Thanksgiving Creativity

For many of us, the meal will be the main thing we create during this Thanksgiving week:

Or maybe we will be at our most creative when it comes to transforming the leftovers.

Maybe we will draw pictures of turkeys.

Maybe we will make them part of our announcements:

Maybe we will turn our autumn pumpkins into a different sort of display as we transition to the next holiday.

Maybe we will turn our gratitude into haiku:

Thanksgiving

Travels behind us,
We gather for food and fun,
Deeper nourishment.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 1, 2019:

First Reading: Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm: Psalm 122

Second Reading: Romans 13:11-14

Gospel: Matthew 24:36-44

Some years, the apocalyptic tone of the Advent texts feel more appropriate than other years. This is one of those years when the images of the end of days resonate with me.

The images in the Gospel for the first Sunday of Advent have found their way into popular culture lately--the idea of one being taken up to Heaven while the other is left behind (see the Left Behind book series which was made into other forms of popular culture and the more recent show The Leftovers).  But most scholars agree that those ideas of a Judgment Day are fairly recent in Christian thought and interpretation, fostered in the heat of 19th century Revival meetings. If Christ isn’t talking about the Rapture, then what do those passages mean?

Again and again, our holy scriptures remind us that we need to stay alert and watchful. Again and again, our holy scriptures warn us that God is coming and that God won't always take on the shape we expect. Sometimes, our spiritual ancestors are lucky, as Abraham was, when he invited the strangers into his tent and found out he was having dinner with God. Sometimes our ancestors aren't as lucky. Think of all those contemporaries of Jesus, many of them good, observant Jews, who were on the lookout for a different kind of Messiah. They wanted someone to deliver them from oppressive Roman rule. What did they get? A baby in a manger.

We think that we wouldn't have been so stupid. We would have recognized the Divine, as Christ moved among us.

But think of our own lives. Many of us are so busy that we can't even adopt traditional practices that move us closer to God, practices like fixed-hour prayer or tithing.  We can't find 10 minutes in our busy lives to slow down at all.  If Jesus shows up, will we really notice?

We usually think of Lent as the season of discipline and denial, but Advent cries out for a similar rigor, especially in our culture that goes into hyper-consumer-overdrive this time of year. This year, practice seeing the Divine in difficult people. It's easy to look at a little baby and to see God looking back out of that face. But for a few weeks, practice treating difficult people as if they are the embodiment of God. Your evil boss? Your difficult teenager? The homeless guy at the corner who won't take no for an answer when he asks for money? Your sad mother-in-law? How might things change if we treat these difficult people as the embodiment of God, as Christ incarnate?

Think about the larger world that bombards us with messages that are designed to move us to anger, not compassion.  Let's pray for those national figures who usually move us to anger.  Let's remember that they, too, are chosen children of God whom God loves.

We could do something more radical.  We could try seeing God in them.

If we approach everyone as God moving in the world, our attitudes will likely change. Maybe people will wonder how we achieve our peace and equilibrium.  Maybe they will ask us for our secret.  Maybe they will simply try to emulate us.

In this way, we can sow the seeds of peace into our troubled time.  Maybe they will take root and grow into a sturdy orchard.

Happy New Year!

It doesn't feel like New Year's Eve, does it? Yet, in some ways, it is.

Here we are, once again at the end of a liturgical calendar year--at least it is if you're reading this before Sunday morning.

On Sunday, it's on to Advent, one of my favorite seasons. I keep several kinds of Advent. I am as susceptible to Christmas frenzy as the next person, so for part of Advent, I listen to Christmas CDs and perhaps bake a batch of cookies.

But I also keep a contemplative corner of Advent, where I am more diligent about reading the sacred texts and lighting the Advent candles.

If you're new to the tradition of Advent wreaths and you're local to South Florida, come to our church where we will be making them after 10:00 worship service on Sunday morning; Trinity will provide all the materials and the instruction. It's a great way to keep your mind turning back to the deeper reason for this holiday season. Now is the time to remember to pray. Now is the time to rest. Light the candles on your Advent wreath and contemplate the mysteries that so many religious traditions celebrate as the year winds to a close.

The Advent wreath is just one of many ways to keep your soul grounded in the weeks before Christmas. In these days before the frenzy of the consumer side of the holiday descends on us, let's make a plan to help us stay sane.

Returning to the Spiritual Practices that Keep Us Grounded

At some point in the night, I had some trouble falling asleep, and I thought about praying.  And then I wondered how long it had been since I prayed.

I spent the morning thinking about all the ways I am not the spiritually evolved person that I like to think that I am.  Would my younger self see me as a smug hypocrite?  Probably.  She tended to see the hypocrisy of everyone of all ages.

My sneering inner voice said, "And here you are, headed off to seminary to work on getting certified to be a spiritual director.  Direct yourself for a change."

Happily, my inner voice is not the voice of God.  When I'm practicing discernment, I feel certain of that.

I do think I need to get back to some daily and weekly spiritual practices that help me stay grounded.  I used to pray the morning prayers of the daily office, as written by Phyllis Tickle.  Let me get back to that.

Advent begins on Sunday, December 1.  It's the first day of the liturgical year:  New Year's Day!  It's a good time to begin some practices or return to them.

For many of us, the Christmas season is already in full swing.  Our spiritual practices can help us remember the deeper meaning to it all.

As we get ready for Thanksgiving and then the holiday season, as we're making our plans and preparations, let's make sure to do some planning for a return to the spiritual practices that ground us.

Acceptance!

I am guessing that the Facebook post I made yesterday will end up being the most popular post of mine of 2019:

"I have just sent my response form to the Spiritual Direction Certification program that's at LTSS in Columbia, SC to let them know that I plan to join the program in January. It requires two onground intensives each year of the 2 year program, and the rest is done online. I'm really looking forward to being part of this program!"

So far, that post has 53 likes and 19 comments.  It's interesting to see the wide variety of people who have liked/commented:  high school friends, college friends, friends of college friends, grad school friends, family, retreat friends, local church friends, colleague friends from past jobs.  It's made me feel connected, supported, and loved.

Even though I was fairly sure that I'd get into the program, I'm still oddly relieved to get the official notification.  When I pulled it out of the mailbox, I thought, hmm, it's a thin envelope.  I remembered long ago when I first applied to colleges back in the early 80's--a thin envelope meant a rejection.  

I spent part of yesterday writing to people:  the pastor friend who first told me about the program, the director of the certificate program, the friend who has encouraged me for over a decade to explore this direction with more purpose.

Why has it taken me so long to explore this direction, to get certified?  For part of those years, I thought I might rather go to seminary.  For part of those years, I couldn't visualize how the programs I looked at might actually fit with my life--and many of those programs wouldn't have fit with my life as well as this one will.  Some distance programs require a 2 week residency--that's tough in most of the jobs I've had.  Or the residency has been at a time in the academic term that would be a tough sell to my boss about why I had to be away.

Or maybe those are just cover stories--maybe I was just scared.

Or maybe I had other projects that felt more pressing--jobs and houses and poems and family.  On and on the list could go.  

I am so excited about this program.  And I am excited about the future, even though I'm not exactly sure what that future looks like. 

Transgender Awareness

Yesterday was the Transgender Day of Remembrance.  I decided not to post yesterday, since I haven't known anyone killed because of their transgender status.  I was struck by how many clergy folk I know either in person or by way of social media took part in some sort of service or ritual.

Until recently, I believed that we lived in a world of increasing tolerance, a live and let live kind of world, at least in industrialized nations of the northern hemispheres--by which I really mean Europe and the U.S. and Canada.  But now, we see this tolerance being swept out into seas of hate.

Our transgender friends would likely tell us that they've never experienced this golden time of increasing tolerance.  There's something about the idea of gender fluidity that the mass of humans have found truly threatening.

There are researchers that would tell us that the younger generations are more likely to be tolerant, but when it comes to transgender humans, I'm not sure.  I only have anecdotal evidence.  Last week, I was part of a conversation about past colleagues who may or may not have been transgendered--the flimsiest of evidence was offered (that person was taller than most women so that person must have been trans--really?).  From the conversation, it was clear to me that these younger people were not at all comfortable with any difference at all.

And yet, that's not exactly true either.  We have some colleagues who are not heterosexual, and they seem accepting of these colleagues. 

I tried to be a voice of tolerance, but it became clear to me that perhaps we should have done more during Transgender Awareness Week, the week that lead up to the Transgender Day of Remembrance.  Perhaps attitudes won't change until we have a transgender colleague or two.

I think of my own journey.  Once I'd have said that I didn't know any transgender people, but that's simply not true.  I've had students who were making transitions of some sort, and some of them were open about their transgender status.  One of those students went on to grad school, and I was happy to be part of her dissertation writing process.  We've had a transgender person at our church who was early in the transition process, and I was happy to see how accepting our congregation was.

Now I'm old enough that I have had at least one friend who has a transgender child who came out as transgender when he was finishing high school.  That friend loaned me a book by Austen Harke, Transforming:  The Bible and the Lives of Transgender Christians.  It didn't tell me much that I didn't already know, but it would be a good resource for those who are new to this topic and who are desperate for some open-hearted approaches.

Once I would not have predicted that the nation would make the kind of progress that it has on other social justice issues--like the possibility of having an African-American president or the legalizing of same gender marriage.  That progress seemed to go nowhere and then we seemed to make changes at a much quicker pace.

Let it be so with these issues that affect the transgender population too.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The Readings for Sunday, November 24, 2019:

First Reading: Jeremiah 23:1-6

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Jeremiah 23:1-6

Psalm: Psalm 46

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Luke 1:68-79

Second Reading: Colossians 1:11-20

Gospel: Luke 23:33-43

Today we celebrate Christ the King Sunday, which is the last day of our liturgical calendar. The readings are familiar: we're back in the land of Good Friday, with our king crucified on a cross. Perhaps not the image we'd expect for Christ the King Sunday, but those of us who have been reading through this cycle, either for the first time or for the umpteenth time, will be familiar with these strange twists of imagery, with the upheaval of all our expectations.

I have always loved the cyclical nature of the lectionary, with its readings that loop around and remind us that all of life is cyclical. When I'm having a bad day (or week or month), it's important to remember that everything can change. When I'm having a good day (or week or month), it's important to express profound gratitude and to try not to dread the next downturn too much. With every downturn comes an upturn. The life of Christ shows us this.

Christ's life shows us that being king requires something different for a believer. It's not the worldly experience of kings, who are venerated and obeyed. Being a Christian king requires humbling ourselves and thinking of others before we think of ourselves. But our rewards are great. If we could emulate Christ's behavior, we'd have a wonderful community here on earth, and whatever we might experience in the afterlife would just be icing on the cake. We'd have already had a taste of heaven right here on earth.

Maybe we feel grumpy as the holiday season approaches. Maybe we've had a season of sorrow, and we can't quite manage to feel festive. Maybe we're tired of humbling ourselves and we'd like someone to humble themselves for us.

Well, here's some good news. Someone already has. Maybe in this season of thankfulness, we can concentrate on our good fortune, even if we don't feel it. We're alive to see the sunrise and the sunset, some of the best shows on earth, and they're free! Even if we don't have as much money as we'd like, there's always someone who is in worse shape. If we give some of our money away, we won't feel as constricted about money. Trust me. If you're feeling tight and pinched, now is the time to return to tithing. If we are having trouble keeping everything in perspective, maybe it's time to volunteer at a food bank or an animal shelter--or if we're not into organizational activities, we could do our part to pick up litter. We could smile at the janitorial staff. We could thank them for cleaning the communal bathrooms.

If we start working on our spirit of gratitude, the gift of generosity often follows. If we pray for those who need our prayers, our hearts start to open. If we work on forgiveness, our spirit soars. And soon we realize what it means to celebrate Christ the King Sunday.

Sermon Notes: Worry and Gratitude

On Wednesday, my pastor asked me if I wanted to preach on Sunday.  I said sure.  Then he asked if I would do the whole service.  I said sure.  He's been going at high speed, as pastors do, and fighting off a cold, and the holidays are coming.

I thought it would be easy to preach the last Sunday of our gratitude series:  Luke 12:22-34.  But as I looked at the text, it seemed filled with peril.  There's the first part telling us not to worry--but we've all got plenty to worry about, and some of us need some professional help, and I don't want people to feel bad about that.

And then there's the end that warns us about the danger of possessions and wealth.  But I know that many of our parishioners are quite poor and barely hanging onto the edge of being able to sustain what they have.  It feels wrong to preach about letting go of our attachment to stuff to people who might genuinely not have what they need.

I thought about going the "God will provide" route, but that worried me too.  If God doesn't provide, and we find ourselves without a way to pay the light bill or we find ourselves homeless or the welfare people take our kids, does that mean we didn't pray well?  That God doesn't really love us?  It's shoddy theology, in the way that praying for a cure to illness leads to problems if the cure doesn't come.

In the end, I talked about all the issues with the text and how to preach it--and then I recommended gratitude as a cure for all sorts of ills--the rest of the liturgy stressed gratitude so it fit.  I recommended a gratitude journal as a way to help us notice all the blessings that God sends our way, and I recommended that we say a prayer of thanks as we keep our journals.  I suggested that we also post our gratitude to our social media sites to counter the ugliness that we find there.

It wasn't my best sermon, but I suspect that the sermons I feel are my best are not the ones that the parishioners might choose.  And it's good to have a voice that's different from my pastor's.  We are still a very white, very male, very straight church (ELCA Lutheran).  I'm not real different from the standard pastor, but I am female, and we still have too few females.

It was a good way to spend a Sunday morning:  baking communion bread, writing a poem, and then heading to church to do my co-treasurer duties and then lead service.

And now it's off to get bread and treats for the students and then to spin class.

The Last Sunday in Ordinary Time: Hildegard of Bingen's Mantle

Today is the last Sunday in Ordinary Time.  Next Sunday will be Christ the King Sunday, which takes us out of Ordinary Time--and after that, we plunge into the season of Advent.

When I was a child, I thought of the time between Pentecost and Advent as the long, green, boring season.  Truth be told, I still do.  I love the possibilities for observing and celebrating the time between Advent and Pentecost--the season of Ordinary Time often feels arid. 

In many ways, I think that the challenges of Ordinary Time mimic the challenges of a regular life.  We've got lots of highs and lows early on (until about age 25-35), and then we've got a long middle ground where we need to do more work to make meaning of it all.

Some of us will do this through the highs and lows of family members.  Some of us will make meaning by our involvement with larger communities.  Some of us will turn to art.

This morning, I wrote a poem.  I'd like to say that I wrote a poem, as I do every morning.  But I don't do that every morning.  I wonder if I would wrest more meaning from life if I did write a poem every morning.  I suspect I would have a similar reaction as I do to liturgical seasons.  Some of my poetry writing mornings would feel important and significant, but many more would leave me wondering about the larger meaning of it all and reflecting on drudgery.

This morning I baked the gluten free communion bread.  It needs to be made on the day of the worship service because of the nature of gluten free bread; I know from experience that it doesn't freeze well.  As I stirred together the ingredients, this line came to me:  On the last Sunday of Ordinary Time, I bake the communion bread.  Once I got the bread in the oven, I sat down to write.

I played with the line--should it be bake or create?  The idea of Hildegard of Bingen bubbled up in my brain--a creative woman of her time, a woman I see as subversive, although I don't know that she saw herself that way.  I wanted to hear some of her music, and we live in a wonderful age where the Internet can provide.  I spent some time writing my poem and listening to this group sing the medieval music of Hildegard of Bingen.

I was struck by the woman with the green swoosh in her auburn hair and the chunky boots visible from the slit of her formal gown singing the music written by a monastic woman centuries earlier.  What would Hildegard have said?

I like to think of Hildegard of Bingen smiling at the many ways we've seized her legacy and taken up her mantle.  Some of us do that by writing, the way that she did.  Some of us have seized her mantle by singing the music that she left us.  Some of us tend our gardens, the ones we grow for food, the ones we grow for herbs, the ones we grow for the beauty of the flowers, the interior gardens that we may or may not share.  Some of us take on the Hildegard's mantle when we scold bishops and legislators and remind them of the obligation of creating a more just society.  We wear Hildegard's mantle as we care for the next generations, some of whom we're related to biologically, some of whom we will never meet.

Remembering the Jesuit Priests and the Housekeepers Murdered Thirty Years Ago

On this day, in 1989, members of the army of El Salvador murdered six Jesuit priests, their housekeeper, and her daughter.  I remember hearing about the murders and hearing outrage from a variety of quarters.  I remember thinking about all the people who had been murdered during the civil war in El Salvador, and there hadn't been the outpouring of grief and outrage.

Those murders are now thought of as a turning point in the civil war.  The grief and outrage (and realistically, the weariness from years of war and carnage) helped bring the civil war to an end.  The cold war between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. had changed too, which probably helped bring an end to the civil war.  Ronald Reagan was no longer president, and the subsequent presidencies were not as worried about waves of communists invading the U.S. from the south.

When I heard of the murders, that war seemed endless, as did much of the fighting throughout Latin America.  These weren't the first priests to be murdered, and I assumed that there would be more.  But by 1992, there was a cease fire and a peace treaty.

In these days when evil forces can seem to be on the move and taking charge, it's good to remember that we may be at a turning point, even if we don't see it yet.

On this day when we remember these murders, let us also stop to appreciate all of the martyrs who have done such important work.  Let us hope for a day when that kind of sacrifice will not be required.

Let us say their names as we pray for peace:  Ignacio Ellacuría, Segundo Montes, Ignacio Martín-Baró, Joaquín López y López, Juan Ramón Moreno, Amando López, Elba Ramos, and Celia Marisela Ramos.

Early Thanksgiving

Yesterday, we had the annual Thanksgiving potluck for our school faculty and staff.  Yes, it's 2 weeks before Thanksgiving--I see that as a good thing. We can enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner, and 2 weeks later, we'll be ready to enjoy another Thanksgiving dinner.

But it was also a practical choice.  My boss is on vacation next week, and we don't want to have an additional Thanksgiving dinner the week of Thanksgiving.

When we ordered the turkeys and a ham, we thought about having it delivered, as we've done in past years.  I said, "I'll save the school the $30 plus tip delivery fee.  I'll go pick them up."

Yesterday I rued that choice.  We had steady, steady rain--not torrential, but soaking.  I came back from picking up the turkeys and the ham, and I was soaking wet.  By the end of the day, my sweater was still damp.

But we had a delightful meal together.  Unlike some places I've worked, where we're lucky if people bring a half-eaten box of crackers and a hunk of cheese, or a tired veggie platter, we have all sorts of deliciousness:  several kinds of mac and cheese, several kinds of stuffing/dressing, a beautiful salad, a queso bean dip (homemade, not just an opened can), the old-fashioned sweet potato casserole with a brown sugar and pecan topping, a homemade cranberry and pecan relish, a corn casserole, and a variety of desserts.

It's the kind of meal I could eat every day with no complaints--although I would gain a significant amount of weight if I ate that way every day.

It reminded me of the best potlucks of the churches of my youth:  lots of yummy food, lots of chances to talk, the proclamations of how wonderful it was to eat such delicious food together, a warm glow that will last for many months.

And also, thoughts of who isn't there (faculty on field trips, people no longer working at our school, people away traveling)--both at my current school, and all the people I'm missing from past workplaces.  And the wondering where we will all be this time next year--a habit from my family of origin.

I wonder if anyone else felt a spiritual tingle during our time together.  I know that I'm often the only one.  I said a silent prayer of thanks--and as we all pitched in to clean up (yes, almost all of us, regardless of gender or position), I continued to say thanks--both verbally, to my colleagues, and silently, to the one who prepares a table for us all.

Worrying about Worry

On Monday, my pastor sent me the readings for Sunday, Nov. 17, 2019: Luke 12:22-34.

Only he didn't send it that way.   He sent me the whole text, not just the book, chapter, and verse. As I read, I realized how much I needed to hear that message. I had spent the day wracked with worry. I wasn't particularly worried about my possessions. My car has a banged up fender, and it's not a new car. I've already resigned myself to the fact that rising sea levels will always make investments in South Florida a tenuous bet.

No, I sat in my office worrying about all the people I loved. It was Veterans Day, and I saw pictures of lots of veterans. I worried about the human tendency to wage war, both on the national scale and the personal scale. My high school friend who died too young of esophageal cancer served in the Army, so I had her on the brain. I was worried about my spouse. I thought about how old my parents are getting to be and how I wish I could see them more often. I thought about the fact that my young nephew isn't young anymore, and there's lots of scary teenage stuff that might threaten him. I thought about all of the bad health choices so many of us are making. I thought about how I am scared of being a little old lady, all alone, with no one to share in the porch full of rocking chairs that I plan to have.

I worried about how worried I was. That made me worry more.

Readings like the one in Luke always make me feel guilt about what I cannot do. How to free myself of worry?

I return to that first line, the one about having no fear. Oh, how I need to hear those words, again and again. I am so very fearful.

The rest of the Gospel reminds me that although I’ve got some treasures on earth, I can’t rely on them. The Gospel reminds me to rely on God, who wants to give me all sorts of good things.

The Gospel reminds me that God is the purse that can’t wear out. Over the past decade, it’s the rare person who hasn’t seen how earthly institutions can fail us again and again. We put our trust in our retirement accounts, only to see them dwindle. We pour our efforts into a house, only to see its worth drain away. We place our bets on the sure job, only to realize that our industries have shifted away right out from under us. We work on our relationships and realize how much work there is still to do.


How can we make the indestructible purse, the unfailing treasure? It’s time to return, again, to the practices that the wise ones have told us are important. We can keep watch for God. Our traditions remind us that God will often appear where we don’t expect to find the Divine. Let us open our eyes so that we can see the true treasure.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 17, 2019:


First Reading: Malachi 4:1-2a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Isaiah 65:17-25

Psalm: Psalm 98

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Isaiah 12 (Isaiah 12:2-6 NRSV)

Second Reading: 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

Gospel: Luke 21:5-19


This week's Gospel finds us back in the landscape of apocalypse, a landscape where we find ourselves periodically in our Bible readings.

In a way, these readings offer a kind of comfort. To be sure, it's a hard consolation, since these readings promise us that hard times are ahead. But surely we knew that.  If we've lived any amount of time at all, and we're the least bit observant, we see that hard times will always come on the heels of good times. We're currently in one of the longest economic expansions in our living memory, and yet a recession will surely come at some point.  And a long economic expansion isn't good news for the majority of citizens.  We see people engaged in all sorts of social justice struggles, some of which we're fighting all over again.  The cycle of history can feel like a torture wheel--but that's not a new feeling.

We read the words of Jesus, the words that warn we'll be hauled in front of harsh governments, and this indignity we'll suffer once we've lived through famine and pestilence and any other portent of doom. Our families will abandon us, and our friends will desert us. Many of us reading these words this Sunday may not perceive the threat. We're convinced we're safe, that we live under a Constitution that will protect us. But those of us who study the cycles of history know that we're very lucky and that we can't necessarily count on that. Millions of humans thought they were safe, only to find out that in short order, the hooligans were at the gate.

But Jesus offers us encouragement: "This will be a time for you to bear testimony. Settle it therefore in your minds, not to meditate beforehand how to answer; for I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which none of your adversaries will be able to withstand or contradict" (verses 13-15). Yes, we might lose our lives. But we will gain so much more.

In this time of gloomy news, it's important to take some deep breaths and remind ourselves of what's important. Our friends and families won't always be with us. We can appreciate them while they are. We may be facing trouble at work, but at least we're employed. Even if we're not employed, if we live in the U.S., we have a lot of advantages that we wouldn't have if we lived in, say North Korea or Russia.

A few years ago, my friend John told me about talking to an older black man who came into the state park where John was working. John asked how his Christmas had been. The man said, "Well, we had enough food and no one took sick. So, it was good." Now there's some life wisdom, especially as we turn our thoughts towards the upcoming holidays.

I've always loved Thanksgiving, for many reasons. There's not the pressure of gift giving. The holiday meal is hard to mess up, unless you forget to thaw the turkey. The holiday is rooted, at least in popular imagination, in the idea of colonists saved from the brink of destruction by natives who show them how to live in a new community. The cynical amongst us can deliver powerful counterarguments to my optimism, but for the rest of the month, we can tune them out.

As we get ready for this season, let us remember to be grateful. Let us remember to say thank you, especially to people who might not hear it very often. Let the prophecy of apocalypse from the gospel remind us of our ease of life now and remind us of those who are not so fortunate. Let us keep perspective and remember that we're called to a higher purpose.

A Spot in the Program

Before we go much further, let me record what may have been the biggest life-changing event of the past week.  I've hesitated to mention it, and I've been curious about why I've been hesitant.  Am I superstitious enough to think that I may jinx it if I mention it?  Do I worry that my fortunes will change?

I had an e-mail exchange with the pastor who is the  Director of the Spiritual Direction Certification Program at Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary.  The deadline to apply to that program approaches, and he wanted to make sure that I had gotten my application in.  He mentioned that there might be a waiting list, for the first time this year.

I thought, great.  I finally decide this is what I want to do, and just my luck, I'll be put on a waiting list.

I had gotten my application in the mail, but I also submitted a copy electronically, just to be sure.  And last Wednesday, I got this e-mail from him: 

"Fabulous, Kristin. There are spots left, but I’ll make sure you get one of them!

God is with you."

So, I think I've been accepted into the program.  Will I get an official letter?  I don't really need an official letter, but it surprises me how much I want one.

At the WELCA retreat this week-end, I talked to a woman who is a spiritual director.  She came to spiritual direction by way of her work in therapy.  She said she didn't get a certificate; hers was a 3 year program through the Catholic church.  She said she thought that my decision to go the route of spiritual direction would open a lot of doors for me.

I confess, I do love the idea of lots of doors opening.  But even if I knew that no doors would open, I would still do the program.  I am increasingly interested in the idea of discernment, and this program will immerse me in these ideas.

In a larger way, though, I hope to use what I learn to do something (not sure what yet) to be of use to people at midlife.  We do a lot to help younger people discern their future and their calling(s).  There's much that people at midlife need, and I don't see any of our societal institutions doing much of that.

And, of course, because it's me, I hope to also use my various interests in art and creativity in some way.

I have returned periodically to these lyrics by Rhiannon Giddens, from track 11 on her new CD:  "I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way. Lord if you love me, keep me I pray. I don't know where I'm going, but I know what to do." Here's a link, if you want to watch everyone playing and singing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4Xlyi8Is98

On Friday night, I made this sketch:

I am glad that I will have one of the spots in January.  I am glad that I have a direction, even if I'm not sure where it leads ultimately.

Falling through a Hole in Time

I spent the week-end feeling like I had fallen through a hole in time.  I went to the middle of the Florida peninsula, to the Lake Yale conference center for a statewide retreat for Lutheran women of the ELCA variety.  Once we might have called it a WELCA retreat, but I get the idea that we're in the process of rebranding.

I say we, but I've only been a WELCA member for about 10 minutes, compared to some of the women that I met this week-end.  In fact, during much of my life, I resisted being a WELCA member.  Those women seemed so different from me.

And after this retreat, I still feel that way, to a certain extent.  But to be honest, I often feel that way no matter what group I'm in.  I'm the one reading different books, I'm the one working in a different creative process, I'm the one who has a different family situation.  Maybe that outsider feeling is just going to be a given in my life.  I've always felt on the outside looking in, since I was little.

You might ask about the hole in time comment.  It's been strange to be at a WELCA event, surrounded by people whom I knew in a different time of my life--at a former church, at Synod Assembly.  Or did I know them at all?  So many of them looked like the women I once knew at my grandmother's church.  And then there's the matter of the ones that reminded me of my grandmother.

I also feel like I zoomed back in time because of the conference center itself.  It's such a different kind of conference center than the kind of glossy conference center that so many cities have built to attract groups like the AWP.  It's cinderblock and metal and sand:

The guest lodging reminded me of motor courts of the middle of the 20th century:

It reminded me very much of various gathering spots for churches of my youth.  Many of the bathrooms still had the tile of my youth.  It's the women's room, so we'll use pink tile!

But there was also a lake, a vast expanse of a lake.  It was much more lovely at sunrise than at any other time:

I didn't take my laptop for several reasons.  I wasn't sure there would be wi-fi, and even if there was wi-fi, I decided it would be good to unplug.  And on the morning that I captured the above shot of the sunrise, I was in a fellowship hall with several people tapping on their phones.  I stood up and said, "We're about to miss a beautiful sunrise."  But no one followed me outside--or even looked up.

When I look back on this week-end, what I might remember most is having time to read--one reason why I wanted to leave my laptop at home.  I've really been enjoying Maria Popova's Figuring.  What an amazing exploration of science and creativity and creating an authentic life.  The book focuses most of its time on amazing women throughout history.

It was fascinating being at this retreat surrounded by women, while reading about women who had been trailblazing such a different life than the one that most of us will be able to create.  I may say more on that later, but I may not.  I knew that I would need some less distracted time to make my way through the 500 + page book, and I'm glad that I seized the time this week-end.

It's another way I feel like I fell through a hole in time--the time to read and the material about the past. 

Pentecost Pumpkins

As all the autumnal decorations go on sale, let's remember that they can make great supplies for Pentecost or any other time you need to create images of flames. 

Here's a pumpkin I made, a mix of Pentecost and Halloween. 

Note how autumnal leaves make great tongues of fire.

The Porous Nature of Borders and Walls

In 2005, I went to northeast France with my Mom and Dad.  We went to several other European countries too--just a quick zip across the border for lunch.  We went through checkpoints that were closed, but the apparatus was still there:  the guard booth, the gates that stayed permanently open. 

And those were checkpoints between countries that were friends.

On this day in 1989, one of those checkpoints opened, and history took a different course.  I'm talking about the Berlin Wall.  There had been talk about easing the checkpoints, but no clear plan.  On this night in 1989, after people heard that the borders would open and started to assemble, the guards feared that the gathering would turn violent.  Instead of shooting, they opened the gates.  People spent the week-end tearing down the wall, chunk by chunk.

My best friend from high school had joined the Army in 1987, and she was stationed in West Germany.  I wrote to her to ask if she had been on the scene of any of the historic events we were hearing about in the U.S.  Later, when she returned, she gave me this chunk of concrete:

She said it was part of the wall.  It looks like the kind of thing you might pick up at any construction site.  I wrote a short story that begins this way:  "Kate thinks that chunk of rock is a piece of the Berlin Wall. I let her believe it."  The story is titled "Don't Ask, Don't Tell."

I've also written a short story with the title "Border Crossings."  And "Borderlands."  Clearly I've been shaped by the idea of borders.

Once borders seemed so permanent, back when I was a child and the world had been carved into East and West (East/West is a great film about those borders, if anyone needs a primer).  It seemed that some had been born on the wrong side of that border, and it would always be so.

In the 1980's, the idea of borders began to shift.  Now they seem so fluid that we can't count on them at all anymore.  Perhaps it's not surprising that we see a political backlash, a yearning and demanding for borders that are less porous.

But on this important anniversary, let us root for reunification.  Or at least for a level of porousness so that loved ones are no longer separated by brute force.

Days of Death and Leaves

This morning, I went to Facebook, as I often do first thing, as I often wish that I didn't.  I try to justify my Facebook scrolling as a spiritual practice, but I often forget to do the thing I resolve to do, which is pray as I scroll. 

Some days, there is much praying to do--and I'm not even talking about people's political posts.

This morning, I went to Facebook and found 2 different friends had posted about the death of their mothers.  What are the odds of that?

One mother was sick and in hospice, so the news wasn't unexpected.  The other mother wasn't sick, but she was 89 years old.  I wrote messages of sympathy while I prayed.

I think of a few months ago when my friend sent me a Facebook message saying, "My mom died today."  I knew that she was sick, so I wasn't surprised.  I replied right away.

I am fascinated by how we are using these new technological tools.  I know more immediately when someone has died--or at least, I do if I'm connected that day and/or if the algorithm thinks it's important enough to show it to me.  I can offer sympathy immediately.

As with past tools, I am aware of the inadequacy of offering sympathy, whether by way of cards or Facebook message.

This week, I have already been thinking about this time of year in the higher latitudes, when autumn closes in and begins the shift to winter.  I think about the feast days of All Saints and All Souls.  In this time of the time change, the day seems to slip away even faster, which makes me also think about how quickly the year has slipped away and in an even larger sense, how quickly life slips away.

Let me resolve to seize the life that is left.  Let me appreciate my loved ones, particularly my mom, while we're all still on this side of the grave.

Autumn Seeps into All the Spaces

Today one of my former colleagues will be laid to rest.  I deliberated for a long time about how to word that last sentence. 

In 2014, that colleague was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer at the same time my high school best friend was diagnosed with Stage IV esophageal cancer. I remember looking up the survival statistics of both diseases and resolving not to do that again--it was pretty grim. My friend was dead a year later. My colleague managed to live long enough that I thought he might beat the odds.

But along the way, there were glimmers that he might not. He kept a blog where he talked fairly openly about setbacks. I knew that the numbers that he didn't want to rise were rising. But he had been lucky. I wanted that luck to continue.

It did not continue.  This year, more than other years, I feel autumn seeping into all my spaces--and not the apple harvest, pumpkin spice scented autumn.  I feel the haunted, mists rolling in, All Saints parts of autumn--the year gallops to its end, leaving me shaking my head and feeling like I've lost several months.

I got the news about my former colleague on Monday, and I spent some time staring numbly at the computer.  I wanted to do something so that I didn't spend the whole day staring numbly at a screen.

I decided that it was time to create what is now our annual Veterans Day interactive board. A few years ago, I created a bulletin board type space and invited people to put up a picture of their favorite veteran or a note of appreciation. We got a lot of participation, and now I put it together every year. I use some elements from past years and leave space for new additions.

It was an oddly satisfying way of grieving. As I constructed the board, the words from "For All the Saints" went through my head--another satisfying response.

I won't go to the funeral of my former colleague this afternoon.  We weren't close that way.  I will be at work, perhaps having an all-campus Academic meeting by phone.

I read other people's autumnal postings, and feel a yearning to carve a contemplative space.  I feel like I have a lot to process.  I am going on a retreat this week-end, but I fear I will remember it as a time of driving more than a time apart--the curse of living this far south on the peninsula.

But I will give myself a fighting chance.  I've decided to leave my laptop at home.  I'll bring my notebooks and pens, my sketchbooks and markers.  I'll bring books.

And let me also remember that I can carve out space in daily life too.  This space helps me do that.  And maybe I can help others learn to carve out space too.  Most of us don't have the luxury of the kind of contemplative space I wish I had.  The trick might be to learn to work with what we have.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, November 10, 2019:


First Reading: Job 19:23-27a

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Haggai 1:15b--2:9

Psalm: Psalm 17:1-9

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 145:1-5, 18-22

Psalm (Alt.): Psalm 98 (semi-continuous) (Psalm 98 (Semi-continuous) NRSV)

Second Reading: 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

Gospel: Luke 20:27-38


This week's Gospel reading finds Jesus in a familiar situation: a group of religious leaders approach Jesus with a tricky legal question about a woman who marries seven times with no children. When she dies, who will be her husband in heaven?

It's amazing to look back over our lives and realize how many times we engage in these kind of useless legalistic arguments. Sure, they're fun at first, especially when we're children (if you had to be blind or deaf, which would you choose?) or when we're in college ("Would you rather be a free man in Sparta or a slave in Athens? Discuss"). But as we get older, I suspect that most of us find these lines of discussion increasingly tiring and tiresome.

For one thing, we already know what most people would say. Why continue to argue? I’ve noticed lately that political discussions usually turn into arguments, even when all the people in the room feel the same way. We’re actually arguing with people who aren’t really there. We already know what we think. We’re just arguing for the adrenaline surge, the joy of the jolt of self-righteous anger that arguing gives us. Yawn.

Likewise, those religious leaders don’t really care what Jesus thinks. They aren’t confused themselves. They know what the right answer should be. They want to see if Jesus will give it.

Jesus gives his questioners a giant yawn too, and he reminds us that we are chosen for better things than this. Perhaps his remarks seem anti-marriage to you, and it's important to remember that you have to edit Jesus fiercely before you get the Family Values Jesus that some people promote. Many of Jesus’ teachings warn about the pull of the worldly life, and families are a big pull.

Jesus comes to move our conversations into realms that are truly important. Who cares about marriage and all its social niceties, when our very souls are at stake? Again and again, Jesus reminds us that important work remains left to do, and we are called upon to do it. Along the way, we should avoid those activities that sap our energies and move us away from our true purpose. Those activities may involve our families.

Does that mean we shouldn't get married? Not necessarily. But even our family duties don’t excuse us from keeping our focus on more important issues. We’re not to worry about who our families will be when we’re in Heaven. We’re to worry about families that are alive right now.

Again and again, Jesus tries to show us what is most important. We are called to love each other. Most of us aren't very loving when we're arguing. Move your energies to something more productive. It was true when Jesus walked the earth, and it’s just as true today.

Can Theology Speak to Management Issues in the Contemporary Office?

It has been a long several months of discussion about management issues.  We discuss them at work, and then I often come home to process the discussions with my spouse.  In addition to his graduate degree in Philosophy, he has a Master's of Public Administration, which means he knows as much about management theory as many of the MBA's I know.

But does the management theory that many of us are taught serve us well?

I've been thinking about the different approaches to management, and how understanding them can help us talk to each other.  In much the same way that discussing our theological stance, instead of assuming we're coming from the same space, can help us understand each other, maybe thinking about the differences in management theory can help us understand.

Here's an essential item that is often unspoken:  are we managing people or are we managing a budget?  I know that the answer might be "Both."  But diving a bit deeper into the question might help us focus our efforts.

If we're managing people, are we managing those who report to us?  Or our customers?  And how do we define customers?

If we've delegated some of our management to a different level of managers, do we trust those managers?

And lately, I've been wondering if people's theology might be influencing our management styles more than we would suspect--certainly, for me, more comfortable than I feel articulating in my secular workplace.

But in this blog post, a single blog post in a sea of social media waves much bigger than mine, let me begin to think about this idea.

I'm an ELCA Lutheran, steeped in the doctrine of grace.  I suspect that I approach my management tasks by wanting to extend grace instead of punishment.  I truly do believe that almost every person is doing the best that they can do.  If I act out of that position, it's distinctly different than many management approaches.

I have noticed how many managers act out of a fear of being ripped off and taken advantage of.  It's a theology of damnation, of a sort.  Those managers tend to manage/rule by fear, similar to a preacher offering a view of hellfire and brimstone to inspire right behavior.

From my elementary school years, I've been haunted by the question of unforgivable sin, even though my denomination doesn't really stress unforgivable sin.  As someone being managed, that question still haunts me.  As a manager, I try to believe that there is no unforgivable sin, although I know that there are--inappropriate activities with students, for example. 

I could expand this idea, if only I had more time.  Does a Hindu theology change the way we manage?  Do Buddhists make better managers?

But time is short and spin class calls.

Forty Years a Hostage

Today is the anniversary of the takeover of the U.S. Embassy in Iran in 1979.  My family was with another family for a week-end get away at the Outer Banks, and it was one of the few times we had the TV on. My dad saw the coverage and shook his head. He said, "This doesn't look good."

It would be worse than we realized. Everyone in that house that day, the grown ups like my parents, the high school kids (me), and the little ones--we all thought that it would be quickly settled. It must be a mistake, right? Crazy school kids taking over an embassy who would soon come to their senses--now, of course, we know it was nothing like that.

In later years, as I've worked in a variety of places with a vast assortment of people, I've returned to the thought of those hostages, taken and held in their place of work. I can't imagine spending over a year in captivity with most of my colleagues. I'm lucky in that I like most of them well enough to spend a working day with them. But to be cooped up with them day in and day out?

I think of what I keep in my desk; I do keep stocks of items that might be important in an emergency: dental floss, tampons, other toiletries, a bit of cash, water, oatmeal, pens, office supplies of all sorts. Still, after a month or two, I'd run out.   And if I was held for any amount of time at all, I'm sure I'd rue the other items that never made it to my office.  And those hostages would be held for over a year.

Those hostages haunt me--did they have any sense of what was going to happen? Did they know they were in danger but stayed in their diplomatic post regardless? 

I think of those students.  It was just supposed to be a sit-in, that day at the embassy.  How on earth did those students manage to take an embassy--and hold it for so long?  Did they wake up periodically saying, "How on earth will we get out of this?"  Did they fear it would end badly?

  

I know that many released hostages have troubles after being released. I remember at national youth assemblies of my high school years where one or more of the Iranian hostages would come to talk to us--but they often glossed over the troubles with adjusting.

And here we are, forty years later.  The relationship between Iran and the U.S. was changed forever on that day.  It would have been changed by some turn of events, regardless--but how unlikely it seems, both then and now, that it would be a protest turned into a hostage situation that would be a catlyst for so much geopolitical change.

In so many ways, that event still holds us hostage.

All Saints Sunday 2019

Today many churches will celebrate All Saints Sunday.  We will remember those who have gone before us, those whom we loved and those whom we never knew.

Will we find a different way to converse with our ancestors?

Some of us find this time of year suffused with a strange grieving for those who are here but in a different form from the way we once knew them.

Are we looking to commune with ghosts or to scare them away?

This time of year can be one of those thin spaces, where we sense what lies beyond.

I appreciate the liturgical calendar that runs beneath/beside the secular holidays.  I like having more to celebrate, more ways to remind myself that there's more to life than what occupies most of my time (work--both on the job and at my house).

I like having holidays that remind me that we're only here for too brief a time.

It helps me to treasure the fleeting moments that I have. It helps me to keep perspective.  All too soon, we too, will pass through these gates.

The End of Our Autumn Triduum

Today is the last day of our autumn triduum. "Triduum" is a Latin word for 3 days, and it's most commonly used for the time between Good Friday and Easter. But the days of Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls are deeply linked, and in similar ways.

Halloween is the shortening of an earlier name for the holiday: All Hallows Eve. In some cultures, it would simply be the night before the Feast of All Saints, a rather benign feast. Other cultures see this time as one of the thinnest spaces, when it's easiest for souls to slip between worlds--and thus, we see the variety of holidays designed to ward off evil spirits, appease the ancestors, and protect the living--in various combinations.

Most of us understand at least some of the symbolism that comes with Halloween. Those of us who are church going folks have probably celebrated our dearly departed in early November. But what about the overlooked Feast of All Souls?

The Feast of All Saints was originally designed to honor the saints, those who had been beatified. Official saints, canonized by the Pope. Some scholars point out that in many countries it was a feast day that honored those who had been martyred for the faith, and that some of those worship services might have been somewhat jarring, with disturbing stories and perhaps an artifact or relic on display.

All Souls Day, celebrated the day after All Saints, was designed to honor everyone else who had died. I've also heard it described as the day that honors those who had died in the past year. In the medieval Catholic theology, those souls would still be in Purgatory, and special prayers would be offered for them on the Feast of All Souls.

Those of you with excellent memories of your English major days may remember that Sir Gawain left for his adventure with the Green Knight on All Souls Day. Medieval audiences would have read a lot into that date of departure. They would be expecting that next year, Gawain would be one of the souls prayed for on this feast day.

In most of the U.S. and Europe, we live in a culture that tries every way possible to deny death and the fact that we are all here for a very short time. But this triduum reminds us not only to honor our dead loved ones and spiritual heroes, but also to take advantage of every minute that we have because we don't have very many of them.

Many of us won't have a chance to worship today, but we can take some time to think about the mystery enfolded in this triduum. We could remember our loved ones and the stories they would have told us. We can think of what we'd like to accomplish in our remaining years.

We are already skating down the corridor which takes us to Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's a time of breathless pace for many of us. Let us take another day to remember the souls of those gone before us. Let us think of our own mortal souls which will not be on this earth for a very long time. Let us resolve to strengthen our spiritual lives, so that we serve as saints for those coming after us.


Here's a prayer I wrote for today:


Comforter God, you know that we miss our recently dead. We do take comfort from your promise that death will not have the final word, but there are stages of our grief where it is difficult to believe. Please forgive us our unbelief and doubt. Please keep reminding us of your love and care. Please strengthen us to be able to provide the same quality of love and care to those around us who are grieving loss. Please keep our creative imaginations focused on the redemption of Creation, where you have promised we will not have any reason to cry anymore.

The Feast of All Saints

Many (most?) of us celebrate Halloween and move on.  Maybe we celebrate the whole day of October 31.  Maybe we only do something special in the evening.  Maybe we turn off the porch light because we already ate all the candy and watch old Halloween episodes of old shows on TV.

Those of us who are more liturgical might recognize that All Saints Sunday comes around every year. Maybe we look forward to it. Maybe we shrug and say, "Well, great, a day to miss and appreciate our loved ones."

Many of us don't realize how the days of Halloween (Oct. 31), All Saints (Nov. 1), and All Souls (Nov. 2) have been linked traditionally.  Perhaps it's my training as an English major, but I hate that modern traditions minimize the medieval aspects.

Medieval people would have seen this three days as one of those "thin places," the time when the separation between worlds was much thinner. It's a belief rooted in pagan times, about parts of the seasonal year when souls from the other world might slip back. In a world lit only by fires, one can see where it would be easy to be spooked this way.

In our fear of any beliefs that don't mirror our own, many churches have banned the Halloween aspect of this three days. And we've sanitized the other two days.

In this blog post, the Rev. Laurie Brock reminds us of the roots of the All Saints feast day: "Lest we think All Saints is only a lovely, elegant holy day where we pray the litany of saints and sing the song of the saints of God, we are remembering people who were martyred (church lingo for dying an often painful and unpleasant death). Early commemorations of this day involved venerating relics of the dead. So imagine going to church and praying with a mummified foot or remnants of a skull of a saint on the altar. Or going to church and praying the names of ones who had been martyred who were members of your family or close friends. So while it is a day of prayerful hope, sadness and tears weave the hope together."

And in more ancient times, the Feast of All Souls is the day after the Feast of All Saints. All Souls is the feast where we remember the ones who have died in the past year. Even our most liturgical churches have lost the idea that we're observing two very different kinds of celebrations.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to live in modern times, not medieval ones. But I do envy other cultures who have much more vibrant grieving customs. Our culture seems to expect us to grieve for 3-5 days, if we get bereavement leave at all, and then it's back to work.

Let us spend some time today thinking about those who have gone before, whether we knew them personally or knew them from a larger cultural sense.  Let us think about the ones who have modeled good (saintly) behavior.  Let us think about the world we are creating for those who will come after us and remember us on these feast days.

Here's a prayer I wrote for today:

Comforter God, we give thanks for all the saints who have gone before us. Give us the wisdom, courage, and faith to follow in their footsteps. And when the time comes that our earthly light will be extinguished, allow us to rest easy in the sure knowledge that we will be welcomed into the company of all the saints.