2019: A Look Back

I began this post in mid-December, in an attempt to boost my mood.  I've been trying to jolt my way out of my sadness with cups of hot tea and buttered toast, and by the middle of the day, I decided to do something more intentional.  I finished this post this morning, on the last day of the year and the last day of a decade.

Let me take a look back at 2019.  Let me take stock.

Reading:

My goal was to read 100 books.  One of the unexpected benefits of increasing my reading amount was that I read so many more good books this past year.  As the year has come to a close, I've been trying to think about what book would take top place, if I had to choose the best book of 2019.  So many choices!  Perhaps I will write a future blog post about all the good books.

I remember the days when I would read 100 books in a summer--of course, they were shorter books when I was a child or a teenager.  I began this year feeling a bit dismayed about how my reading habits were slipping away.  I wanted to be more intentional, and I have been.  Hurrah!


Writing:

I'm calling this past year a mix of success and falling away from patterns that lead to success.  I'm happy that I started a novel, and I am frustrated at the ways it's hard to stay faithful to novel writing.  At times, I've written lots of poems and had no lack of ideas.  At other times in the past year, I've wondered if I'll ever have even a glimmer of inspiration again.  Most days I write a blog post, some days two--I try not to compare my output to past years when I wrote 2 new blog posts almost every day.

Writing Submissions:

My goal was 100 submissions.  At mid-December, I had 110.  I'm counting all submissions:  poetry packets, book manuscripts, short stories, essays.

Publications:

I know that some people have seen that their publication rate increases with a goal of 100 submissions.  That's not the case with me, but that's O.K.  This is the year that my book-length poetry manuscript was a semifinalist in not 1 but 2 competitions:  the Wilder Prize (Two Sylvias Press) and the Crab Orchard Series in Poetry.

I had a poem included in the Women Artists Datebook, published by Syracuse Cultural Workers group; I bought my first Women Artists Datebook from them decades ago, but never would have thought about submitting there back in those days.  Being included thrilled me.

I am also thrilled to have a poem appearing in Sojourners again.  When I wrote it, I thought it would be perfect for that magazine.  I'm so happy that the magazine agreed.

Culture/Getting Out of the House:

It's been a year of trying to do more cultural stuff.  During the first part of the year, I went to at at least 1 concert a month, from the professional ones (Carrie Newcomer!) to free concerts at the beach.  Summer disrupted that record.  I also went to more author readings:  Colson Whitehead, Te-Nehisi Coates, and Patti Smith, plus too many to list at AWP.

I don't see much TV, even though we're living in a golden age of TV, and some of the stuff sounds good, if I had various streaming services, which I don't.  I also don't make it to many movies.  Most of the movies I don't care about missing. 

I've been trying to stay connected to friends, which seems much harder than it used to be.  Sigh.  It's not that we don't want to be connected.  It was easier when we all worked at the same school and/or lived in the same county.

Cool Events for Students:

I began the year by creating a station in the break room where students could create vision boards.  I created a butterfly garden in late June that captivated us when we had butterflies emerge from their chrysalises.  And then we had a Come Out of Your Chrysalis Party.  We also celebrated the Dog Days of Summer with frozen treats and Pi Day (March 13). I helped with the Teal Takeover which raised awareness for the American Lung Association.  Not all of our events were new:  I'm overly fond of the pumpkin decorating, and it seems to be popular, as is the Halloween costume contest.  The bloodmobile comes to campus every eight weeks or so.  Let me remember that I do these things, and that they are important.

Social Justice

I admire people who write a daily letter in support of their social causes, but I am not that person.  Still, let me remember that I participate in a variety of social justice causes in an effort to build a more equitable world.  I give money on a regular basis, I support our church's food pantry, I show up at various assemblies to show that a critical mass of people demands justice.

And of course, I write letters to those in Washington D.C. who make decisions, but I have done less of that this year.  My representative will vote the way I want, so I tend to write thank you letters instead of letters demanding action.  My senators are not likely to be swayed by my letters.  And it's useless to write to the president of the U.S.

I also continue to go to Publix every Monday to pick up the bread and treats that would be thrown away.  I redistribute them:  I set out treats in the morning and the afternoon for students, and I leave the bread in baskets for anyone who wants them to take them home.  Is this justice?  Charity?  Just my grandmother's instinct to avoid waste?  It feels important, even though I often wish I was offering more nourishing food.

Unexpected Delights

When I started the butterfly garden, I fully expected the plants to be dead by August.  I think of myself as not being good at keeping plants or any living things flourishing.  I need to change that inner narrative.  When I arrived at work yesterday, all the milkweed plants were in full bloom.  Some of the other plants are scraggly, but they may make a comeback.  Yesterday, a monarch butterfly flitted across the plants.

The butterfly garden has given me joy every day.  Setting out bread and treats for students has given me joy most days.  I love creating events and book displays for the library and bulletin boards.  The days when the writing goes well--sheer joy.  Sketching--also joy.  Having bread in the oven and coffee brewing makes me happy--as does a cup of tea at work when the work coast is calm.  Let me keep remembering these delights.

Spiritual Developments:

This past year, our church moved away from the weekly interactive service, which was often a creative activity.  I still miss that service terribly.  It fed me in ways that our current approach does not.

But I did create some creative opportunities for my church.  We did journaling:  a weekly gathering for Lent and a one opportunity for one evening in Advent.  One Sunday when I was in charge, we wrote prayers on scraps of cloth and tied them to a huge hoop.  I continued to help with making the sanctuary more interesting in terms of visual elements.

I went to the Create in Me retreat and a retreat at Mepkin Abbey.  I am the social media coordinator for the Create in Me retreat, and I love elements of that work--should that love be telling me something?  I also love doing that kind of work at school.

I was asked to be part of creating a prayer chapel for Synod Assembly.  I created a station with a weaving frame, and I got good feedback--plus I was asked to be part of the process again.

What feels like the biggest development:  in January, I will begin a certificate program in spiritual direction.

Work for Pay

My online teaching progressed as usual.  In this way, 2019 seemed the same as 2015 or 2013 or any other teaching year.

When I reflect on the situation with my full-time administrator job, it's no wonder that I'm feeling a bit whipsawed.  In the beginning of 2019, we had 3 full-time Program chairs and 2 part-time.  During the first half of the year, 2 of the full-time chairs left; we replaced one but not until September and one full-time position was changed to a shared position with another campus.  In the beginning of 2019, my boss was only on campus one day a week, and now our campus is his only focus.  And of course, we had an accreditation visit which became all-consuming for almost 2 months.

Planning for the Future

The recent flooding reminds me that it may be time to get serious about making alternate plans, but what should they be?  Moving to higher ground?  Giving up on the cottage but enjoy the house for a few more decades?

Let me try the approach which has worked in other settings.  I am in a period of discernment--that sounds better than being paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong decision.  But let me also get a bit more intentional about actually discerning a good direction.

Feast Day of the Holy Family

Today we celebrate the Holy Family.  This feast day is relatively recent; we've only been celebrating the Holy Family for the past 300 years or so.  Our idea of family, especially a family unit separate from multiple generations, after all, is really rather modern.

It's interesting to take up this feast day after all these days where we've celebrated Mary, and her decision to be the Mother of Jesus.  It's a great counterpoint to remember that fathers have a role in the family too.

I always wonder if these kind of feast days bring pain to people who grew up in dysfunctional families.  I know plenty of people who have been scarred in ways that only family can do.  What do they take away from these feast day?  Despair in all the ways that families can hurt each other?  Hope that families can really be a sacramental rendering of the love of God?

Below you see a huge sculpture, made from a tree that toppled in a storm, of the Holy Family fleeing Herod's murderous intent.  I think of the Holy Family as refugee family, fleeing danger, with only the clothes on their back.  I think of all the families torn apart or torn away from their homeland because of terrible dictators.  I yearn for the day to come when we will not experience these fissures in the family.

Here is a prayer I wrote for this day:

Parent God, you know the many ways our families can fail us.  Please remind us of the perfection in family that we are called to model.  Please give us the strength and fortitude to create the family dynamics you would have us enjoy.  Please give us the courage to minister to those who have not had good family experiences.  And most of us, please give us the comfort of knowing that the restoration of creation is underway, with families that will be whole, not fractured, when all our members will be accounted for, when no one will go missing.

Season of Broken Things

It has been a season of broken things.

We wait for the season of mending to begin, but new things break and demand our attention.

We wait for the delicate growth to make itself known in this wintry time.

We see the signs that some have gone before us on this path.

We remember the stories that have sustained us.

We return to the practices that keep us rooted.

We wait for spring to come.  We trust the resurrection narrative.

The Slaughter of the Holy Innocents

Today we remember the slaughter of all the male children under the age of two in Bethlehem in the days after the birth of Jesus. Why were they killed? Because of Herod's feelings of inadequacy, because of his fear. Today we might say, "What an idiot that Herod was!" And yet, if you look around, you'll see that we haven't really grown that much as a people.

We are still likely to respond to our feelings of inadequacy with lethal force. Instead of saying, "How interesting," we say, "How stupid!" And then we go to great lengths to prove that we're right, and whatever is making us feel inadequate is wrong.

So often, in my adult life, I feel like I will never escape middle school. I remember middle school as a particular kind of hell, where the boundaries were always fluid. Kids who were acceptable one day were pariahs the next. Middle school bodies are always changing, and middle school children are under assault from their own hormones, from the changing expectations of adults, from their bodies that take up space differently each day, from an increased school work load, from the crisis that comes out of nowhere to undo all the hard work done.

Adult life can sometimes feel the same way. We fight to achieve equilibrium, only to find it all undone. Most of us don't have the power that Herod does, so our fight against powerlessness doesn't end in corpses. But it often results in a world of outcasts and lone victors.

Of course, the paragraphs above are not meant to downplay the physical deaths that can happen when the powerful lash out against the powerless. We live in a world where dictators can efficiently kill their country's population by the thousands or greater. There's never a good reason for genocide. Yet the twentieth century will be remembered for all the genocides that took place, the ones we knew about and the slaughters that we likely didn't.

And the 21st century doesn't seem to be shaping up to be much better--the shape of the genocide changes, as we let refugees drown or languish in camps.

On this day, we also remember the flight into Egypt, the Holy Family turned into refugees. We remember the Holy Family fleeing in Terror, with only the clothes on their backs. Today is a good day to pray for victims of terror everywhere, the ones that get away, the ones that are slaughtered.

Here's a prayer for the day, from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours: Prayers for Autumn and Wintertime: "We remember today, O God, the slaughter of the holy innocents of Bethlehem by King Herod. Receive, we pray, into the arms of your mercy all innocent victims; and by your great might frustrate the designs of evil tyrants and establish your rule of justice, love, and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you , in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."

Cultural Disconnects at Christmas

Being on vacation out of town during the Christmas season provides many cultural disconnects.  In years that I'm not out of town, I realize that I also feel a bit of cultural disconnect when I'm in town.  In short, I'm an adult without children, so I have a variety of customs.  And since I live in South Florida, I'm already disconnected a bit from the traditional cultural holiday stuff.  There will be no snowy white Christmas where I live, and if we roast chestnuts on an open fire it will be part of an outdoor firepit, not an indoor hearth.

For someone who celebrates feast days, the Christmas season is also a disconnect.  I am late to the feast day celebrations, so I don't have a long tradition with this disconnect.  Many of us will get to experience this disconnect on Sunday if we go to churches where we will hear about Herod.  But yesterday was the feast day of Saint Stephen, the first Christian martyr, and the Christmas stories never travels far from deeply threatening.  Individuals are threatened, empires are threatened, subcultures are threatened.

But much of the story stays submerged when I'm away from my house on vacation.  I'm surrounded by traditional Christmas music and decorations.  There's not a lot of Christ in Christmas, no matter where I go--and that's not necessarily a problem.  It's not like I'm surrounded by creche scenes and Chrismons if I'm at home.  But at home, the decorations have some meaning.  Out here in vacationland, the decorations are generic, the music is only occasionally meaningful (meaning I recognize the singer, and I've heard the version before).

Today I went to my past blog posts to remember where we are in the feast day cycle.  Today (I think) is one of the few days between Christmas and New Year's where we don't have a feast day.

Today is one of my last days on vacation.  Next week it's back to work.  I already miss the various cultural holiday stuff that takes over in the month of December:  the Advent stuff, the Christmas stuff, the solstice stuff, the Hanukkah stuff, the end of the year stuff, the feast day stuff.  I want the other seasons (of life, of feast days) to provide the same level of meaning, the same undergirding and foundation.  But they just don't.

And maybe it's time to accept that in the way that I can accept the cultural disconnects that come with Christmas.  Maybe I should celebrate throughout the year when I see the deeper meaning waving at me, attracting my attention.  I'll continue looking for ways to make the connections as the year goes along.  It won't be the same as Christmas, but maybe the ultimate cultural disconnect would be to be O.K. with this.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 29, 2019:

First Reading: Isaiah 63:7-9

Psalm: Psalm 148

Second Reading: Hebrews 2:10-18

Gospel: Matthew 2:13-23

After all the joy and wonder of Christmas Eve, this Gospel returns us to post-manger life with a thud. In this Gospel, we see Herod behaving in a way that's historically believable, if perhaps not historically accurate, as he slaughters all the male children in Bethlehem under the age of two. Why would he do such a terrible thing? Partly because he's worried about keeping his power; he's worried about what the wise men have told him, and he doesn't want any challenges. Partly because he can; he has power granted to him by Roman authorities, and that power means that he can slaughter his subjects if he sees fit to do so.

Jesus, however, escapes. A power greater than Rome protects him. Warned by an angel in a dream, Joseph flees with Mary and Jesus to Egypt, to safety. But still, the earthly power of Herod turns them into refugees.

Early in the Gospel, we see that the coming of Jesus disrupts regular life. Even before Jesus tells us that the life of a disciple is not one of material ease and comfort, we get that message. Even before Jesus warns us that following him may mean that we're on the opposite side of earthly powers, we see with our own eyes, in the story of Herod and the slaughter of the innocents.

This Gospel reminds us of the potency of power. We shouldn't underestimate the power of the State, particularly the power of a global empire. With the story of Herod, we see the limits of worldly power. Yet even within those limits, a dastardly ruler can unleash all sorts of pain and suffering. Those of us lucky enough to live under benign rulers shouldn't forget how badly life can go wrong for those who don't share our good fortune.

The Gospel reminds us of who has the true power in the story--it's God. The Gospel shows us who deserves our loyalty. And the Gospel also reminds us of the hazards of living in a universe where God is not the puppet master. In a universe that God sets free to be governed by free will, it's up to us to protect the vulnerable. And this story of Herod's slaughter reminds us of what happens when despots are allowed to rule. Sadly, it's a story that we still see playing out across the planet.

If we're not in the mood to see this Gospel in its geopolitical implications, we might take a few moments of introspection in these waning days of the year. Where do we see Herod-like behavior in ourselves? What threatens us so much that we might do treacherous deeds? What innocent goodness might we slaughter so that we can allay our fears and insecurities?

I predict that churches across the nation (and the world) will choose to ignore this difficult text on this morning after Christmas. Far better to enjoy Christmas carols one last time than to wrestle with this difficult text. But Jesus reminds us again and again that he didn't come to make us all comfortable. He didn't come to be our warm, fuzzy savior. He came to overturn the regular order, to redeem creation, to restore us to the life that God intends for us--and Herod stands as a potent symbol for what might happen if we take Jesus seriously.

Christmas Eve in Strange Spaces

When I was younger, my family always went to church while we were on vacation.  I did wonder what it would be like to be a family that didn't do that, but the decision wasn't up for discussion.

My family no longer goes to church while on vacation, except when we do.  And I can't remember a Christmas Eve when we've been together when we haven't gone.  I always thought that Christmas Eve would be a relatively safe service, that we could go to any denomination of Christianity--most of us sing the same songs on Christmas Eve, and the message isn't likely to be too strange.

Usually we can find an ELCA Lutheran church, but there wasn't one nearby this year.  So we went to a Missouri Synod Lutheran church--for those of you unfamiliar with church variations, Missouri Synod Lutherans are fairly conservative.  They don't ordain women, for example.

We went to the 5 p.m. service which was packed--every seat in the room taken, literally.  I wondered if their 9 p.m. service was the smaller one, or if it, too, would be packed.  Did all these people live on Marco Island?  Is it a hotbed of conservative Lutheranism that I didn't know about?  Is the island big enough to have a this kind of critical mass of any religion?

In some ways, it was like falling back through a hole in time to wake up at a Christmas Eve service in 1959.  The congregation was very white--the only person of color sang in the choir.  We sang the older versions of hymns and prayed that a male God who had choirs of angels proclaiming good news to men, not humans.

In some ways, it wasn't 1959.  Most women wore pants, which surprised me.  And this church did allow women to serve communion; I'm told that some Missouri Synod Lutherans don't.  And the music was amplified--very amplified.  We got the words to the hymns both in the paper bulletin and projected on screens.

The older I get, the more I yearn for a contemplative service, and this yearning doesn't change on Christmas Eve.  I wondered what the Mepkin monks would be doing--probably much of what they usually do, with a special something, but not a showy something special.  They would probably not hear a sermon about the world as smelly stable:  all the ways that humans make it so smelly with the horrible choices they make.  But hey, good news:  God can be found in the smelly stable.

I'd have rather sung more Christmas carols, but it was not to be.  Christmas Eve doesn't really need a sermon, but perhaps there would be complaints if there was no sermon.

We used the gender neutral bathrooms before heading back to our home away from home--another sign that the church might be a tad more progressive than their God language indicates.  They also had a meditative garden space that I could see from inside the church, but I didn't explore.

We drove back through the glitzy lights of a resort area.  I thought back to Christmas Eve in San Diego, where we greeted the homeless who were making their camp for the night--what did they think of this jolly troupe of strangers wishing them a Merry Christmas?

I'd prefer a message about who is included in the stable and who can't even find a stable when there's no room at the end--but that message, too, might have irritated me.  I much prefer the Advent reading of Rebecca Solnit's Hope in the Dark:  Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities.  She reminds us that success is really much more ambiguous, as is failure.

Here's a message for our Christmas morning:  "The term 'politics of prefiguration' has long been used to describe the idea that if you embody what you aspire to, you have already succeeded. That is to say, if your activism is already democratic, peaceful, creative, then in one small corner of the world these things have triumphed. Activism, in this model, is not only a toolbox to change things but a home in which to take up residence and live according to your beliefs . . . " (pages 80-81).

Let us begin to live like the communities we're creating already exist.  Let us create a larger home in the world for the changes we need to see, the ones we're creating, the ones that humanity desperately needs.

Happy winter holidays, to all who celebrate the return of daylight to our world, slow minute by slow minute, each day a bit brighter.

Christmas Eve: from the Profound to the Mundane and Back Again

It has been a stranger Christmas season than most.  My sister-in-law moved into our cottage in September, and it's the first time we've had anyone living there longer than a week.  Since our last long-term resident moved away in 2016, we've had lots of work done:  an on-demand hot water system that supplies both houses, a new AC/heat system for the cottage, new landscaping that affects the back parking area, just to name a few.

I've been holding my breath, waiting to see what might go wrong with a full-time resident adding stress to the systems (water, electric, AC, etc), many of which are quite old.  And I had just started to enjoy the realization that everything seemed secure.

We went off on our week-long vacation, only to get a panicked phone call at 2:30 a.m. on Monday morning:  serious flooding in the cottage.  The good news:  we had left our keys with my sister-in-law, so she had a dry place to wait until morning.

Yesterday morning, she sent this picture:

Yes, that's our front yard under all that water.  The blue car in the background is the one we left parked on the street.  This time, the water made it to the porch, but didn't flood the house.

We have never seen that kind of water outside of Hurricane Irma.  We had no hurricane, no tropical system.  But we had enough rain in a "normal" weather pattern that this kind of flooding happened, which affected not only houses and roads, but the airport, which was closed for part of yesterday.

Insert a heavy sigh here.

We spent time yesterday trying to figure out what our response should be.  Should we go rushing back across the state?

In the end, we decided it made sense to stay where we are, vacationing with my side of our family.  We have a bed here in Marco Island, and by staying here, my sister-in-law can stay in our house while the cottage dries out.  The water has receded, but the drying out will take some time.

Last night I collapsed into bed early and slept soundly.  This morning, from the balcony, I could see stars over the ocean, a sight I rarely see on my side of the peninsula.  Even though the southeast coast of Florida tries to darken itself during sea turtle nesting season, it's minimally effective.

I stood on the balcony and took in the heavens.  I thought about the fact that it's Christmas Eve.  I thought about all the glories proclaimed from the heavens that some of us will celebrate tonight (and hopefully, we celebrate year round).

And then I came inside and unloaded the dishwasher and reloaded it.

From the profound mysteries to the essential tasks of a life incarnate--that line we walk, the balance we try to maintain, that idea seems to be an essential one of the year-end holidays.  I wish us all peace, no matter how we're celebrating.

All the Ways We Wait and Watch in Advent

This is not the kind of Advent watching and waiting that the prophets advised.

A few hours ago, I got a phone call from my sister-in-law who is living in our backyard cottage.  She said that water had come into the cottage, and because she knew she had power strips on the floor, she worried she might be electrocuted.

Happily, those fears didn't come to pass.  But I could hear the water as she waded through the cottage assessing the situation.  I'm two hours away, across the state.  I thought about getting in the car and racing back.  But it was dark and would be for hours.

She moved what she could, and we corresponded by way of Facebook.  We agreed we would wait for daylight to see what we should do next.  She's got the keys to our house, so she was able to make it there.  So far, there aren't flood waters in our house, but I'm not sure that either of our cars will be O.K.  And of course, there's the issue of the cottage.

Let me remember that many of us are keeping watch this Advent (and every other season too), and it's often not for cheery reasons.  I think of the phone call I got almost exactly 15 years earlier than my sister-in-law's phone call--my mother-in-law had fallen and was in the emergency room.  That was a horrible time of watching and waiting.

I think of those in Australia who have been evacuated because of the worst wildfires in Australian history.  They, too, watch and wait.

I think about those ancient prophets and about our Advent texts.  This kind of watching and waiting is not so dissimilar from the larger Advent watching and waiting that our Advent texts describe.  Joseph awakened out of sleep because of a message from the angel--yes, I can relate, although I'm not yet sure what this middle of the night message really means.  My early morning thoughts are to move to higher ground.

But I also think of other Advent texts, the messages that seem like disaster at first glance (a surprise pregnancy) but are blessings in disguise.  Let me remain open to the mysteries.

Let me also say a prayer for those who watch and wait, especially for those who will not be getting any blessings in disguise this Advent season.  Let me pray for us all, that we can continue to do create new life out of so much wreckage.

The Feast Day of Saint Thomas and the Winter Solstice

Today we celebrate the life of Saint Thomas. It's also the Winter Solstice. It's the time of year for doubting, as it may seem that others are having better lives than we are during the holiday season. Those of us in the northern hemisphere may feel that the dark will never recede. It's a good day to celebrate the most famous doubter of all.

Who can blame Thomas for doubting? It was a fantastic story, even if you had traveled with Jesus and watched his other miracles. Once you saw the corpse of Jesus taken off the cross, you would have assumed it was all over.

And then, it wasn't. Thomas, late to see the risen Lord, was one of the fiercest believers, legend tells us, Thomas walking all the way to India.

I wonder if Thomas is near and dear to the heart of the more rational believers. We're not all born to be mystics, after all. I worry about our vanishing sense of wonder. We've all become Thomas now. We don't believe anything that we can't measure with our five senses.

The more I read in the field of the sciences, the more my sense of wonder is reignited. I continue to be so amazed at the way the world works, both the systems we've created and the ones created before we came along. The more I know, the more I want to shout from the rooftops, "Great show, God!" (long ago, when my friend had small children, they would shout this refrain whenever they saw something beautiful in nature, like a gorgeous sunset; I try to remember to shout it too).

So today, as the earth leaves its darkest time and inches towards light, let us raise a mug of hot chocolate to St. Thomas, who showed us that we can have doubts and still persevere. Let us raise a mug of hot chocolate to solstice celebrations and all the ways that the natural world can point us back to our Creator. Let us pray that our rational selves live in harmony with our sense of wonder.

Here's a prayer from Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours: Prayers for Autumn and Winter for this day: "Everliving God, who strengthened your apostle Thomas with firm and certain faith in your Son's resurrection: Grant me so perfectly and without doubt to believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord and our God, that my faith may never be found wanting in your sight; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen."

A New Voice Calls for Trump's Removal

When people look back at our current political age, and even those of us living now, one of the questions that will be asked is how Donald Trump had the support of so many people who called themselves Christian.  That said, I'd like to know for sure, with solid numbers, how much support is actually there.

I don't know many people personally who support Trump and actually practice their Christianity.  I know one or two who may have started out as Trump supporters but have grown much more uneasy.  I don't know many people who are willing to give Trump a pass on his bad behavior because he's getting them some of the things they want to have, like Supreme Court justices.

I do know some people who aren't thinking about it at all.  My cousin's spouse said it more succinctly, "Most people I know are just looking for their next meal or their next fix and aren't thinking about this at all."  She works with some populations who are living in the deepest margins of our society, so she's got a view that I don't have.

I was struck by the editorial in yesterday's Christianity Today.  You may or may not know that the magazine was founded by Billy Graham, and it's thought of as one of the more important voices of the evangelical movement, which is often one of the more conservative streams of Christianity.  Billy Graham's son Franklin has been very vocal in his support of Trump.

Nonetheless, yesterday's editorial called for the removal of Donald Trump, and it concluded eloquently:  "We have reserved judgment on Mr. Trump for years now. Some have criticized us for our reserve. But when it comes to condemning the behavior of another, patient charity must come first. So we have done our best to give evangelical Trump supporters their due, to try to understand their point of view, to see the prudential nature of so many political decisions they have made regarding Mr. Trump. To use an old cliché, it’s time to call a spade a spade, to say that no matter how many hands we win in this political poker game, we are playing with a stacked deck of gross immorality and ethical incompetence. And just when we think it’s time to push all our chips to the center of the table, that’s when the whole game will come crashing down. It will crash down on the reputation of evangelical religion and on the world’s understanding of the gospel. And it will come crashing down on a nation of men and women whose welfare is also our concern."

Well said!  Here's hoping that this voice travels to those with ears to hear and unstops the ears of those who don't want to hear.

Mangers, Margins, and the Baby Jesus in a Cactus Plant

A few weeks ago, in the hour before the Advent 1 service, I noticed that my pastor left the baby Jesus in the manger when he set up the nativity scene.  We have the kind of manger where we can take the baby Jesus out, so I removed him (after making sure my pastor had no objections).

But where to put him?  I thought about a shelf--an interesting take on the Elf on a Shelf!

But I didn't want him to fall off or get lost in the stuff that gets shoved on the shelf.  I had similar worries about the other flat surfaces in the office.  This time of year, it's hard to clear out a bit of space to do the money counting, because we have so much stuff that's stored in the tiny office.

In the end, I put the baby Jesus in a pot that holds a cactus:

In the weeks since, I've been thinking about this as both an image and an idea.  I've worried that we might forget where we put him, echoing the words of Mary Magdalene:  "They have taken the body of my Lord, and I don't know where they have laid him."

I've thought of the vision that many of us have of the manger, the image given to us by centuries of sappy greeting cards.  In that scene, the manger looks like a cozy place.

In reality, a manger would have been made of stone, since wood was a scarce resource.  I have grown up thinking that the manger had hay, and now I wonder if that's true.  A potted plant might be a more comfortable place for the baby Jesus.

I also think of the world as a cactus plant:  full of prickles and spikes, rooted in the most unlikely places.  I think of the cactus as a fairly hardy plant, growing in the most inhospitable places.  Finding the Jesus in such a place is an improbable miracle.

Here's a longer view of the cactus plant.

In some ways, the modern office is also inhospitable:  full of screens and piles of work that needs to be done.  It's a place of the mundane, but also the miraculous.

Our sacred stories tell us that we might be more likely to find God in the margins than anywhere else.  The manger is one type of margin.  There are many others.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 22, 2019:

First Reading: Isaiah 7:10-16

Psalm: Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18 (Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19 NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 1:1-7

Gospel: Matthew 1:18-25


The Gospel for the Sunday before Christmas Eve gives us an angel appearing to Joseph in a dream. It's interesting to think about our lectionary, which moves in 3 year cycles and leaves out part of the story each year. This year we read about Joseph; other years, we see the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary and to Elizabeth before her. This week, on Christmas Eve, we'll hear about angels appearing to shepherds.

Notice the responses of these people. They give themselves to God's will. They don't protest, the way that some of our spiritual ancestors did--think of Moses, who tried and tried to get God to go away.

It's important to note that God always gives us a choice, although God can be notoriously insistent. Joseph could have gone on with his plans to divorce Mary quietly; notice his unwillingness to shame her publicly, as would have been his right in a patriarchal society. But the angel appears to give Joseph a fuller picture, and Joseph submits to God's will. Likewise, Mary could have said, "Mother of the Messiah? Forget it. I just want a normal kid." But she didn't.

During this time of year, I often wonder how many times I've turned down God. Does God call me to a higher purpose? Am I living my life in a way that is most consistent with what God envisions for me?

The readings for this time of year reminds us to stay alert and watchful. This time of year, when the corporate consumer machine is cranked into high gear, when so many of us sink into depression, when the world has so many demands, it's important to remember that God's plan for the world is very different than your average CEO's vision. It's important to remember that we are people of God, and that allegiance should be first.

What does this have to do with Joseph? Consider the story again, and what it means for us modern people. Maybe you're like Joseph, and you're overly worried about what people will think about you and your actions. The Gospel for this Sunday reminds us that following God may require us to abandon the judgments of the world and accept God's judgment.

Notice that Joseph is the only one in the story who receives an angel visitation in a dream. What is the meaning of this fact? Perhaps this route was the only way that God could reach Joseph. Many of us are so used to having our yearnings mocked or unanswered that they go deep underground, only to bubble up in dreams and visions. Convenient for us, since we can discount things more easily when they appear in our dreams.

God will take many routes to remind us of our role in the divine drama. Many of us won't notice God's efforts; we're too busy being so busy. This time of year reminds us to slow down, to contemplate, to pay attention.

A Rest for Weary Bones

The manger seems so far away.

We think of the ash of our lives and the distant rulers determined to burn our communities to the ground.

We want to find the treasure that may be perched among the mundane.

But we worry that if we look too closely at anything, we will discover the nest of wasps at the center.

More than anything else, we want a place to rest our weary bones.

In this season of Advent, let us turn our faces to the hope that flickers in the distance.

Let us be alert for the blaze of good news.

Back to Spiritual Journaling/Sketching on Sunday

I was startled this week to realize that the last time I sketched/journaled on Sunday was All Saints Day, WAY back in November.

Of course, there are really good reasons for that:  I was out of town for several Sundays in November, for a WELCA retreat and during Thanksgiving travels.  During two Sundays, I was in charge of the service, and I rarely sketch when I'm in charge.  And I've sketched in other journals--I have a journal just for Sunday sketching during the service.

Still, it was strange to realize that I've let my Sunday journaling fall away.  So yesterday, I made this sketch:

As I often am this time of year, I was struck by the words of "O Come, O Come Immanuel":  words about exile, words about loneliness.  I wrote a haiku-like thing:

True selves in exile
Captured in a lonely place.
Let free flight erupt.

I wrote some other non-haiku things; in the lower left:

Ransom us!
Break
our chains!!

I also wrote down words from my pastor's sermon at the top left: 
The angel invites
Joseph to do
the crazy thing.

For those of you who have forgotten the story of Joseph and the angel who appears to him in a dream, Joseph had been planning to quietly divorce her because she's pregnant, and the child isn't his.  He could have had her stoned, but he's doing the humane thing, the sensible thing.  But the angel appears to him in a dream and invites him to do the crazy thing:  Go ahead with the wedding to Mary, who has been impregnated by the Holy Spirit. 

And that's what he does.

It was good to get back to this discipline.  I like to think it helps me focus, and I do love being able to go back to remember what my pastor preached and what else was going on in any given Sunday.  It's a different twist on journaling, and I'm grateful for this discipline.

Advent 3

--We enter the third week of Advent.   I want to do more--more sketching, more walking through the paths lit by holiday lights, more listening to all the holiday CDs we've accumulated.

--Maybe I should just settle for remembering to light the Advent candles more regularly.  And it's difficult to remember to open the Advent calendar when it's in the fridge to keep the free trade chocolate from melting.

--It's the time of year that I want to commit to my superpower:  my body can store calories in advance of a famine.  We hear from nutritional experts that many citizens will gain 2-3 pounds during the holiday season, to which I say, "Amateurs!"

--But I also want to age gracefully, which means I want to be the feisty, old woman who can both carry her groceries in from the car she can still drive safely and put them away.  If I gain 10-20 pounds during every holiday season, that dream dies.

--I also want to be a feisty, old woman with friends, which means I need to keep maintaining my midlife connections.  Thus we went to dinner at the house of friends last night--sobering to realize that the last time we were together was July--subsequent get-togethers were disrupted by Hurricane Dorian and later, a November PAC meeting.

--I realized I had news to share, news of my acceptance into the spiritual direction certificate program.  The one friend who didn't know of my news said, "Wonderful.  We've been talking about how you should do this for over 10 years.  It's perfect for you."

--Let me remember how many people, almost everyone, has responded similarly.  Even when they ask, "What will you do with that?" and I say, "I'm not really sure yet, but I could work in a church or at a retreat center or have my own practice, like a life coach would do"--even in the face of that uncertainty, people say, "It's perfect for you."

--Some people say, "And then you can go on to seminary and be a preacher, right?"  Let me also remember that.

Book List for a Spiritual Director Certificate Program

I just placed my order for the first 2 books on the reading list for the spiritual director certificate program. 

I confess that when I first looked at this list, I felt a bit of a panic.  Could I really do this program while also working both as a full-time administrator and an adjunct English faculty member?  I worried that I might not be able to be able to read this much--and then I had to laugh at myself.  It's not like I'm being asked to master ancient Greek or Hebrew.  Of course I can read a book a month and write a report.

I worried I might not be able to find the books, but in our modern age, that's not likely to be a problem.  I did feel a bit of relief to discover that they're available and affordable. 

I wondered, as I always do, if I should just get them from the library.  I already have so many books.  But I want to be able to mark in them if I feel so inclined.  I don't want to have to keep track of when library books are due.

If one of these books turns out to be ghastly expensive, I might change my mind.  Of course, my public library might not carry that kind of book.  Right now, I don't have access to an academic library.

I'm lucky--right now I have the resources to buy the books I need.  So I went ahead and purchased the first two books on the list. 

In case you are interested, here's the whole list:

2020-2121 Reading List

Report Due	Title	Author
02/10/20	The Practice of Spiritual Direction	Wm Berry & Wm Connolly
03/10/20	Open Mind, Open Heart	Thomas Keating
04/10/20	Healing the Soul Wound	Eduardo Duran
05/10/20	Primary Speech	Ann Ulanov & Barry Ulanov
06/10/20	Silence	Thich Nhat Hanh
07/10/20	Joy Unspeakable: Contemplative Practices of the Black Church.	Barbara Holmes
08/10/20	The Orthodox Church[1] or The Orthodox Way[2]	Timothy Ware Or Kallistos Ware
09/10/20	Holy Listening	Margaret Guenther
10/10/20	God's Voice Within	Mark Thibodeaux
11/10/20	Soul Feast	Marjorie Thompson
12/10/20	Spiritual Friend	Tilden Edwards
01/10/21	Celebration of Discipline	Richard Foster
02/10/21	Seeds of Contemplation	Thomas Merton
03/10/21	Confessions or Revelations of Divine Love[3]	St. Augustine or Julian of Norwich
04/10/21	Reaching Out	Henri Nouwen
05/10/21	The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective	Richard Rohr
06/10/21	Take the MBTI online; no report.	http://www.16personalities.com/
	Spiritual Pilgrims: Carl Jung &Teresa of Avila	Welch

---

[1] This version includes a detailed and helpful history of the Orthodox church; for those of you who love history, we would suggest this one.

[2] This version omits the history portion and focuses solely on the practices of the Orthodox tradition.

[3] A really good edition of Julien of Norwich is The Sayings, translated by Mirabeau Starr.

Sketching the Feast Day of Santa Lucia

Today is the feast day of Saint Lucia--Saint Lucy's Day, as it may be more commonly known.  I've written a lot about Santa Lucia through the years; this blog piece will give newcomers to this feast day some background.

This morning I saw that one of my online journaling friends had created a sketch, so even though I didn't have much time, I sketched too. 

I like the haiku-like creation more than the sketch:

Early morning dark.
Braid of bread, braid of candles.
Lucy lead us home.

Here is the sketch by artist and pastor Jill Ross that inspired me.  Her Facebook post delighted me too with these words:  "Tomorrow is Santa Lucía Day. Not only does she bring light but also bread and coffee."

Yes, I'd have rather been baking bread and having a leisurely coffee morning, but that's not the Santa Lucia morning I will have this year.  I have been nourished in other ways.

Mid Advent, Midweek Journaling

At church, a group of us had talked about creating a regular series of Advent gatherings where we could be creative together.  As we compared schedules, it was clear that we would only be able to get together one day during Advent.  We decided that one day was better than no days, and we agreed to meet on Wednesday, December 11, at 6:00.

Thanks to Facebook, I realized that there was a meditative journaling guided exercise (4 modules of them) in the December issue of Gather magazine, an exercise created by Vonda Drees, the same woman who led the online journaling group that was so profound for me at the end of 2018.  In the interest of time, we did one of the modules in the article.

I had had a vision of something larger, with a series of stations and all sorts of images, but in the end, I didn't have time to create that, and in a way, it didn't matter.  We only had about 45 minutes, so I'm not sure why I thought I needed to create something grand and big.

Last night I arrived at the church to discover that someone had left the lights burning on the trees--they're electric lights on fake trees so it didn't matter.  It was lovely, but we couldn't do a journaling exercise in the dark sanctuary.

We began by reading Isaiah 2:  1-5.  The meditation had us draw a high mountain and then make dots leading up to it.

Halfway through, we read the verses again, listening for words or images that leapt out at us.  Then we drew dots, thinking about the word as we made each dot.  My word was instruction:

I was intrigued by how different our images were. 

One woman wrote the part of the verse that she wanted to be sure to preserve, the part that spoke to her:  "He'll show us the way to work, so that we can live the way we're made."

We had a bit of time for sharing, which was lovely.  The four of us gathered together have known each other for many years, so we were inclined to share.  It would have also been fine with me if we had just sat together in silence at the end.


My spouse came for choir rehearsal.  He had his mandolin.  As we talked about our images, he rehearsed "Go Tell It on the Mountain."  He swears he didn't realize we were sketching mountains, and I believe him.

I went back to turn off the lights so that we could all experience the loveliness I got to see when I was the first to arrive.  One of the journaling group caught the moment of video (you'll have to turn the volume way up to hear the mandolin):

As the choir gathered for choir rehearsal, we returned to our other tasks.  Like so much of my life, gathering together to journal was something I didn't know I desperately needed until I had done it.