Trick or Treat? Halloween for Christians

This post will offer no condemnation of witches or wizards. I’ve had fun at costume parties, and I have more than one happy childhood memory of trick-or-treating around my neighborhood. Still, I know that this holiday poses some interesting questions for Christians.

It’s worth pointing out that when I was a child, in the 1970’s, this holiday was different. I don't remember being able to buy costumes at a store; we assembled them out of what was on hand, usually our parents' clothes and make up and whatever we could construct (or what our mothers might sew).

Now Halloween is the second largest holiday in terms of what we spend on it, second only to Christmas. Candy, costumes, decorations, pumpkins: when you total what you spend on this holiday, you might be shocked.

Those of us with a social justice conscience must ask ourselves if this is the best use of our money. Even if you celebrate simply, you’ll likely spend a bundle on candy to give out to trick-or-treaters. We might ask if it’s ethical to spend our money this way. And the planet cannot afford too many more years of excess, whether it be candy wrappers or plastic/polyester (petroleum based, after all) costumes from stores.

We could spend some time thinking about those costumes and the human desire to transform ourselves into someone else. If we want to inject some deeper thought into our holiday, we could ask ourselves about the deeper meaning behind our costumes, if there is one. If we want to take a theological turn, we could spend some time considering the way we’d like to be transformed, and the promises of transformation that our triune God has made to humanity and all of creation.

We could also think of Halloween themes and the yearnings of our human hearts. Why are we so in love with the otherworldly? Do we long for eternal life? What differences in the eternal life scenario are offered by vampires and by Christ? Or what do zombies tell us about our culture?  I'm seeing more skeletons this year--is there a larger meaning?  If we choose a superhero costume, what do we long for: flight, strength, invisibility, cool gadgets? Do we want transformation for ourselves or are we hoping for a savior? Again, we might think about the salvation narratives offered by superhero tales and that of our own Christian tradition.

Halloween also offers an interesting opportunity to think about the issues of good and evil. So many Halloween narratives essentially boil down to a good versus evil theme. How do these themes mesh with Christian narratives?

And it’s important to remember that Halloween emerged from its pagan roots as a natural bridge to All Saints Day (November 1) and All Souls Day (Nov. 2). More on those holidays tomorrow.

So, as a Christian with a conscience, I'd wish us all a happy Halloween. May we discover what haunts us and be blessed with a waking dream of how to banish the ghouls that prevent us from the life that God would want us to have.

How to Celebrate Reformation Sunday

I'm biased. I think the best way to celebrate Reformation Sunday is to go to your local Lutheran church, sing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God," and celebrate the Eucharist. Then you could come home, drink some German beer, and take a nap.

Even when I wasn't a member of a church, I've always been intently aware of the liturgical season and the holidays that the Church celebrates. I grew up in a Lutheran family that went to church every time the doors were open--and that included when we were on vacation. So those rhythms imprinted themselves into my brain.

I love to celebrate, and I love that I have additional things to celebrate by being liturgical. But I know that not everyone is good at creating celebrations.

So, for those of you who are on your own this Reformation Sunday, here are some things you can do to celebrate.

--Go to a German restaurant and eat a German meal. Think about Martin Luther, who ate this food. Drink a German beer. Think about Martin Luther, who was not inhibited about the earthly delights.

--As you're drinking that German beer, write your own hymns. Not a musician, you say? Use popular drinking songs as your base! Lutheran legend has it that some of our greatest hymns have tunes that originated as drinking songs. So, the melody is already created for you--write a hymn.

--Not in a songwriting mood? Write your own 95 theses. What do you see as wrong with the Church? Do you have any suggestions? Extra points if you can back them up with Scripture.

--One of the Church's actions that outraged Luther was the selling of indulgences, which he saw as victimizing the poor. We like to think that the modern church has moved beyond the selling of indulgences, but history suggests that we're fooling ourselves. In what ways do you see the Church selling indulgences? Another way of thinking about this question: in what ways does the Church abuse its power?

--If you want to follow in the footsteps of Luther, indulge in some guilt. Luther held himself to some stringent standards, especially in his early life. Think about all the ways you've let God down--and then remember Luther's teaching about Grace, and feel better.

--Read the Bible. Rejoice in the fact that you can read it in your own language. Thank Luther for being one of the earliest translators of the Bible into the common language.

--You don't want to worship at a Lutheran church today? Go to a Catholic church. Remind yourself of where you'd be if Luther hadn't started the Reformation.

I'm being a bit facetious with this one. I know that if there had been no Luther, there'd have been others to lead us down the Reformation road.

Our Reformation Sunday Gospel finds Jesus promising that we will know the truth and the truth shall set us free. The truth can be terrifying and send us hurtling down paths that seem dark and dangerous. At times we may not know whether we're heretics or whether we're struggling to birth something new and inspiring. If we keep ourselves rooted in church traditions, we're less likely to flirt with the heretical. Yet, as the life of Luther reminds us, sometimes there are traditions that have gone completely rotten.

On this Reformation Sunday, I pray for us all to renew the Church the way that Luther did. I pray that God will show us the truth. I pray for us to be set free.

Seeds of Reformation

It's that time of year, that strange intersection between Reformation Day (for those of us Protestants who celebrate that part of our heritage) and Halloween. Many of us will spend tomorrow morning singing "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" and the next night trick-or-treating. I feel lucky to be part of a church that sees no special problem with this dichotomy. This year, though, I won't be handing out candy, and it's not because I disapprove.  No, I'll be attending my synchronous online class by way of Zoom.

During the past ten years, I've missed Reformation Sunday several notable times. One time was my first time at Mepkin Abbey in 2004. One of my friends who was also a Lutheran was relieved to miss Reformation Sunday. She much preferred the fierceness of the Psalms to the hearty singing of Lutheran hymns. In the evening, as we watched the sun set over the Cooper River, we watched people trick-or-treating and the flickers from Jack-o-Lanterns. We walked down the main driveway, a road flanked by giant trees draped with Spanish moss, and from a distance we saw two monks who were also out for an evening walk. I said to my friend, "If we were characters in a movie, something very bad would be about to happen." Happily, nothing did. The monks asked us if we would vote in the election on Tuesday, and one of them cackled. "I hope you vote for the right one." It was strange to me to think of these monks, who I think of as cloistered from the world, having political opinions.  That was back in 2004, and it's unsettling to think about how much has changed since then.

Two years later, we missed Reformation Sunday because we met up with some grad school friends at Kiawah Island--one group had come all the way from England. During a Reformation Sunday walk on the beach, three of us confessed to being unhappy in our current church homes. Now it's interesting to reflect that we've found a better fit: I changed to a different Lutheran church, one friend switched from the Church of England to being a Quaker, and one has found a wonderful Unitarian church. Did that walk on the beach foster our courage to find a true spiritual home? The spirit of the Reformation was swirling around us!

A simple walk can change our spiritual trajectory? Yes indeed. The biographies of many spiritual giants show that sowing the seeds of small changes can lead to enormous harvests. And this year, more small seeds have bloomed in my life.  Here I am in a seminary apartment, deeply immersed in my studies.  Tomorrow, I will attend Reformation Sunday services, also virtual.  I'll tune in to my church in North Carolina, so I can hear my spouse sing.  I may also tune in to my Florida church's worship service.  Later, my spouse and I will have our daily video chat.

In 2004, when I visited Mepkin Abbey, I could make a cell phone call to let my spouse know that I arrived safely, but I wouldn't have been able to do a video chat by Facebook.  Again, how much has changed in such a relatively short period of time.

As I think back to Martin Luther and the historical forces at work, I realize he didn't have the bigger picture that we now have.  And we can't always see the larger forces at work in our own time, as we try to communicate and plant the seeds that will bloom into our best lives.

So, as you prepare for Reformation Sunday and/or Halloween, may you have the courage of your convictions that Luther did, may you not be spooked, may you not be haunted by the past, may God grant you to fortitude to do what must be done.

Bloom Where You Are Planted

 I dedicate this blog post to those who remain committed to a different front door holiday, even when everyone else has chosen differently:

I dedicate this blog post to those who are like this hydrangea 

which continues to bloom long after the others have given up for the season:

I dedicate this blog post to those of us who are doing our best to ripen

 but can't conform to a schedule: 

I dedicate this blog post to those of us who will not extinguish our glow, no matter what:

Quilter Fan Mail

 On Monday, I got this e-mail from a member of my church in North Carolina:

----
Dear Kristin,

Your recent offering in Daily Grace was most insightful. I found it so inspiring that I had to share it. I forwarded it to S___, the coordinator for the Quilters, who has asked me to find out if it is permissible for her use all or parts of the article when the quilts are blessed before being shipped to Maryland. She will be writing something to be published in the bulletin and the newsletter. She doesn't want to infringe on any rules prohibiting it's use. You may reply to me or to S____.

---

Of course I wrote back to say that of course they could use my work.  And then I wondered where my work is appearing:  Daily Grace is not on my list of places I'm published, so what might it be?  The name of a newsletter?  Someone else's blog?  Somewhere else?  Do I care, as long as I'm getting credit?

I did some searching through my files and blog posts.  The subject line of the e-mail certainly sounded like something I would write:  the Holy Trinity as a Quilting Group.  Why couldn't I remember?  What if it wasn't really mine?

I wrote back to ask about the source:

"I'm not sure I ever saw the published version of "The Daily Grace"--I realize it might not be easy to send to me, but if it's electronic, I'd love to see it."

She sent me the link about the time I solved the mystery:  I wrote an article for Gather magazine, and it appeared in September of 2021.  When I signed the contract, I did give various other ELCA publications permission to use my writing without asking first--hence the excerpt in "The Daily Grace."

There's not an online site that has the whole article, but here's an excerpt that will give you a bigger chunk of the article.

I have been thinking about all the ways I've been published, all the ways my work has traveled in the world.  And I've been feeling a tinge of regret about all the ways I didn't pursue publication.  It's not too late, of course.  But wider publication won't be my top agenda for a year or two as I plunge into seminary studies.

Speaking of which, I have two papers due today, so let me shift my focus there.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel for Reformation Sunday

The readings for Sunday, October 30, 2022:

First Reading: Jeremiah 31:31-34

Psalm: Psalm 46

Second Reading: Romans 3:19-28

Gospel: John 8:31-36

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

Maybe you're feeling joy, as churches have spent the last year or two learning and relearning how to be together as church. Maybe you're inspired by technological developments. Maybe you're happy to be able to see people in person. Maybe you're feeling inspired by how churches have moved to be part of solutions to a variety of problems. Maybe you feel even more rooted in your community because of the work done by your church.

Maybe you feel a bit of despair this Reformation Sunday as you think about the Reformations you thought you were witnessing. Maybe you’re wondering what happened to all that reform. Maybe you’re feeling irritated as you wish we could just go back to being the church that we were in the 1950’s, before so many denominations lost their way. Maybe you’re tired of being the only one at work who’s living a liturgical life.

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

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

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

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

October Hinge

 I had a night of mixed sleep and woke up with the taste of the latest anxiety dream still in my mouth:  I needed to go to a different city to finish an internship for my spiritual direction certificate program, even though in my dream (and in waking life), I had the actual piece of paper with my certification.  As the dream ended and I woke up, I faced the rear view window, bidding farewell to DC in the sunset light, vowing to return.

I understand how my subconscious mixed the elements of waking life--I had been at a late afternoon Zoom session about changes to the internship requirement of my current MDiv program.

My brain has been thinking about various cities, especially in the light of Church History I class.  Every time we discuss an event in Carthage, I think "to Carthage then I came," and I marvel at how T. S. Eliot is woven into my brain.  Part of me wants to reread "The Waste Land" and part of me wants to read the part of St. Augustine that inspired T. S. Eliot, and part of me feels I have given enough headspace to male voices talking about cities.

This morning I read "End Times," an amazing poem by Dave Bonta, and I am grateful I haven't given up on all male voices.  He so perfectly describes what I've been trying to capture about these last moments in autumn, when some of the trees are still glorious in their color, but you can see the transformation coming.  Here's how it ends, and the poem earns this ending (as my old lit professors would say):

"i sit watching
the treetops glow

in sun that they can
no longer taste"

My thoughts turn, as they often do, to autumns past.  Having just returned from a trip to see my parents, I'm thinking of October of 1983, the first time I left to go back to my family home.  Early in the month, my mom appeared at my dorm room door, as planned, to pick me up and take me back to surprise my dad for his birthday.  At the end of the month, I went home again, and did a bit of shopping.  I bought a copy of U2's War, which I played non-stop as autumn shifted into winter, as the Soviet Union shifted and bombs exploded in Beirut and soon we would watch The Day After and think about apocalypses on a major scale.

When I look back on this autumn, how will I frame it?  Here are some possibilities:

--It was the first autumn in decades where I got to see the slow shift of the trees, as opposed to breezing in for a week-end.

--I was learning about parts of history that had eluded my previous learning, both in Church History I class and by the Timothy Snyder lectures on the making of modern Ukraine that he taught at Yale (so lucky to be getting them in close to real time).

--A different Russian/Soviet leader blusters about nuclear war, and once again, we're talking about a meeting place when the unthinkable happens.  I'm thinking about the scene early in The Day After, as Soviet forces amass on the border between the two Germanys and the Jason Robards character comforts his wife by saying "They might be crazy, but they're not that crazy." 

--I got back into a daily practice of sketching.  What did I sketch?  Autumnal trees, of course.

--I took lots of walks to drink in the autumnal loveliness.

--I thought about various mental states, how they can coexist in one brain.  I'm both happy to be here and missing other places, happy in my solitude and longing for loved ones.

--I am sure I will look back on this autumn as a hinge season, between the old me and the new me, between the world we are leaving behind and the one we're traveling toward.  But isn't every season such a hinge?

Honor Flight Week-end

 On Friday, my sister and I headed down the road to Williamsburg.  Even though we both live in the DC area, we needed to be down there, to take my dad to the Mariner's Museum for the Honor Flight experience we'd been planning for months.  We needed to be there at 5:15--yes, 5:15 a.m.

We got our t-shirts and jackets--blue for veterans and yellow for guardians who would accompany veterans every step of the way.  Because our group had more guardians than veterans, my sister and I were both assigned to our dad, which was what we had wanted from the beginning.

We had time to change and time to take stuff back to the car and then we were treated to a full breakfast buffet.  We knew we would get breakfast, but we were expecting something more along the lines of a granola bar or something portable to take on the bus.

All along the way, groups of people were there to greet us and welcome us, all sorts of people, and all ages.  I think my dad was most touched by how many children came along to be part of the crowds of people gathering to say thank you and to welcome the Honor Flight groups.

We got on the bus and headed up the road to the DC area--yes, we've spent the last 4 days up and down and up and down.  We went to a variety of spots:  the Marine Museum in Quantico, Virginia, the WWII memorial on the Mall, along with the Vietnam memorial and the Korean War memorial.  Then we moved away from the Mall, to the Iwo Jima Memorial and on to Arlington National Cemetery.

We were there in time for the changing of the guard and two wreath laying ceremonies:

It was a moving end to a meaningful day.  Well, it wasn't exactly the end.  We boarded the buses and made our way (very slowly along packed highways) back to Fredericksburg where we ate a delicious meal of barbecue:  3 types of shredded meat (chicken, pork, or brisket), mac and cheese, baked beans, corn bread, rolls, and coleslaw.  It was delicious.

Then we got back on the buses and headed further south, back to our starting point at the Mariner's Museum,  We finally got home to Williamsburg at 11:00 p.m.  It was a long day, but a good one, and we're all aware that we may not have this kind of opportunity to be together like this often as the years continue.

It was interesting to travel along these sites and to think about these conflicts that marked the 20th century, conflicts that happened in living memory.  I have had these conflicts in mind as Putin's war against Ukraine has progressed.  These memorials make the human cost clear:

Each star represents US lives lost in battle in WWII, a very small portion of lives lost and altered:

And yet, it's also clear, with the wisdom of hindsight, that appeasement of a despot rarely ends well.  I spent Saturday surrounded by people who know this wisdom, sometimes at great personal cost.   I wish everyone could have the knowledge that monuments to war can give us.

I wish we didn't have to learn these lessons over and over again.

Mid-Autumn

 If we look closely, we can see the seasons changing, in a literal way; leaves on trees are both brighter and sparser than last week:

But also, a figurative way (the skeleton is standing on a campaign sign):

We may have visitors we didn't expect:

The decorations are finally up, and it's almost time to take them down.

Some make good use of their balconies, while others rely on festive lights:

Some of the decorations are so tired that they must take a rest.

Some of them take a rest with friends:

May we all have friends who will keep us company:

long distance shot of a man on a motorized scooter walking his dog

Packing Light, Packing Heavy

 I am on the road again this week-end.  My sister and I are headed down to Williamsburg to celebrate our mom and dad's 60th anniversary on the 27th, and my sister and I are going with our dad on an Honor Flight tour of DC.  Yes, we're going to W'burg today, on a bus to DC and back to W'burg tomorrow, then a less-travelled day on Sunday.

As I've packed today, and as I loaded and unloaded and then loaded and unloaded the car after last week-end's journey, I thought, what happened to younger Kristin who said that all she needed was a pocket to hold a lipstick and a credit card?

And then I stopped myself--I used to say that, but I never travelled that way.  On the contrary, I'm the person who travels as if there might be a nuclear war when I'm away:  lots of socks and underwear, an extra pair of shoes or two or three, good books, and now, my laptop.  

Of course, if there's a nuclear war, I'll wish I had packed more books and left the laptop behind.  Hysterical laughter ensues--if there's a nuclear war . . . how things come full circle.  

When I was in college, I'd strategize with my boyfriend who would become my spouse about what we would do if the bombs fell when we were away from each other, where we would meet up.  It was a surprise to hear myself say last Saturday, "Listen, if anything nuclear happens, you stay here.  It's safer in the mountains.  If I'm still alive and if I can get to you, I'll come here."

Immediately I thought about the fact that I'd be travelling on foot.  How long would that take?  Could I find a horse along the way?  Could I ride a horse after all these years?

And yes, I realize how ridiculous it is to ponder these things.  And yet . . . and yet . . . we have at least one despot (Putin) thinking about the use of nuclear weapons.  He's not deranged, and I want to think that might keep us safer (as in, "Only a mad man would drop nuclear bombs . . ."--use of gender intentional).  But I don't.

I am not prepared for a nuclear war, in any sense of that idea.  But I am prepared for my trip to W'burg.

First Sermon for an Academic Grade

 Let me do a deeper dive into my sermon and the Foundations for Preaching class where we gave our sermons.  For some of us, it was the first time giving a sermon, and for one exchange student, the first time giving a sermon in English.  I have given many sermons, but never for an academic grade.

When I've given sermons to my church, I've spent the same kind of time thinking about the upcoming sermon, but I've never written them out.  At most, I've come to Sunday with an outline.  It's partly out of laziness/lack of time, but also to give space for the Holy Spirit to move.

We did not talk about improv or giving space for the Holy Spirit to move in our Foundations for Preaching class.  We talked about how to do the exegetical work so that the sermon will have focus and meaning and not just a collection of loosely related points, or worse, points that aren't related.

The class before we gave our sermons, we had to do a presentation of what we planned to do.  I always say that I've been teaching for decades, so I rarely experience nervousness or outright stage fright.  I listened to other people's presentations and realized they were much further along with their sermons, so I tried to say some extemporaneous talking about what I planned to do.  I felt more nervous than I expected to feel.

We had to turn in our sermon manuscripts after the delivery of the sermon, and it had to be a manuscript, not an outline.  So I might have typed out my sermon anyway, but after my experience in the class before the sermon delivery, I was sure that I needed to type out the sermon.

I was glad that I got to give my sermon in the first round, while I was still feeling calm.  I was also glad that the teacher set up the structure of the class.  We heard 4 sermons, and at the end, the teacher called out each person's name individually, and we had a minute or two to give that one person positive feedback.  After we gave feedback to each one of the four people, we had another group of four, and then another round of positive feedback.

I liked that approach because it gave us a compelling reason to pay attention to each sermon.  I liked the focus on the positive knowing that we'll get more rounded feedback from the instructor.

What I liked most was the 5-7 minute format.  Most sermons are just too long.  I like a short sermon for the same reason that I like a shorter poem.  We have to focus on the most important part of what we want to say.  We need to distill the poem/sermon down to its essence.

In an ideal world, all the exegetical work makes that essence so much richer.  The risk with doing the work is the same risk that comes with doing a research paper or writing a historical novel:  we can't possibly include all the interesting nuggets we've found.

Our teacher finished the class by congratulating all of us on giving stronger sermons than she was expecting.  It's an interesting compliment, but I'll take it.  She also reminded us that attention spans are getting shorter, and so it's essential that we figure out how to say more in a shorter. time.

In an up and down week in terms of instructor response to my work, I'm phenomenally glad to have had this experience.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 23, 2022:

First Reading: Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Joel 2:23-32

First Reading (Alt.): Sirach 35:12-17

Psalm: Psalm 84:1-6 (Psalm 84:1-7 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 65

Second Reading: 2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

Gospel: Luke 18:9-14


We are so accustomed to seeing the Pharisee as the model for what we are not supposed to do and be spiritually that it's hard to see the Pharisee as Jesus might have intended him to function as a character.  And since he's a Pharisee, and we've heard so much about them as opponents of Jesus, we might think we know the lesson here.  But let's look again.

As an English major and a Composition teacher, I immediately hone in on the speech of the Pharisee and the tax collector, the subject and the verb. The Pharisee is the subject in the sentence structure and the actor of each sentence: I _____ (fill in the verb). The tax collector asks God to be the subject of the sentence and the actor. What are we to make of this?

Some theologians would say that Jesus tells us that only God can deliver salvation. We can take on as many spiritual tasks as we like and do them all superbly, but it won't be enough. Some theologians would tell us that Jesus is reminding us of the value of humility. The Pharisee might be more spiritually pure, but since he lacks humility, he fails on some essential level.

Many theologians would comment on the human trait to draw lines of in groups and out groups, just as the Pharisee has done. As humans, we seem incapable of just accepting people. We want to change their behavior or their lifestyle or their beliefs. We compare ourselves to others, so that we can make ourselves feel better.

Jesus reminds us again and again of the futility of this action. The only way to salvation is to pray as the tax collector does: "God, be merciful to me a sinner." Notice the simplicity of the prayer. If we could only pray one prayer, this would be a good one. And a good second prayer would be one of thanks, thanks for all the way God showers us with blessings.

Jesus is clear about the dangers of exalting ourselves. In our current time, he might have spoken at greater length about the danger of humility turning into false humility. He might have preached to our inner adolescents, who might have protested and wondered why we should change our behavior at all, if it doesn't lead to God's favor. He might have told us that we do the things we do as Christians not to act our way to salvation, since that can't happen, but because we choose actions which will lead to enriched lives for ourselves and others.

It would be an interesting experiment to pray the prayer of the tax collector on a daily basis and to see how our lives changed. What a simple spiritual task. What a change of trajectory might be in store if we actually prayed it.

The Feast Day of Saint Luke

On October 18, we celebrate the life of St. Luke, a creator, an evangelist, and a healer. Some churches might have a healing service in honor of Luke’s role as patron saint of doctors and surgeons. But St. Luke was so much more: he’s also the patron saint of artists, students, and butchers. He’s given credit as one of the founders of iconography. And of course, he was a writer--both of one of the Gospels and the book of Acts. As we think about the life of St. Luke, let us use his life as a guide for how we can bring ourselves back to health and wholeness.

The feast day of St. Luke offers us a reason to evaluate our own health—why wait until the more traditional time of the new year? Using St. Luke as our inspiration, let’s think about the ways we can promote health of all kinds.

Do we need to schedule some check-ups? October is perhaps most famous for breast cancer awareness month, but there are other doctors that many of us should see on a regular basis. For example, if you get a lot of sun exposure, or if you live in southern states, you should get a baseline check up from your dermatologist.

Many of us don’t need to visit a doctor to find out what we can do to promote better health for ourselves. We can eat more fruits and vegetables. We can drink less alcohol. We can get more sleep. We can exercise and stretch more.

Maybe we need to look to our mental health. If so, Luke can show us the way again.

Luke is famous as the writer of the Gospel of Luke and Acts, but it’s important to realize that he likely didn’t see himself as writing straight history. He was maintaining a record of amazing events that showed evidence of God’s salvation.

It’s far too easy to ignore evidence of God’s presence in the world. We get bogged down in our own disappointments and our deeper depressions. But we could follow the example of Luke and write down events that we see in our own lives and the life of our churches that remind us of God’s grace. Even if it’s a practice as simple as a gratitude journal where each day we write down several things for which we’re grateful, we can write our way back to right thinking.

As we think about St. Luke, we can also look for ways to deepen our spiritual health. In popular imagination, Luke gets credit for creating the first icon of the Virgin Mary. Maybe it’s time for us to try something new.

We could experiment with the visual arts to see how they could enrich our spiritual health. We might choose something historical and traditional, like iconography. Or we might decide that we want to experiment with something that requires less concentration and training. Maybe we want to create a collage of images that remind us of God’s abundance. Maybe we want to meditate on images, like icons, like photographs, that call us to healthy living.

St. Luke knew that there are many paths to health of all sorts. Now, on his feast day, let us resolve to spend the coming year following his example and restoring our lives to a place of better health.

Last Day of Reading Week

Today is my last full day of reading week.  Tomorrow I'll drive back to my seminary apartment and dive back in to my life as an MDiv student; I should be there in time for my 6:30 p.m. class that meets virtually.  

I've put the week to good use.  I've gotten my papers written, my genogram drawn, my sermon constructed (well, that one is in process, but it will be done today), and caught up on my reading.  I've taken walks through the neighborhoods around the seminary, and we've gone on some hikes on the Lutheridge property.  I've reconnected in person with my family.  I've made a quick trip to the North Carolina mountains which has fed my soul in so many ways.

In some ways, reading week has been a welcome disruption of a schedule I've only just established.  Part of me always wishes that we didn't take a break.  Part of me is happy for the unstructured time.  Part of me today is wondering how I will get my academic groove back.

It has been good to get back to my little house at Lutheridge, the house I love so much, even in its unfinished state.  It will be hard to leave on Monday, in part because I'm leaving my spouse, but in part because I love the North Carolina mountains.

What's really strange is this status of loving two places so much:  my seminary apartment and my North Carolina house.  When I created the plans for what I might do if my job ended, I had no sense that I might have a house in the North Carolina mountains.  I know that I'm very lucky to be able to afford both this house and a seminary apartment.  But it's also strange to spend time feeling homesick for 2 places at once, even when I'm at one of them.

Nothing Gold/Autumnal Can Stay But We Can Enjoy It While It's Here

It's been a great time away from seminary.  It's reading week, and while it's a time to catch up on reading and writing and seminary work.  We're also encouraged to reconnect with the people who love us.  I kept remembering that encouragement yesterday, as I tried to make the most of days off.  I did open the papers that I'm in the process of writing, but I didn't work on them.  I felt them tugging at me, but I ignored them.  I'm also trusting that my brain is solving some of the issues that I'll need to sort out soon, like the 5-7 minute sermon I will deliver on Tuesday night in my Foundations of Preaching class.

Yesterday we had a great day, my spouse and I.  We did mundane things, like going to Lowe's and pricing ladders.  We grilled steaks.  We did out of the ordinary things.  We went to a miniature golf place, Lakeview Putt and Play.  We've driven by the place numerous times since moving here, but I had no idea what was tucked away out of view of the main road.  The course was decorated for Halloween, which was fun, and there were gorgeous views of the changing trees, and Lake Julian glinting beyond them.  The weather was perfect, with lots of sunshine and highs in the 70's.

When we lived in South Carolina in the 90's, we would often play miniature golf, so it felt like a return of sorts, a return to our past selves.  In South Florida, there aren't many mini golf courses, and the weather isn't great for mini golf much of the year.

Late in the afternoon, we wandered through a different landscape, but one also ringed by trees with lovely leaves.  We stopped by the Sierra Nevada brewery, but happily, we didn't need food, so we didn't face the 90 minute wait.  We went to the back patio/garden area, got our beers, and wandered.  It was crowded, but the space is so huge that it didn't feel oppressively full of people.  I thought back to August, when we got there just before the lunch rush, when the temperature was similar, but the leaves hadn't started changing yet.

We got back to our own stunning vista.  We sat on the back deck and watched the sun set, the way we did when we first arrived back in July, although the sun sets much earlier these days.  We had both deep conversation, about what makes our house a safer investment than our Florida house was (hurricanes, etc.) and less deep conversations, like about incense and pop music of the 80's and how a very freaky girl in those songs was someone who had incense, wine, and candles.

Finally, the night chill made us come indoors.  We played Yahtzee and listened to Motown.  It was a lovely way to end a lovely day.

Today I'll go back to my favorite farmer's market, the Mills River farmer's market--one of the last chances of the year.  I'll do some work on seminary stuff--I need to create the genogram to accompany my paper.  I've created one version, but I need a neater one, a more readable one, one that I can turn into a PDF.  I need to think a bit more intentionally about my sermon, which means I need to start writing a rough draft.

I will try not to sink into pre-emptive sadness at this time away being over.  I will continue to savor this time, while also getting ready for the next few weeks at seminary.

Travel During a Time of Turmoil and Peak Leaf Season

 I am writing in my little house in the mountains, in Arden, NC.  I am at the end of a reading week for seminary, a week where I also turned in grades for one of my online classes that I teach, while also finishing the course shell for an online class that starts Monday.  When I entered these dates into the calendar, I thought my spouse might come to me to spend a few days in our seminary apartment.

But I'm the one that likes to drive.  I'm the one who has been craving a trip to the mountains for an apple orchard or a winery or a hike.  So I offered to be the one to drive back for a long week-end together.

I had been looking forward to seeing the mountains that were supposed to be at full peak color.  As I set out, the rain started to fall.  Through much of my drive yesterday, the mountains were cloaked in mist, clouds, and full out rain.  Although I didn't see far-off vistas for much of my drive, the individual trees were gorgeous.  Or to be more accurate:  some of them were gorgeous, while some of them had lost all of their leaves, while others only had a burst of color amidst full-on green, and others were half in color and half twiggy branches where leaves had been recently.

Despite the rain/mist/fog, it was a fairly easy drive.  When I left my seminary apartment, I heard a BBC episode about how the war in Ukraine might end and the mindset of Putin.  Along the way, I heard from Iranian activists who are hoping to secure more rights for women (and perhaps a regime change) and updates about vaccination rates and upcoming seasons of disease.  

I got back in the car at the end of the day to do a quick grocery store run, and I was just in time for the roll call vote from the January 6 committee, as they voted to subpoena Donald John Trump.  It was an interesting book-end to the day that began with commentators thinking about the path to nuclear war over Ukraine.

But the leaves are glorious.  During the last part of my trip through the North Carolina mountains, I saw the blazing colors that I had been promised.  This morning, I wrote these lines, after reading this provocatively titled essay, "We Are On a Path to Nuclear War."

We wait on leaves to fall
Or maybe nuclear bombs to drop.

Then I added a line from my list of interesting lines that didn't see development in previous essays:

I travel with a bag; I may not make it home

Here's how it looks right now:

We wait on leaves to fall
Or maybe nuclear bombs to drop.
I travel with a bag; I may not make it home

I'll keep this document open on my computer.  Perhaps I will add to it as I work on seminary papers and presentations that are due next week.  Maybe I will just enjoy the leaves.

Inspiration from Pope St. John XXIII

If all goes well, I'm on the road already by the time you read this post. I'm taking part of Reading Week to head back to my little mountain house at Lutheridge. I'm looking forward to seeing mountains full of leaves on my way there and back.

Here's some inspiration for your mid-October

From Bishop Kevin Strickland's Facebook post on October 11, 2022

"Today the Church remembers Pope St. John XXIII, who opened the Second Vatican Council on this day 60 years ago.

[Here's some inspiration from that Pope:]

 
'Consult not your fears but your hopes and dreams. Think not about your frustrations, but about your unfulfilled potential. Concern yourself not with what you tried and failed in, but with what it is still possible for you to do.'”

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 16, 2022:

First Reading: Genesis 32:22-31

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

Psalm: Psalm 121

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

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

Gospel: Luke 18:1-8


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chlorophyll, for Trees and for Humans

 Yesterday I returned to my seminary apartment after a day away to celebrate my dad's birthday at my sister's house where my mom and dad stopped on their way back from their quick trip to Pennsylvania.  It was a whirlwind day, and when I got settled back into my seminary apartment, I felt that familiar upwelling of sadness.

I love being here, being alone, focusing on what matters to me--but I'm also missing a wide variety of people.  This dissonance is not new to me.

So I took myself out for a walk in the glorious autumn afternoon.  I picked up two beautiful leaves--solace for the moment, solace for later, as I tried to sketch them.

I'm using Copic markers, some of which blend better than others.  So there are places in the sketch I'd like to change, but overall, I'm pleased.

I continue to think about chlorophyll, vital to the process of making nutrients for the tree.  It's only when the nutrient making stops in the autumn and the chlorophyll breaks down that we see the true color of the leaf.

Or is it the true color?  Why is the color more true with the chlorophyll or not?  Is the summer color just another version of what is true?

Or maybe I want to think about chlorophyll as masking agent and ask what chlorophyllin our lives needs to fade away so that different colors can emerge.

This morning, as I was doing some online research about chlorophyll, I marveled at all I once knew about photosynthesis and all I no longer know.  I also marveled at the fact that enough people are taking/drinking chlorophyll that there are articles about the wisdom of this supplement.

I will just say that I am not a tree; I find it takes so much time, planning, prep work and eating/chewing/digesting to get the nourishment that my human body needs that I am not going to add tree nourishment to my plan.

My brain often returns to leaves in the autumn.  But this is the first time in decades that I've actually lived in a place where I could see the process, day by day.  It's fascinating, and I'll write more later as I have more time to reflect.

A sketch from autumn 2021

Self-Definitions: the Poet Edition

 Yesterday I went to a harvest festival event on campus--it was primarily for those of us living here, and I did have a chance to meet and talk to some students I had only seen from a distance, plus there was lunch.  Over a never-ending bowl of kale harvest salad, I answered questions, like why I chose a Methodist seminary over a Lutheran one.

I answered that this seminary is one of few that has a track in Theology and the Arts, and one student asked what kind of art I do.  I said, "I'm a poet, and I do visual arts and fiber arts."

She asked, "What kind of poems do you write?"

I tried to keep my answer simple, but I fumbled a bit at first.  "Well, I don't write formal poems.  I'm not concerned about iambs."  Then I shifted:  "I want to write a poem about an autumn leaf that will make you look at autumn leaves in a new way, that you'll think about this new way of looking at a leaf any time in the future that you see one."

And then I asked questions about them, the way I have been trained to do.  But I continued to think about my answer.  The mean voice in my brain broke in periodically to remind me of how long it's been since I've written a poem and how dare I even think of myself as a poet.  

This morning, I resolved to finish a draft I started in the last week.  I have been continuing to work with abandoned lines, and last week, I wrote a few lines to go with one that I took from my master list.  And this morning, that draft is gone.  I had a computer issue earlier this week where the computer stopped saving my written work--at least, I think that's what happened.  I had done a Save As for several documents, and those got saved as the earlier document.  This morning, I discovered the empty page instead of the rough draft of my poem.

Unlike with my academic work, I didn't e-mail drafts to myself as I went along.  I can probably reconstruct the lines, but part of me gives in to the mean voice and wonders why I even bother anymore.

Let me remember that I've had to get a lot--A LOT--of academic writing done this week.  Let me remember that I had a whole summer of healing from a broken wrist while getting ready to do a move across 4 states.

But let me also resolve to return to poetry.  I'd like to write a poem or two or three each week.  I'd like to send out some poem submissions each week, although if I've got a lot of seminary work due, I don't mind letting go of the submission part.  But I do want to keep writing poems, even if I'm not getting them published.  I do want to have a reason to keep thinking of myself as a poet.

A Week of Large Gratitudes and Small Sadnesses

 It has been an up and down week for me--but I hasten to say that even the down times are not the soul-shattering kinds of down times.  It's a wistful kind of down time, thinking about how higher ed used to be in pre-pandemic times, feeling sad about what has fallen away.  But let me record my week's gratitudes, while I still remember them.  I'll also make brief notes about some of the sadnesses, if the gratitude triggered the sadness.

--This week the leaves have gotten down to the work of the season, changing colors.  I had forgotten what it's like to watch a tree (or whole neighborhoods of trees) change colors.  It's a slow process, and it delights me.  Here's the view from my apartment windows:

And a close up of what's actually happening on parts of the tree:

--It's been great having the hybrid students on campus for a week.  Tuesday through Friday, I went to the refectory for breakfast that was offered to all students, faculty, and staff, and we talked about the future of the church, possible careers, all the kinds of conversations I imagined having if I was lucky enough to attend seminary in person.

--I felt a bit sad yesterday afternoon as the campus emptied out again.  So I went to the Montgomery county public library branch that I discovered a week ago, and sure enough, they were willing to give me a library card if I showed them my student ID and a piece of mail that showed that I was getting mail on campus--for free!  

--And even better, they had a copy of The Displacements, Bruce Holsinger's novel about a massive hurricane hitting Miami.  I came home and read for a bit to take my mind off the fact that the parking lot had emptied out during the time I was at the library.  I am glad I didn't spend full cover price when the book first came out this summer.

--After I read for a bit, I decided I needed/wanted a special treat, so I walked to my favorite ice cream place that I discovered the first week of seminary classes, the week I went there twice.  

I had the same thing I always have (so far):  a scoop of mint chocolate chip and a scoop of coffee with hot fudge sauce.

--On my walk back, I bumped into (not literally) a classmate who had been down at the same shopping center having a coffee.  We walked back to campus together.

--As we parted, she said, “If you ever go for ice cream again, I’d love to come with you. Maybe before you leave for reading week?”

You don’t have to ask me twice—I said, “How about Wednesday? Wednesday at 2—we can meet in this courtyard and walk together?” She nodded enthusiastically, and I nodded, and I now have an ice cream outing planned.

--It's been a week of wildlife in the neighborhood sightings.  Early in the week, I saw a beautiful fox near a neighborhood community garden.  We stared at each other for 10 seconds before a man walking his dog scared the fox away.  Thursday morning, I went for an early morning walk through the very upscale neighborhood next to the seminary. I heard footsteps behind me, and expected to see a pedestrian and/or a dog (less worried about muggers). I turned around, and there was a deer, standing close enough I could have leaned forward to touch him. Its head was the height of my shoulders. We looked at each other for 20 seconds, then he ran down a driveway. I say "he" because he had little nubs that will become antlers.  Friday morning, I was still on campus when I saw a deer, and this time, I was able to get a picture, lots of pictures:

--I had a good week in terms of my studies too--lots of positive feedback on my writing and thinking.  My week of classes ended on a high note, with an invigorating Church History I class, the kind of class where I'm happy to be meeting in person.

--And now we have a week off of class--Reading Week!  I will use the time to get ahead on my writing and to see family.  I'll also make a quick trip back to our cozy house in the mountains.  I'm the one who loves to drive, so I'll make the drive down I 81 and see what the leaves have been up to in my absence.

Cracks and Crevices and Sketches

I am part of a journaling/book study group, similar to ones I've been in before (same leader, same online set up, many familiar journaling friends).  We're making our way through Cole Arthur Riley's This Here Flesh.  We started, as one does, with the preface, and this part stayed with me:  

"Much of black spirituality while enslaved had to live and breathe in these crevices, every vale holy ground. A faith that depended on the interior life." This Here Flesh p. x

 

 And then I made a sketch.  When I drew this, I was thinking about crevices and what we find in the interior:

I've been sitting with this sketch for a week now, and I see aspects I didn't see at first.  I was trying to sketch mountains and crags.  But I'm seeing a descending dove, which wasn't a conscious design choice.  One of my group members said, "The movement on your page is like a wild current, inspiring me to imagine the folds and channels of interior life."

Another design note--we're only using a certain set of markers and black pens.  Here's what I'm using:

Having a limited number of marker also means that my sketches may be different than they would be if I used all my markers.  Perhaps the top sketch would have looked more like mountains and less like a dove or a descending river had I the full range of colors.

Or maybe the dove/river would have been such an important part of my subconscious that it would have emerged regardless.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, October 9, 2022:

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

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

Psalm: Psalm 111

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

Second Reading: 2 Timothy 2:8-15

Gospel: Luke 17:11-19

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Feast Day of Saint Francis

Today is the Feast Day of St. Francis. These days, we might be more familiar with this saint, since our current pope chose the name Francis. Many of us think of Francis as being kind to animals. Today, what would Francis say about modern people and our pets?

When I was in elementary school, one of the most pressing theological questions concerned pets. Would they go to Heaven? I remember that it seemed like a pressing question.

Of course, I also worried about the unforgivable sin and the fact that various adults answered the question differently when I asked, "What is the unforgivable sin?" So, I will grant you that I was an unusual child.

When I asked about pets and Heaven, some adults brushed off my question by saying, "Of course not. Animals don't have souls."

I suspect that few adults today would go for that simple answer, at least the ones who share their lives with pets. We live in a time where people spend enormous amounts of money on their pets. Gone are the days when you'd spend a chunk of money for shots and that would be the extent of your vet bills for the life of the pet.

Lately, I've been thinking about the care we offer our pets and contrasting that care with the amount of care we give ourselves. I've known more than one person who cooked better meals for their dogs than they do for themselves. You can probably offer similar examples: humans who make sure that their pets see dentists, even when the human members of the family don't take care of their teeth, dogs who see therapists, pets who get wonderful treats that humans deny themselves--the list could go on and on.

I wonder how Francis came to be so associated with pets. I think of him as someone who looked out for the outcast of society as he cared for lepers. We don't think about the implications of that aspect of his life in the pet blessing services that many churches will have to celebrate the life of this saint.

We also don't hear much about the work of Francis to help end the Crusades.  It's a good day to think about modern wars and the sweep of destruction. We might also think about just wars, the kind that many Crusaders would tell you that they were fighting. What's the best way to rescue populations that are invaded? Or should we intervene at all?

But there's more to Francis, so much more. He gave up everything he owned--and he was rich--in a quest for a more authentic life. He inspired others to follow the same path, and he founded two religious orders that still thrive. I can't decide which impresses me more, the insistence on an authentic life, even if it cost him everything or his fierce commitment to community.

As we celebrate the life of St. Francis, will we hear these parts of the story? I doubt it. Those are the parts of the story that are threatening to the social order. We can't have young people behaving in the way that St. Francis did. What on earth would happen then?

Our society would be transformed.

Damp October Monday Morning

We have hybrid students on the Wesley campus this week; there will be breakfast for all of us every morning from 7-8.  There will be lunch tomorrow, but as far as I can tell, no other food.  I wonder how many hybrid students will be staying on campus, and if so, what they'll make of the campus.  Will it seem a bit more empty than they anticipated?  How many students will be part of this hybrid group?

It's a new approach to the MDiv program, so they'll be the first group.  Over 4 years, they'll have 8 onground intensives, and I think that each one lasts a week.  Let me remember that if I had somehow managed to hold onto my administrator job, this hybrid approach might not have worked for me.  I am grateful that I can focus on my studies in a way that I couldn't if I still had the administrator job.

I think about the students who will be staying on campus.  I hope they brought some layers of clothes.  My apartment feels chillier this morning than other mornings.  I am glad that I bought some flannel pajama bottoms at a Land's End clearance sale in September:

The seminary has a physical plant that is set to either AC or heat.  We don't change from AC to heat until the last 2 weeks of this month.  This year, after a September with warmer temperatures than average, we've got a chillier than average start to the month of October.

This morning, I've decided not to go to breakfast.  It's chilly and rainy.  Likewise, I will wait and walk later this morning when it's warmed up a bit--but it won't warm up much.  It's going to be cloudy and rainy all day.  I'm happy to have a good reason to stay inside; I've got lots of writing I need to attend to.

I do wonder if hybrid students are staying on campus, where will they be staying?  I haven't noticed more people staying in my apartment building, but it makes sense that the hybrid students would be put in the New Residence Hall, if there's room.  That building was finished in 2017, unlike the other 2 residence halls that were built in the early 1960's.

I'm in the building that has apartments with small kitchens, a building finished a year or two before I was born.  I'm glad that I find the older bathrooms charming, even with the mid-century modern colors.  I'm just glad to have a subdued mint tile on the walls, instead of that Pepto-Bismal pink.  The tile on the floor is a muted gray.

Five weeks ago, I woke up in this apartment for the first time.  Strange to think how much has happened, how the weather has shifted from heat advisories to a damp rawness.  Happily, my upbeat mental weather has stayed fairly consistent. 

Including Our Pets in Church

Across the country this week-end, many churches will be having services to bless pets. We do this ostensibly to celebrate the life of St. Francis, although there was so much more to St. Francis than his love of animals (more on that on his feast day on Oct. 4). Today, I'd like to think about pets and whether or not we should have a service to bless them.

I once attended a church that incorporated the pet blessing into the regular service, which meant that we all attended church with a variety of animals that day, and we were all inside the building. I confess to being nervous. What if some of those less-friendly animals got loose? What if someone in the church was deathly allergic to the hair of one of those animals? I was deeply distracted that day and relieved to get out of the sanctuary. Worship should not inspire those feelings.

Many churches do a separate service these days. That means that people with issues about animals can avoid the whole thing.   It's not only allergies--some people have deep fears about certain animals.

These pandemic years have showed us that some of the ways that we do church have excluded parts of our communities.  What do we say to people with disabilities when we don't livestream or when our livestream has no way of having subtitles?  How can we include people who don't have resources?  Should we expand our worship to include non-humans?

A good pastor could address some of these elements in a pet blessing service. A good pastor could remind us that as we care for our pets who are thoroughly dependent on us, we are called to care for the poor amongst us, many of whom are also thoroughly dependent on our generosity.  We could talk about care of creation.

Yes, a good pastor could make all kinds of connections so that a blessing of the pets service avoids insipidness. Let me rest in the hope that most pastors who incorporate pet blessings will take advantage of this opportunity.

Concerts and Worship Opportunities

Yesterday, I knew that the rains would come eventually, rains and perhaps wind from the remnants of Hurricane Ian.  So I headed out to a more suburban Trader Joe's, 30 minutes away, a place that had a parking lot.  There are some things, like nuts, ravioli, eggs, and seeds, that are cheaper at Trader Joe's than any other area grocery store.  Plus, I had seen the Fall Flyer, and it seemed full of good things.

Of course, when I went to shop, I couldn't remember what some of those good things were.  I got the pumpkin ravioli, which I ate yesterday.  It didn't seem very different from the butternut squash ravioli--tasty.  I'm glad I went, but I probably won't make it a regular habit.

I took a longer walk because I expected it to rain later, and I went a bit further than I anticipated, which left me a bit worn out.  I had planned to go to an evening concert last night.  It was put together by Korean seminary students, and it would include Korean treats.  It was supposed to be an outdoor garden concert, but the rain meant it would move inside.  I thought about not going.

In fact, there was a moment around 4:30 or 5:00 where I thought about going to bed REALLY early.  My spouse and I texted--why do people love texting so much?  It was aggravating to me, so we switched to a Facebook video call.  He encouraged me to go to the concert.  

Since the concert was literally right in my back yard (or side yard), I decided he was right.  I changed into my favorite pair of jeans, the black pair, brushed my teeth, put on an additional layer, and headed over to the refectory.  I was impressed with the technology that was set up.  Somewhere, at some point, there will probably be a recording.

There was interesting food:  sushi rolls that were vegetarian but with tuna and fake crab--so really vegetarian?  No matter.  I'd have been fine with fish, raw or cooked, but the woman explaining choices to me assured me that nothing was raw.  It was tasty.  There were individually wrapped treats, and a pot of something that looked like pasta with red sauce that I avoided when I was told that it was very spicy.  

As advertised, the concert was a half hour long, about five songs, all worship oriented.  On two of them, we sang along, some of us in Korean, some of us in English:  "How Great Is Our God" and a more traditional hymn, the title of which I'll go back and insert when I remember what it was.  There was some sort of track, a karaoke like track, but we also had people playing instruments with us:  keyboard, guitar, and a drum on one track.  At the end, one of the singers offered up a prayer for all of us; I found myself moved.

We had a bit of chatting afterwards, lightened up with some toddlers doing their toddler thing.  The crowd was equally mixed between Korean seminary students, family of those students, a few of their friends in the area, and non-Korean seminary students.  I did feel like one of the oldest people there, but I'm determined not to let that stop me from doing seminary activities.  Plus, I realize that I might be wrong.  And even if I'm correct, so what?  Someone has to be the wise elder student.  Or if not the wise one, the one that students remember decades later and say, "Hey, I can remake my life too, just like that older woman at Wesley did, that year that she showed up to live on campus, even though she just bought her dream house at that church camp somewhere."

As I walked back to my seminary apartment, the wind was picking up, as was the rain.  I slept with my curtains open so that I could see and hear the rain pattering against the window.

I thought about the end of my Washington week, a week when I decided not to go to the Ada Limon reading, but I did go to the on campus concert by fellow students.  It was also a week when I finally got around to going to area libraries.  I will go to 4:00 Evensong tomorrow at the National Cathedral unless it's pouring rain.  

In so many ways, this seminary campus life is what I wanted.