm 137 (Semi-continuous) NRSV)

Second Reading: 2 Timothy 1:1-14

Gospel: Luke 17:5-10


Perhaps the Gospel readings of past weeks and months have left you feeling depressed. You have begun to realize that you will never succeed at this Christianity thing. You can't even remember to make a donation, much less tithe regularly. You'd like to invite the poor to your dinner table, if you ever had time to eat dinner yourself, and you wonder if you still get Christianity Points if you invite the poor to dinner, but pick up that dinner from the deli. You'd like to look out for widows and orphans, but happily, you don't know of any. And frankly, most of the week, you don't have a spare moment to even ponder these things at all.

This week's Gospel offers encouraging news. It reminds us that belief has the power of a seed. As fewer of us plant anything, we may lose the power of that metaphor. But think of how inert a seed seems. It's hard to believe that anything can come from that little pod. And then we plunk it into the earth, where it seems even more dead--no sun, no light, no air. But the dark earth is what it needs, along with water, maybe some fertilizer if the soil is poor, and time. And with some luck, and more time, eventually we might all enjoy a tree. And not only us, but generations after us--that tree will outlive us all.

Christ reminds us that faith is like that seed. And the good news is that we don't have to have faith in abundance. A tiny seed's worth can create a world of wonders. And it's good to remember that we don't have to have consistent faith. We live in a world that encourages us to think that we'll eventually arrive at a place of perfect behavior: we'll exercise an hour a day, we'll forsake all beverages but water, we'll pray every hour, we'll never eat sugar or white flour again, we'll cook meals at home and observe regular mealtimes.  We'll have time to get our various types of work done, and we'll end at a sane hour so that we're home for a meal which we'll eat with loved ones.  

We want lives of perfect balance, and we feel deep disappointment with ourselves when we can't achieve that, even when we admit that we'd need ten extra hours in the day to achieve that.

Jesus reminds us to avoid that trap of perfectionist expectations. People who have gone before us on this Christian path remind us of that too. Think of Mother Theresa. Her letters reveal that she spent most of her life feeling an absence of God. But that emotion didn't change her behavior. She tried to reveal the light of Christ to the most poor and outcast, and was largely successful. She didn't feel like she was successful, but she didn't get bogged down in those feelings of self-recrimination. And even when she did, she kept doing what she knew God wanted her to do.

Many of us might have seen Mother Theresa as a spiritual giant. We might feel dismayed to realize that she spent much of her life having a dark night of the soul kind of experience.

On the contrary, we should feel comforted. Maybe these letters show that she wasn't a spiritual giant or that even spiritual giants are human.

Or maybe we should revise our definition of a spiritual giant. If you read the journals, letters, and private papers of many twentieth-century people who have been seen as spiritual giants (Thomas Merton, Henri Nouwen, Madeleine L'Engle, Dorothy Day), you'll see that feelings of spiritual desolation are quite common. The fact that we have these feelings--does that mean that God has abandoned us?

Of course not. Those of us who have lived long enough have come to realize that our feelings and emotions are often not good indicators of the reality of a situation. Our feelings and emotions are often rooted in the fact that we haven't had enough sleep or the right kind of food.

The people who have gone before us remind us of the importance of continuing onward, even when we feel despair. Christ reminds us that we just need a tiny kernel of belief. All sorts of disciplines remind us that the world changes in tiny increments; huge changes can be traced back to small movements. Your belief, and the actions that come from your belief, can bear witness in ways you can scarcely imagine. 

Perfection is not required--just a consistent progress down the path.