Our Deepest Dreams, God's Deepest Dreams

I continue to be blown away by how many people gave me so much positive energy on my Facebook post about applying to seminary and from such a wide variety of people across my life.  There was a moment yesterday when I thought, Oh my goodness, what have I done?

When I made the Facebook post, I figured that it was a Friday night and most people wouldn't pay attention, if indeed they saw it at all.  I was surprised that it continued to get attention and comments through Saturday.

I thought back to one of the books I read for my certificate in spiritual direction, God’s Voice Within: The Ignatian Way to Discover God’s Will by Mark E. Thibodeaux.  In fact, during the past several weeks, I've thought about that book often.  It was one of the first times I had seen Ignatian concepts spelled out that clearly.

I read the book back in October, so this morning I pulled it off the shelf, and I was struck by the language of visioning.  Early in the book Thibodeaux says, "Later on, I will define consolation as letting God dream in me.  If that is the case, then desolation is allowing the false spirit to nightmare in me.  I am in desolation when I become preoccupied by false futures of impending doom" (p. 30).

I loved the ideas of consolation and desolation that Thibodeaux explores in his book.  It's an interesting way towards discernment.  He suggests asking these questions:  "What is the most loving thing to do?  What is the most hopeful thing to do?  What is the most faith-filled thing to do?" (p. 47).

Many faithful people will remind us that we're either moving toward God or away from God, and that discernment can help us figure out any number of questions.  Thibodeaux goes even further, saying "But Ignatius held the radical notion that God dwells  within our desires." (p. 167).  What if we trusted that wisdom?  Our deepest, wildest desires are God, talking to us, guiding us, shaping us.

One problem, of course, is that we've been taught that giving in to our deep desires will upend our lives and bring us to a ruinous end.  We might protest that we have been taught no such thing, but I'd instruct us to look at popular culture to see the evidence.  Popular culture, at least a segment of it, teaches us that our heart desires what is not good for us:  drugs, alcohol, the wrong kind of sex, any number of ways to avoid being responsible citizens.

But maybe that teaching is wrong.  What if we started to trust our deepest desire?  What if we started to act to move us to fulfillment of those deep desires?

Seminary Application and My Most Popular Facebook Post Ever

Earlier this week, I got e-mails from 2 of the people whom I asked to write recommendation letters for seminary--they had submitted letters and gotten verification from Wesley that their letters arrived.  I decided that I had better go ahead and get my part done.

Once again, I entered information--I've lost track of how many times I've slotted in all the degrees I've done.  At least I didn't have to enter my job information again.  Earlier this week, I was working on the forms that need to be done before the psychological evaluation for the candidacy process can begin.  Those two forms have spots for similar information (school, jobs), but I couldn't cut and paste.

Yesterday afternoon, I finished the seminary application--the candidacy process will take a bit longer, but I'm on track.  Yesterday afternoon, I ordered my transcripts to be sent to Wesley.

Last night, I made this Facebook post:  "Today, I applied to go to seminary. My goal is an MDiv degree with a track in Theology and the Arts from Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, DC. I hope to be ordained in the Lutheran (ELCA) church, so I'm also completing the parts of the candidacy process. I'm hoping to start taking classes in the Fall of 2021."

I think that this will be my most popular Facebook post of all time.  On Saturday morning, at 9:41 a.m., I have 98 likes and 55 comments.  So far, no one has written to say that I am out of my mind or too old.  I've heard from a variety of friends:  high school, college, retreat friends, friends from a variety of workplaces, spin class friends.  It's amazing.

I'm not sure why I'm surprised when I get these votes of confidence, these well wishes.  But I am surprised--and so very grateful.

Go Bags, Muscle Memory, and the Spiritual Lessons of a Podcast

For the past week, I've been listening to episodes in a podcast that looks at Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower, chapter by chapter.  The first 6 episodes were recorded before the pandemic.  This morning, I've been listening to episode 7, which is rooted in the book, the pandemic, and how to prepare for an unknown future.

Chapter 7 is the one where the main character creates a go bag, a survival pack, after she realizes that at some point she may have to go quickly.  The podcast talks about what we keep in our go bags.  Of course, some of us are already moving with our go bags.  As Toshi Reagon says, "I travel with a bag that doesn't assume I will come right home."  Her go bag is a back pack.  

I think back to 2005, that tough year of hurricanes and disruption of all sorts, that year where I realized that the federal government and local authorities might not be able to protect us or help us recover.  Even after hurricane season was over, I kept my supply of hurricane water, plastic containers full of water, in the bathtub.  It was not too long after the terrorist attacks of 2001 and the color coded threat system, and again, the knowledge that the hugest army in the world might not be able to keep attacks at bay.  If the water supply was disrupted, I would be ready.  For several years, I never let the gas tank of the car dip below half a tank--I wanted to be ready to go if I had to leave.  I even kept some gallons of water in the hatchback of the car.

I think part of the problem of the current age is that it's hard to know which apocalypse is coming and how to prepare.  The podcast talked a bit about the idea of not only having a physical go bag, but also getting and keeping our spiritual selves in shape so that we can face whatever is coming.  What are our core beliefs?  What will keep us sustained no matter what apocalypse comes?

They also talk about the core beliefs of our team/pod/friends/family--are we all working towards the same goals?  If something happens, will we react the same way and make the same types of decisions?  As adrienne maree brown says, "If you're not [an abolitionist], we're probably not gonna roll together, because the first time we have a conflict, we're gonna feel wildly different about what to do next."

They also talk about how to build muscle memory so that we have less thinking to do--it's built in--"here's what it looks like to go."  If you had 10 minutes to get ready to go, what would you grab and why?  It's a game we could play with our families to train our children, but it's also an important thought process for all of us.

This morning, I wrote this tweet, "I've been writing a poem, but also listening to episode 7 of this podcast on Octavia Butler's 'Parable of the Sower,' which feels like one of the most important/useful discussions about preparing for the future that I have ever heard."

It also has a spiritual dimension in a non-traditional way.  Listening to this podcast, especially this episode, has that kind of spiritual essentialness that makes me want to hear it again and again, with a sense that God is speaking through it.

At the end, adrienne maree brown says, "What belief systems have you learned through observing life, . . .  What is the truest thing you've observed, and have you organized your life around it?"--one of the most essential spiritual questions. 

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 28, 2021:

First Reading: Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16

Psalm: Psalm 22:22-30 (Psalm 22:23-31 NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 4:13-25

Gospel: Mark 8:31-38


In this week's Gospel, Jesus gives us fairly stark terms about what it means to be a Christian, and it's worth thinking about, in our world where Christianity has become so distorted and used to justify so many questionable activities.

Over the last 50 or so years of the 20th century, many people came to see Christianity as just one more way to self-enlightenment or self-improvement. Many people combined Christian practices with Eastern practices, and most of them showed that they had precious little knowledge of either.

Or worse, people seemed to see Christianity as a path to riches. We see this in countless stories of pastors who took money from parishioners and, instead of building housing for homeless people, built mansions for themselves. We see this in the megachurch which is held up as an optimum model, the yardstick by which we smaller churches are measured and come up lacking. The bestseller lists are full of books which promise a Christian way to self-fulfillment or riches, while books of sturdy theology will never be known by most readers.

Jesus reminds us again and again that Christians are to strive NOT to put themselves at the center of their lives. Taking our Christian lives seriously is sure to put us on a collision course with the larger world. Christ warns us that we may even lose our lives. I suspect that he means this on several different levels, yet it is worth reminding ourselves of how many martyrs there have been, even in the late-twentieth century, people who were murdered because they dared to take Christianity seriously and called on corrupt governments to change their practices or went to places where the rest of us are afraid to go to help the poor of the world.

If we don't put ourselves at the center of our lives, then who should be there? Many of us deny ourselves for the good of our children, for our charity work, for our bosses. Yet that's not the right answer either.

God requires that we put God at the center of our lives. Frankly, many of us are much better at putting our family first or our pets or our friends--but God? Many of us are mystified at how we even begin to do that.

Maybe it is time to return to that practice that surfaces periodically. Years ago, people wore bands around their wrists that had these letters: WWJD. What would Jesus do? It's a good question to ask as we move through our days.

Imagine it this way: if Jesus moved into your extra bedroom, how would your life change? Would you watch the same TV shows? What kind of charity or justice work would you do? Would you have a daily family meal where you talked about where you saw God today?

Once God is at the center of our lives, then we are more well-equipped to care for the world. When we spend every spare minute watching broadcasters scream at each other in what passes for news shows, we are not emotionally equipped to deal with the cares of the world. When we can't focus on anything beyond our social media screens, we're lost to our fellow humans.

But with God at our core, we can be God's hands to do God's work in the world.

The Feast Day of Saint Matthias

Today is the traditional feast day of St. Matthias. In the 1960's, the Roman Catholic church moved his feast day to May 14, so that we're celebrating his life in a month that makes more chronological sense--Matthias was the apostle chosen to replace Judas Iscariot, who committed suicide after he realized what his betrayal had wrought, so it makes sense to celebrate his life after Easter. Of course, traditionalists will celebrate today. And Eastern Orthodox believers will observe his feast day on August 9.
I've recently become a bit fascinated with this saint. I've done a smidgeof research, and I can't tell what, exactly, he's the patron saint of.

If I was in charge, I'd make him the patron saint of people who must wait for recognition. Would I make him the patron saint of people who must wait for recognition in the workplace only, or in any situation? Is that process of waiting so different?

I have this on the brain because I work in a place where our local job ladder is very short. We have lots of folks who have been working for the organization for ten years or more--when there's a job opening, we can't promote them all. And once a person has been promoted, it might be years--decades even--before there's an opening above.

I imagine that the circle of Jesus was similar. There's the inner circle, the twelve, chosen early. Then there's a massive outer circle. Who would have dreamed of the incidents that led to a job opening in the inner circle?

Of course, as a woman, I will always wonder at what Gospel revisions went on in the early church. Was the inner circle really that tight? Was it really only twelve? Was it really only men? We know that Jesus had a sympathy towards women that was uncommon for his time period. Would he really have excluded them from the inner circle?

Then I think of the logistics of being one of the twelve--all that travel, all those difficult circumstances. Maybe it was kinder of Jesus not to call women to be part of the inner circle. If you go back to the sayings of Jesus, it's clear that he doesn't see hierarchy in the same way that humans do--he clearly mocked the idea that some disciples are more chosen than other.

So, would Matthias have even seen his appointment as a promotion? Maybe it's just our later proclivity to make lists that sees this development as a promotion. Of course, there is that passage in Acts that seems to show that the disciples shared our proclivities toward hierarchy and list making.

I think of Matthias, patiently waiting, following Christ, never knowing the outcome. In that way, he's the patron saint of us all. We follow Christ, not knowing whether we'll be chosen for some superhuman greatness, or whether we'll be called to stay put, quietly ministering the people around us. Some of us believe that God has a plan for us, while others believe that God will use us where we are, like a master weaver. Some of us believe that the universe is essentially chaotic, but we are not excused from God's mission of Kingdom building. Some of us know that we cannot possibly comprehend any of this, and we know that we are lucky that God does not depend on our puny imaginations.

The Kingdom of God, the Cosmos of God

I have long been looking for a better phrase than the Kingdom of God.  The Kingdom of God is a better phrase than the Kingdom of Heaven, but it's still got issues.  People hear either one, the Kingdom of God and/or the Kingdom of Heaven, and think of Heaven anyway.  After all, our earthly Kingdom certainly seems very far away from God--so we must be talking about Heaven, right?

And most of us were raised with the idea of Heaven being "up there," some place and time after physical death.  Either of those Kingdom phrases seems to describe a static place, a place apart, a physical place.  

I have come to believe that Jesus is trying to tell us about a state of mind which leads to a state of relationships.  He's telling us that we don't have to wait for a later date to experience the kind of life that God envisions for us.  The Kingdom of God is both now and not yet.  It's arrived, but it's not done yet.  And we get to be part of creating it--that is, if we accept God's invitation.

The other morning, I came up with the idea of The Cosmos of God, which I think is a better way of capturing that idea.  The Cosmos is both here and still in the process of becoming.  It's both somewhere else, and yet we're part of it.  It has potential while being fully formed.

In some ways, I think that 21st century brains are primed to accept these ideas about God and how the vision that God has for us that is both now and not yet.  If we've been reading Physics at all, we have an inkling of that.

Yet when it comes to theology, many of us have been trained to leave our 21st century brains turned off.  We think about God and theology with our 14th century brains.  Another reason why I like the phrase The Cosmos of God is that it moves us away from the 14th century in a way that Kingdom or Heaven does not.

Let me continue to play with this language, keep trying to find a way to more perfectly express these ideas, to short circuit our 14th century brains.

Video Sermon for February 21, 2021

I created today's sermon for Trinity Lutheran Church in Pembroke Pines, Florida.  I did it in the way that I've been creating sermons since the pandemic forced us to do more online:  I create small segments, and then I put them together in Video Editor.  As I've done more sermons like these, I've tried to think about what I've done in the past, so that there's not too much repetition of images/film/video.

Today's sermon is a meditation on Mark 1:  9-15, which gives us Jesus baptized and then tempted.  Unlike other Gospels, we don't get many details about the nature of the temptation or how Jesus resists.  We just know that he does.

I can't post the whole video here, but I'll post the beginning:

And here's the end:

To see the whole sermon, please go here to my YouTube channel.

Pre-Candidacy Interview

I am now moving towards the future on 2 tracks:  one is the candidacy process, by which the Lutheran church determines that I am called to be a pastor, and the other is the application process by which Wesley Theological Seminary decides whether or not to let me come and study there.  Yesterday I completed another major step in the candidacy process.  

A few weeks ago, I got a candidacy packet from my synod of the ELCA.  One document gave me a list of 4 possible people whom the Synod has chosen to do a pre-candidacy interview.  I did a bit of Googling, and I chose one name because the woman had been a CPA, and then when she was in her 50's, she went to seminary. She's 70 now. 

I had a Zoom session with her yesterday.  It was an interview, but it was really more like a conversation. We talked about faith journeys, about our current churches, about the future, about the kind of ministry I thought I might want.  I gave my answers about retreat centers or being the pastor in charge of creative programming or being the person who creates online ministry opportunities. She said she could see the enthusiasm that I had, that I looked so happy.

We talked about approaches to seminary:  full-time or part-time, onground or online.  She said that the seminary she went to insisted that she come to be at the seminary full time, so she did. We talked here and there about how seminary had changed through the decades--and how it hasn't. Now there's more room for part-time students at seminary in a way that there wasn't when she was doing her degree.

We also talked about why I was focused on the MDiv--why not go the Word and Service route not Word and Sacrament?  I talked about all the people I know who hadn't gotten the MDiv and wished that they had because it would have opened more doors.  She advised me to stay open through the process, especially since I won't have that long to have a career, the way that someone just out of college at the age of 21 would have.

The interview lasted about an hour, and it was more like a conversation I might have with a friend, a newer friend with similar interests.  She encouraged me to stay in touch with her, and I plan to do just that.

So I've completed another step, and I'll keep going, step by step.

Twelfth Visit to the Spiritual Director

A month ago when I last visited my spiritual director, I hadn't yet discovered the Theology and the Arts track for the MDiv at Wesley Theological Seminary.  Last visit, we talked about centering prayer.  This visit, yesterday, we talked about my discovery of the program and the process of going to seminary.

I had written her an e-mail, a version of the e-mail that I sent to many people in my life when I discovered the program and started the application and candidacy process.  I did that in part because we only have 60-75 minutes, and I didn't want to spend that time talking about certain logistics.

We talked about the discernment process, which is something we've been talking about since our first appointment a year ago.  We talked about going to a Methodist seminary versus the seminaries in other denominations.  

My spiritual director is an ELCA pastor, so she's got certain insights that I value.  We talked about doctrinal issues--where might I agree and disagree?  I talked about my problems with penal substitutionary theology--the idea that God can only love us because Jesus agreed to crucifixion to take care of our sins.  We talked about the idea of grace.

Early on in our session, I talked about my longing for a work life that's more integrated, and when asked to expand on that, I said that I've met a lot of artists who don't have much use for God and the Church, and I've met lots of Church people who say that they're not creative, but I haven't met many people who want to explore both creativity and Christian faith.  My spiritual director said that I'll be able to use that yearning to provide interesting opportunities for my congregation.  She talked about her own experiences with contemplative Christianity and the ways she brings that focus to her church.

As we ended, she said that some candidacy committees require a year of discernment before they give approval, and that if that's the case, she'd be happy to attest that we've spent the past year doing that kind of discernment.  I told her that I knew that all that we talk about is held in confidence, but that she should feel free to share those details if necessary, that we haven't discussed anything that I haven't already discussed with everybody else in my life.

It's kind of startling to realize that's true.  Am I really living a life that open?  Do I not have any deep, dark secrets?  Does that mean I'm boring?  Am I repressing something?  I don't think so, but then again, would I know?

As we ended, my spiritual director said that she was seeing a willingness to embrace this future, even though I wasn't sure of the ending, and that was something she hadn't seen in me before.  We have discussed my need for control, my need to have a plan, and five back up plans, so she's aware of this aspect of me.

We were at the end of the session, so we didn't discuss this, but I've only been this way at certain junctures in the past:  when my spouse went back to grad school and a few years later, when we made the decision to move to South Florida and see what we could make happen.  Those were real "leap and the net will appear" moments for me.  Clearly, I haven't continued to live out that philosophy year after year after year.

Maybe this will be the decade that I live into that vision.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 21, 2021:

First Reading: Genesis 9:8-17

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

Second Reading: 1 Peter 3:18-22

Gospel: Mark 1:9-15

We begin Lent back in the country of baptism. Once again, we hear the story of the baptism of Christ. Didn't we just cover this material a few weeks ago?Indeed we did, and it should remind us of the importance of this sacrament. It gives us a chance to notice what we might not have noticed before.

We see that baptism doesn't protect Jesus from the trials and tribulations that will come. In fact, he is driven into the wilderness, tempted by Satan, and I assume that the time with the wild beasts was not easy either. For those of us who think that if we just pray properly, God will give us what we need, we should reread this passage again. Who is this Spirit driving Jesus into the wilderness? Is this Job's God making an appearance again?

This Gospel is not one that you would hand to non-believers to convince them that they'll have an easier life as a Christian. Look at the end of the Gospel lesson: John the Baptist has been arrested. We can't say we haven't been warned about what might happen to us when we do God's work in the world.

But we're not excused from doing it. The Gospel ends with Jesus continuing his mission, preaching the gospel of God.  In the face of certain persecution, Jesus has work to do.

Lent is at hand.   The season of Lent begins by reminding us that we are dust, and all too soon, we'll return to dust. You can call yourself a creature made out of the ruins of stars (true!), but you're dust all the same. The lessons of Lent reinforce this message.

Like Jesus, we have work to do.  Like Jesus, God is already pleased with us, regardless of our results.  Jesus believes this good message that God proclaims at the baptism of Christ, and Jesus goes out to change the world.

Like Jesus, let us believe in God's grace.  Let us live like the redeemed creatures that we are.  Let us go out to change the world.

Video Sermon for Ash Wednesday

My pastor asked me if I wanted to do the meditation for Ash Wednesday, and I jumped at the chance.  I knew it would be pre-recorded, and I knew that I've been enjoying my approach of recording segments and seeing how to stitch them together.  I like that the process pulls on my poetry brain.  I like trying to think of ways to make the message new.

This year offers additional challenges.  There's the standard challenge of having heard the message already:  Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.  Some of us might say, "We hear this every year.  Blah, blah, blah, dust, ash, rust, smash."

But this year, with Ash Wednesday coming after a year of these reminders of our mortality, how do we make the message new?  This year, after a year of watching all we've built implode, explode, decay, and disappear, how do we create a message that touches on these themes but doesn't leave us clinically depressed?

Here's one of the video segments that tries to do all of that:

I confess that I don't know if I've been successful.  The video sermon is too big to put in this blog post, but you can go here to see it.

When I went to my YouTube channel to get the link to the sermon to post,  I was surprised to find that the video had 53 views, far more views than any other video I've posted to the channel.  How did people find it?  What Google searches brought them to my little video sermon on Ash Wednesday?

No Parades, No Parties, No Pancakes in a Pandemic Year--Let Us Eat Cake!

Here we are on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday--but it's a pandemic year, so we already know it will be different.  You may have been seeing houses in New Orleans that have been decorated the way that parade floats would have been decorated in years past.  I admire the "let's make lemonaid out of these lemons we've been given" spirit.

Today is Mardi Gras, and it's also Shrove Tuesday. It's the day before Ash Wednesday, the day before Lent begins. Mardi Gras and Carnival, holidays that come to us out of predominantly Catholic countries, certainly have a more festive air than Shrove Tuesday, which comes to us from some of the more dour traditions of England. The word shrove, which is the past tense of the verb to shrive, which means to seek absolution for sins through confession and penance, is far less festive than the Catholic terms for this day.

In the churches of my childhood, we had pancake suppers on Shrove Tuesday.  I am guessing that there will be few pancake suppers in church fellowship halls across the nation today.  Even if we could make it safe to assemble, much of the northern 48, as I like to call the rest of the U.S. that's not Florida and Hawaii, are dealing with snow and ice today.

Maybe this year is the year to have this wallop of a winter storm when we can't do much as a group:  no parades, no parties, no pancakes.  But we could do something on a small scale at home.  The holidays of Shrove Tuesday, Carnival, and Mardi Gras have their roots in the self-denial of the Lenten season. These holidays are rooted in the fasting traditions of Lent and the need to get rid of all the ingredients that you'd be giving up during Lent: alcohol, sugar, eggs, and in some traditions, even dairy foods.

Many of us have baking supplies on hand--why not make a Mardi Gras treat that's a cross between a bread and a cake?

Here's a recipe for a simple, yeasted bread that requires no kneading and is relatively healthy, but also sweet.  I'll walk you through it.

Epiphany/Mardi Gras Bread

2 pkg (5 ½ tsp.) active dry yeast
¼ c. warm water
2/3 c. milk
½ c. sugar
1 ½ tsp. salt
½ c. butter
3 large eggs
4 c. flour (can be part or all whole wheat)
2 c. candied fruit, and/or raisins, and/or nuts

In a large bowl, dissolve the yeast in the warm water with a tsp. of sugar and the salt.  Give it a few minutes to foam, and then mix in the eggs. In a small heavy saucepan, bring the milk, butter, salt, and sugar to a boil. Once it’s cooled a bit, add the milk mixture to the yeast mixture, along with the flour, and blend.

Add the 2 cups of candied fruit, nuts, and/or raisins—or leave them out. I’ve used candied ginger with great success, and I really like dried cranberries and pecans. You can use more gourmet items, like citron. Or use the candied fruits that make an appearance during the holiday baking season.

The dough will be very sticky; fortunately, you don’t knead it.

Simply let it rise. Grease 2 tube pans or bundt pans.

When the dough has doubled in size, spoon it into the pans. Let it rise again.

If you want to put prizes in the bread, you can do so before you put the bread in the oven. The traditional prize for Mardi Gras is a baby Jesus (if using plastic, stick him into the bread after baking). For Epiphany/Three Kings Bread, some bread bakers include a coin (wrapped in foil) that indicates good luck for the person who finds it. Some put a china baby into the bread. Other customs include a bean, a clove, a twig, a piece of rag. Some traditions have the person who finds the embedded item doing the clean up, some have the person hosting the next party in February at Candlemas or the next year's Mardi Gras party.

Bake at 375 for 25-35 minutes. The dough should be golden, and a toothpick inserted in the center should come out clean.

The bread is delicious plain:

but it’s also good with powdered sugar frosting or glaze.

For Mardi Gras, traditionally you’d sprinkle the icing or glaze with sugar colored purple, green, and/or yellow. 

You can make colored sugar easily at home by stirring food coloring into white granulated (table) sugar:

Based on a recipe found in Beatrice Ojakangas’ The Great Holiday Baking Book

And keep this bread in mind as Christmas rolls around; it's easy for gifts and a reason to celebrate Epiphany on January 6.

The Feast Day of Saint Valentine--AND the Feast of the Transfiguration--on a Sunday in a Pandemic Year

This isn't the first day that Valentine's Day falls on a Sunday. It is the first day for most of us that Valentine's Day falls on a Sunday where it isn't safe to assemble the way that we once did. It is also the Feast Day of the Transfiguration, which falls on the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday. Catholics celebrate the Transfiguration feast day on August 6, and we could spend lots of time analyzing whether or not Saint Valentine deserves to be a saint or deserves to have a feast day or whether or not this day that celebrates romantic love should be mentioned in church services, the church services that a lot of us won't be attending in person for reasons pertaining to disease or snow.

Once I would have written a blog post about how we hope our earthly relationships would transfigure us. In fact, I've written variations of that blog post over and over again. Once I would have written about all the ways we wish we could be transfigured--but do we want to do the work?

Today I'm thinking about this past pandemic year and all the ways it has changed us and our society profoundly. I'm also thinking about the dangerous message that so many of us hear about love, the messages beamed at us that tell us we are not worthy of love, that we must make profound changes so that we can find the love we crave.

I think about what God says about Jesus on the mountain: “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him!” It reminds us of what happened at the baptism of Jesus, that declaration of love at the beginning, before Jesus has done a thing in terms of ministry. The good news of the Christian gospel is that God feels the same way about all of us.

Many of us (all of us?) crave this kind of complete love. Imagine: we don't have to transform ourselves or bend ourselves into pretzel shapes or become someone we're not to be worthy of this kind of love. We don't have to do a certain set of practices. We don't have to behave in a certain way, in ways that we know we can't sustain. We don't even need to say a formal acceptance. God just loves us this way.

Many of us spend our whole lives yearning to find this kind of love from our fellow humans, and occasionally, we find it for a bit--but most humans find this kind of love unsustainable, particularly when we're trying to love humans who aren't on their best behavior.In the past, I've worried about how Valentine's Day might make people feel excluded. I've thought the church should just ignore this holiday that is designed to make us feel like we must spend gobs and gobs of money to demonstrate our love. But maybe I've overlooked an essential message that preaches well.

Every day, ideally, should be Valentine's Day, a day in which we try to remind our loved ones how much we care--and not by buying flowers, dinners out, candy, and jewelry. We show that we love by our actions: our care, our putting our own needs in the backseat, our concern, our gentle touch, our loving remarks, our forgiveness over and over again.

And sustained by the love that sustains in our homes, we can go out to be a witness that glows with evidence of God's love to the dark corners of the world. Every week, we are reminded of the brokenness of the world, and some weeks the world feels more broken, unfixable. But we can kindle the fires that can transform the world.

On this Valentine's Day, let us go out into the world, living sacraments, to be Valentines to one another, to illuminate the wonders of God's love to a weary world .

New Spiritual Disciplines and Practices for the Twenty-first Century

 For my program that will lead to my certification as a spiritual director, we read one book a month and write a report.  With some of the books, it's like falling through a hole in time; for example, one of them talked about talking to one's spiritual director with a long distance phone call, if one could afford those high rates.

For the last review I wrote this, in response to the question about what stirred my spirit most:  "It may not be the fault of the book, but not much about this stirred my spirit. I liked the reminder that there are a variety of disciplines, but at this point, I’ve heard a lot about these particular disciplines, and I find myself wondering about the kind of book I’d write for the 21st century, the disciplines that are important for our current time. Thinking about that question has stirred my spirit—and in a good way."

We turn in our responses to our small group leader, and she writes the most wonderful replies.  Here's what she wrote to the above response:  "Now, I am wondering when you will be writing a book about current spiritual disciplines!!!!!! What a wonderful gift that would be to all of us - and everyone!!!!! And I have no doubt that you could do just that!!!! Especially with the direction that you are taking right now……Kristin, you have so very much to offer to the Church - Lutheran and United Methodist!!!!! - the entire Church. God has no boundaries for you……This is such a beautiful time of discerning for you…..Blessings are with you as you continue on your journey."

I'm recording this exchange in part because of the praise.  I like having positive voices in reserve for when the negative voices in my head get too loud and shrill.

But I'm also recording it because I like to keep a record of potential writing projects and books.  Of course, I have more ideas than I have time to write in my current lifetime.  But this idea spoke to me:  what are the spiritual disciplines for the 21st century that will take us to the 22nd?

Some of those practices might be the same.  Some are timeless.  But we likely have new practices that would be very unfamiliar to a time traveler arriving from the year 1927--or 1427.

What are they?  I'm not sure yet.  But it's a question that stirs my soul.

Seminary Online Open House

Last night, I went to an online open house at Wesley Theological Seminary last night.  I got the invitation in the late afternoon, and I thought, I should probably do this.  I'm not sure why I thought that.  After all, I'm already working on my application.

I was expecting it to be more of a virtual tour of the campus with a presentation of some sort.  Instead, it was a Zoom meeting with special guests.  A first year student was our special guest for the first half hour, and for the last half, we heard from an academic dean who also teaches a pastoral care class.  I was impressed with the enthusiasm of the first year student.  The professor has been at Wesley for 18 years, which I see as a good sign.  He talked about the difference between conversation in a pastoral care setting (a slower pace, careful and considered), conversation in daily life (not deep), and conversation in a Zoom meeting (more like ping ponging comments).  

What most heartened me about his presentation is that he talked about the seminary's approach to the classes that go deep into the Bible.  He talked about the different contexts that would be considered throughout the course of the class, and by extension the course of seminary study:  the context of the world in which the text that was written, the context of the world of readers, and the context of scholarship.  I was glad to hear that Wesley doesn't insist on the doctrine of Biblical inerrancy.

It does occur to me that those kinds of questions might be ones I should be considering, but I am just so thrilled about the Arts and Theology focus and the fact that the seminary is Methodist, which is much closer to Lutheran theology than many traditions.  Years ago, when I was first wondering if there could be a seminary with an arts and theology focus, I came across a program at Fuller Seminary.  That seminary has an online option, but I have a sense of their conservative theology, and I know that won't work for me.

I was pleased to see the diversity of the people on the Zoom call--almost all of us thinking about seminary, with a person or two who has already committed.  I was most happy to see that they are not all just out of undergraduate school.  I'm not opposed to studying with students who are in their 20's, but I don't want to be the only person at midlife in the room.  And I'm at the far end of midlife--I'm not 40 years old anymore (I'll celebrate my 56th birthday in July).

While the webinar wasn't what I was expecting, in a way, it was much more useful.  I don't really need a virtual tour of the campus or the library, although I would have enjoyed it.  But I already know that I'll love those things.  I was glad to get a chance to see that I will also love my classmates and my professors.

When God Opens Both Doors and Windows

In my path to seminary, I realize that there will be discouraging times, so I want to record the encouraging times so that I have them when I need the fortitude to keep going.  In the past week, I've gotten so much positive feedback when I've told people my plans.  I remember many a spiritual book that suggests/claims that if one gets this kind of feedback, then it may be a bit clearer that one is proceeding in a good direction.

Earlier this week, I looked through the application materials for the seminary part of my plan; the candidacy part involves a different set of paperwork, with some overlap.  The seminary requires 4 letters of recommendation, so I decided to reach out to the people who might be the most likely candidates to write letters, knowing that they might say no for a variety of reasons.

They all said yes!

Yesterday I was on a Zoom conference call with part of the group that plans the Create in Me retreat.  We spent the first part of the call catching up with each other.   I told about my inability to be sure I could attend the retreat because my school is being bought by another school, and I don't know what the new vacation policy will be.  Then without planning to do it, I blurted out,  "And because that's not enough change and upheaval, I submitted my application for candidacy last week."  I said a few sentences about the Theology and the Arts program I'd found, and I was pleased to see the people on the call smile and nodded.

Today let me proceed on some of the pieces that I need to do.  The various essays that I have to write won't write themselves after all.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, February 14, 2021:

First reading
2 Kings 2:1-12

Psalm
Psalm 50:1-6

Second reading
2 Corinthians 4:3-6

Gospel
Mark 9:2-9

In past years, I would have thought about Transfiguration Sunday and the upcoming season of denial and penitence, Lent, that is fast approaching.  Frankly, this year it feels like we've had a whole year of lessons in Lenten denial.

This year, as we read the passage from Mark, we might understand Peter's response a bit better than we have in past years.  I see Peter yearning for time to process what he's seen, to try to make sense of it all, and of course, to prolong the good feeling of being one of the special ones, one of the ones who gets to go up the mountain with Jesus, one of the ones to witness this strange transfiguration.

This past year has been one of those hinge moments in history, where we will clearly see a before and an after.  Right now, we don't know what that after will look like.  Maybe we're scared we'll never get to a place of transfiguration.  Maybe we're scared of what that transfigured world will be.

Maybe we wish we could be like Peter, strong, like a rock, with that gusto and enthusiasm.  Maybe we know that we're just sand, hardly able to hold ourselves and our communities together. the former rock of faith abraded away by the difficulties of life. We know that a house built on sand will wash away with a big storm or with the daily movement of the waves.

But take heart: concrete mixed with sand will be stronger. And where do those of us who are sand find concrete? Often we don't even have to look. Often our family and friends are in their concrete phase when we're in our sand phase. We strengthen each other, even when we're unaware that we're doing it. But how much stronger we could be if we were more intentional.

We can do the work of strengthening each other, even when it's not safe to gather together in a room.  The past year has shown us many ways to be together in community.  The years after the virulence of COVID-19 dies down will be transfiguring too.  We're learning valuable lessons about how to be a community.

Jesus knew the value of community. He knew the human tendency to rush towards transfiguration. We yearn to be different, but so often, we shun the hard work involved. We might embrace transformation before we stop to consider the cost. But if we are surrounded by community, the work transforms into something more festive. If we stay on top of the mountain after the light fades, we may come to feel stranded.

Jesus reminds us again and again that the true work comes not from telling people what we’ve seen, but by letting what we’ve seen change the way that we live. Our true calling is not to be carnival barker, but to get on with the work of repair and building of the communities in which we find ourselves.

We can be the rock, the concrete, the sand. Christ's vision is big enough to transfigure us all.

Ministry or Good Customer Service?

My friend had an aging dog with kidney issues.  Two weeks ago, her dog's health took a quick nosedive, and the dog died by the end of the week.  She posted pictures of the condolence card from her vet.

What impressed me even more was the response of the online pet supply site, Chewy.com.  She had just bought some specialty food on a recurring order basis.  Not only did they cancel the recurring charges, but they also refunded her most recent purchase.  She didn't have to send the food back, even though it was unopened.  No, they refunded her money.

And then they went even further.  The sent her flowers and a candle, along with a card.  Wow.

Some people might be cynical.  Some might take a marketing perspective and say that the company just observed good customer service--and yet, many companies wouldn't take the extra steps of sending flowers and a candle.  Many companies wouldn't even send a card.

I would say that the company was actually practicing a sort of ministry.  We tend to think that ministry only happens in churches.  But if we're alert, we can see that ministry actually happens in all kinds of settings--and it makes for great customer service, if done right.

Diversity at the Top

I will try to write the following post without zeroing in too specifically on any one institution.  My experiences in thinking about returning to school seem to offer some larger societal insights.

Let me preface by saying that I'm no Luddite.  I've been incorporating online elements to my classes long before we had the tech infrastructure to make it easy.  I've been online for longer than most of my students have been alive.

I was surprised at how much trouble I had navigating the early stages of the ELCA candidacy process.  I couldn't find some documents, like the application, in the places where I expected to find them.  Finally I just clicked every place I could click; ignoring what made intuitive sense was what led me to the form I needed.  I went ahead and filled it all in, even though I hadn't intended to do it right then, because I was afraid I might never find the form again.

Along the way, I thought about the people who don't have the online experiences that I have, about the people who haven't been to grad school before (or who went so long ago that the online part of applying is new).  I thought about the people who might look at certain price tags and assume that doors are closed.

When we talk about leadership in our institutions--government, school, church, corporations--many of us wonder why the leadership is so white, so male, so rich, and in many cases so old.  I think I've found a reason why.

Many of us might have speculated that certain doors are closed to more diverse candidates, and that's traditionally been the case.  I've always thought about how many people are out there who never knock on the door at all.

This week, I'm wondering about all of those who never find their way to the door to knock.  Can we get rid of some of the roadblocks?

Hinge

 What a week it has been!  In future years, I might see this week as one of those hinge moments, the time when one part of life opens from another part of life, the one where I look back and say, "That's the week that led directly to where I am today."

Just a week ago, I was exploring Wesley Seminary's Arts and Theology program.  I was feeling thrilled, in part because of the week that had come before.  I had spent the last week of January looking at programs at other seminaries and feeling such a sense of despair.  I had just the opposite reaction to the program at Wesley:  I wanted to pack my bags and get started right away.

I wrote some blog posts, and early in the week, an Admissions rep from Wesley reached out to me.  We exchanged e-mails, and she put me in touch with the person who is in charge of the center for Theology and the Arts and in charge of the specialization track.  

By Monday, I decided it was time to reach out to the woman at Synod who is in charge of candidacy (candidacy is the process by which both the person and the Church determine what God is up to--and to be bluntly honest, to make sure that it's a good idea to have a person go to seminary and become a pastor).  By Thursday, I had a variety of candidacy documents to explore.  

By the end of the day on Friday, I had submitted the application for candidacy to the national church.  I've still got lots of documents to submit to the Synod office, but I've taken the first step.  I clicked that submit button at the end of the 7 screens of information/submission that make up the application online.  

Now to write the paper that explores my spiritual life.  That part won't be as hard for me as it might be for some.  In some ways, I write parts of that paper each and every week.  

I'll also need to do some other activities:  get a psychiatric evaluation, get 2 letters of recommendation, have an initial meeting with a member of the Synod candidacy committee.  But today it feels more doable than when I was first sifting through the materials on Thursday.

It's also been a week where I let people know what I'm thinking about:  friends and family, my pastor, my spiritual director, my small group that's part of the spiritual director certificate program.  Not a one has responded by asking if I'm sure, asking if I've lost my mind, asking if I've thought this through.  No one has told me that I'm crazy.  No one has suggested that I can't do it.

On the contrary, most people are happy for me and overwhelmingly supportive.  That, too, seems like a sign to me.

Here's one of my favorite responses (from a grad school friend):  "I think you're right to pay attention to the flashing signs that are clearly trying to catch your eye. Mepkin Abby, a seminary in a city where you have family, a pandemic that's altered the way we approach course work, and a Lutheran seminary right here in Columbia plus my guest room in case you need additional classes at the end! It's been your heart's yearning for decades now. The universe is saying go forth. Now is your time."

And here's a close runner up, from my atheist friend:  "even IF you sounded crazy, Kristin - the most important sound I hear is happiness. And crazy happiness is beautiful right now. NOT THAT I AM SAYING YOU ARE CRAZY!!!! of course you are - taking on this much work is insane. but if insane work makes you happy ... go for it."

I am going for it.

Desolation and Consolation, Discernment and Candidacy

I spent the week-end rapturously exploring the website of Wesley Theological Seminary.  Earlier this week, I decided it was time to be in touch with the Synod people in charge of candidacy.  Yesterday, I decided to explore seminary, more specifically the MDiv degree, through the lens of candidacy.

As I clicked my way through the Synod materials sent to me as e-mail attachments and the ELCA materials on the ELCA website.  I felt my stress and anxiety levels rising.  I noticed my frustration at how difficult it was to navigate it all:  was this form named this way actually that form referred to over there?  Did I need to sign up here or here and once I did this, why could I not log on again?  Did clicking here in this e-mail that I wasn't told would be coming mean that I could get back to the website where I could start to fill in forms?  For the record, clicking on the e-mail verification did get me access.

Unlike clicking my way through the Seminary site, my internet ramblings yesterday left me feeling deflated and a bit frightened.  I heard that familiar voice in my head, that voice that I have learned to ignore, saying, "Who do you think you are?  Why do you think you can do this?"  That voice quickly spirals down into all sorts of harsh criticism along the lines of too old, too late, too stupid, too fat, too female, not enough resources, not enough time, not enough, not enough, not enough.

I will ignore that voice.  I've gotten good at ignoring that voice.  But I wince a bit at how often I've had to ignore that voice, the one that told me I couldn't possibly get into grad school, the one who told me I couldn't write a dissertation, the one that told me to avoid tenure track jobs because I would surely perish in a publish-or-perish job, the one that told me an MFA after getting a PhD wouldn't be worth the effort, the one that told me going after this grant or that grant would be too much effort--I could go on and on.  Sometimes I ignored that voice and did the thing anyway.  Sometimes I ignored that voice and wished that I had explored an option.  

And what makes this all particularly painful is that sometimes, the voice was right, but I can't always be sure.  The road not taken remains the road not taken after all--the road that might have changed everything for the better or changed everything for the worse or might have changed nothing.

I think about the books I've been reading about Ignatian spirituality, about the idea of consolation and desolation.  To explain it in an overly simple way, if a decision/answer makes one feel inspired and fulfilled, like one is living into one's purpose for life, that one is moving closer to God, it's a decision/answer made in consolation.  If it makes one feel otherwise, it's a mark of desolation.

And here's where it gets tricky.  One can come to a decision/answer in consolation, but still feel some tinges of desolation as one goes on.  I feel like I am seeing that in real time in the past week.

Yesterday, as I started feeling extremely overwhelmed at the candidacy process, I felt this temptation to give up, to sink into my midlife comfort, to listen to that inner voice that hopes I can make it to retirement with a full-time salary and benefits package.

I reminded myself of the wisdom that I found in one of the books, that I can't find again right now, the wisdom that says not to let a decision made in a spirit of consolation come undone when one enters a period of desolation.  

I am familiar with this cycle, although I usually experience it over the course of months or years, not over just a few days.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

 The readings for Sunday, Feb. 7, 2021:

First Reading: Isaiah 40:21-31

Psalm: Psalm 147:1-12, 21c (Psalm 147:1-11, 20c NRSV)

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Gospel: Mark 1:29-39

Again we see Jesus early in his ministry, which at this point, seems to consist of healing and casting out demons. The issue of rest, or lack of it, speaks to me in the Gospel this week.

Notice that Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law--and what is the first thing that she does? She gets up and serves them. Maybe she shows the appropriate response: what to do with a miraculous healing? Why, cook dinner, of course. But the story reminds me of many female friends I have who will get up from their sickbeds, even when they're burning with fever, to do things for the family, like cooking dinner or doing the laundry. What's behind this busyness?

Also this story faintly foreshadows the story of Mary and Martha. Martha can't stop her frantic rushing around, getting the meal ready. Mary takes time out of daily tasks to listen to Jesus.

Look at Jesus, later in the chapter. He's been on a whirlwind tour of preaching and healing. He gets up early in the morning, "a great while before day" (verse 35), and he retreats. He goes to a lonely place.

We could learn a lot from Jesus--turn off the TV, don't answer the phone, disconnect from the Internet, stop our busy chasing after we don't even know what anymore. In short, we need to go to a lonely place.

As we get close to the one year anniversary of COVID-19 affecting the U.S. so adversely, we might protest that we've been in a lonely place, a place of get togethers cancelled, travel canceled, reunions postponed, jobs vanished, people moving away.  That's one kind of lonely place, but it's not truly similar to the lonely place of Christ's retreat.

Jesus doesn't just flop on a rock and zone out. Jesus spends his down time praying. He uses this Sabbath Time to get in touch with God. We daydream about a lot of things to recharge our batteries: trips to a spa, a super vacation, early retirement. But the way Jesus shows us is simplicity incarnate.

God calls us to a servant's destiny. We are put on earth to be of service to others, doing the same things that Jesus did: preaching, feeding, teaching, healing. People who scoff at the idea of service often fail to understand what wonderful community can be formed during these times of service. Through our service and community building, we become more connected, which heals us—and the world—in all sorts of ways.

But God doesn't expect us to do these things without periods of rest. We need times of retreat, even if we can only schedule short times. We need times of prayer. We need time to listen for God, because the cries of the needy can drown out the still, small voice of God. We need time to refresh, and the easiest way to renew ourselves for the tasks ahead is to pray. The world, with all its aching yearning, will still be there after we emerge from our time of retreat.

The Feast Days of Simeon and Anna

Today we celebrate the lives of Simeon and Anna.  Yesterday was the feast day that celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple 40 days after his birth.  Simeon was the priest at the temple that day.  God had promised Simeon that he would not die without seeing the Messiah, and at the end of Simeon's life, God fulfills the promise.

When he held Jesus, he said the words that many of us still use as part of our liturgies: "Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; 30 for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel."

On this day, we also celebrate Anna the Prophetess, who was also there for the presentation.  Like Simeon, she's at the end of her life, and she's spent much of her life in the temple, doing the support work that keeps religious work running smoothly.  It's interesting that I assume she did the support work--the text says she spent her days worshiping God and fasting and praying.  My brain filled in the rest:  that she did the sweeping and the care of the candles/lamps and the feeding of everyone.

We have the song of Simeon; I wonder if Anna sang a song?  I wonder what it would be?

I am fairly new to this pair of feast days; in fact, I only realized this morning that Anna's feast day is today too.  I love feast days that celebrate humans at the end of life, humans who haven't done anything particularly remarkable--although staying faithful for a lifetime is fairly remarkable.

The churches of my childhood didn't spend much time on the old people in any story. The lectionary readings focus on Jesus and the disciples, who are often presented as men in the youthful prime of their lives.

I'm forever grateful to feminist scholars who have returned to these texts and given them a new spin as they imagined what would happen if we moved women to the center of the narratives--or, if not the center, at least out of the marginal shadows.

I feel a need to do something similar with the stories of the old folks. Elizabeth, Simeon, and Anna are great places to start.

Today, let us remember that God makes us a similar promise to the one that Simeon receives. We need but open our eyes to see the presence of the Divine.  And if we're faithful to the best of our abilities, we may find out we've been holding the Divine in our hands all along.

Candlemas and Other Mid-Winter Holidays that Celebrate the Return of Light

We are at the halfway point of winter--halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox.   It's also a morning where I'm scrolling through beautiful pictures of snow from a wide variety of places--a huge winter swarm has swirled its way across the country and up the Eastern seaboard.

And here we are at Groundhog's Day, when we long to know if we will have 6 more weeks of winter or if spring will come slipping in.  We're also almost a year into this pandemic; although the pandemic was on our radar screen if we were paying attention, many of us weren't personally affected until March, so that's why I say almost a year, not over a year.

We're at a crossroads of  holidays:  St. Brigid's Day yesterday, and today is Candlemas, also known as the Feast of the Presentation.  We also have some holidays associated with pre-Christian times:   Imbolc and Oimelc.  All of them show the human yearning for fire and light and warmth in these deeper days of winter.

Today, Candlemas, some churches and monasteries will bless the year's supply of candles. I love this tradition. Today would be a good day to light a candle and to think about our own lights. Are we dimly burning wicks? Take heart--the Bible promises that we can still be useful. Does our light burn pure and true? Take care to protect that flame.

Candlemas celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the temple. It's the last feast holiday that references Christmas. We could see it as the final festival of Christmas, even though most of us have had the decorations packed away since even before Epiphany.

For those of us who feel like it’s been too long since we saw sunlight, be of good cheer. The holidays of early February (Groundhog Day, Candlemas, St. Brigid's Day, Imbolc and Oimelc) remind us that the light hasn't really left us. Spring will be here soon.

The Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland. She is one of the early Christians who stood at the intersection of Christianity, Druidism and the other pagan religions of Ireland. She is also one of those extraordinary women who did amazing things, despite the patriarchal culture in which she lived.

Like so many of our early Christian church mothers, she felt called by God from a very early age. She resisted attempts to get her married: one account has her scooping out her diseased eye in protest of an impending marriage--and later, healing her dangling eyeball by putting it back in her head. When we go back to read about the lives of women in medieval times, it's amazing that more women didn't fight harder to go join the cloistered life.

St. Brigid founded some of the first Christian monasteries in Ireland, most famously the legendary one in Kildare. She also founded a school of art that focuses on metal working and illumination. The illustrated manuscript, the Book of Kildare, was created under her auspices. Unfortunately, it's been lost since the Reformation, so we know it by its reputation only.

She's also famous for her generosity, especially to the poor. She showed this compassion early on, giving away all of her mother's butter to a poor person--and then, by her prayers, the butter was restored.

There are so many ways we might celebrate her feast day. To celebrate her generosity, today would be a good day to give away some of our stockpile, secure in the knowledge that we'll find abundance as we need it.

To celebrate her miracles, which involved abundances of butter, milk, and beer, we could bake some bread and slather it with butter.

To celebrate her artistic tendencies, we could start an illuminated book of our own. How would our lives change if we kept a daily book that illustrated all the miraculous abundance that we found in the world?

But above all, today is a good day to consider our own lives. If centuries from now, a middle-aged woman read about your life as you’re living it, would she be inspired?

Across a space of centuries, Brigid inspires me. I'd like to be a similar inspiration.