Farewell, Wendell Berry

 I was sad to hear of the death of Wendell Berry on Monday.  But why should I be sad?  He was 92 and had lived a good life, mostly on his own terms, from what I could see.  But the death felt like "one of the greats has left us" moments.  I remember reading him in college, so his writing has been with me a long time.

Back in my undergraduate days,  I felt somewhat embarrassed for liking someone whose work was so accessible.  Now, of course, I think it's one of his more important traits.  Berry's work has seemed vital for decades now.

What I value most these days is his ability to never sink into gloom for too long. He manages to sound prophetic (one of the prophet's duties being to call people back to right living, as well as to warn), without setting up a house in the land of the apocalypse. He always comes back to one of his main themes: ". . . hope is one of our duties. A part of our obligation to our own being and to our descendants is to study our life and our condition, searching always for the authentic underpinnings of hope. And if we look, these underpinnings can still be found. For one thing, though we have caused the earth to be seriously diseased, it is not yet without health. The earth we have before us now is still abounding and beautiful" ("Conservation and Local Economy" from Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community, page 11).

He wrote those words almost 20 years ago, and yet, they still have relevance.  Some days, when the news seems unrelentingly bad, it's hard to continue to hope.  But it's one of the more important activities we can undertake.

Here's a passage that reminds us of the miracles which surround us each day:  "Whoever really has considered the lilies of the field or the birds of the air and pondered the improbability of their existence in this warm world within the cold and empty stellar distances will hardly balk at the turning of water into wine--which was, after all, a very small miracle. We forget the greater and still continuing miracle by which water (with soil and sunlight) is turned into grapes" ("Christianity and the Survival of Creation" from Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community, page 103).

That passage made me gasp when I first read it, and it still does.

As I was looking over old blog posts about him, I came across this one that I wrote after reading  Distant Neighbors: The Selected Letters of Wendell Berry & Gary Snyder.  It made me want to read the book again.  It seems a fitting read for this tim of so much loss of greatness.

Satisfying Sunday: Worship/Cookout in the Pavilion and Reading in the Evening

Yesterday, I made this Facebook post which sums up my Sunday morning:

"We had a great morning at Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church, where I preached on Matthew 16 and ended my sermon by asking us to think about how our lives themselves are gospels that testify to the identity of Jesus and his role in our lives. We had a hamburger/hotdog lunch in the pavilion, with delicious food and nourishing fellowship. I'm not sure how the morning could have been much better, short of winning a lottery amount that would let us solve the shortage of affordable housing in the area and provide quality health care for all."

To see a recording of my sermon, go here to my YouTube channel.  To read the manuscript, go to this blog post.

The afternoon was also good.  I did a bit of sewing, caught up on chores, and got ready for the week.  In the evening, my spouse was listening to old Hank Williams songs, and I read--a delight!

I read most of Tara Menon's Under Water last night.  I read a bit of it earlier in the day, in the just after midnight moments of Sunday, where it confused me at first.  It took me a bit of time to realize the narrative is shifting back and forth in time, mainly from 2004 to 2012, but also back to earlier childhood years of the narrator.  I read the Acknowledgements and figured out the tsunami angle. When I picked up the book, I thought it was more of a future apocalypse kind of novel, but it’s a different kind of climate catastrophe novel.

At first it seems like a slight book. But it packs a powerful punch—about a woman who undergoes two catastrophes, the 2004 tsunami and Hurricane Sandy in 2012.

And now, a new week--a week that ends in Quilt Camp.  Let me get ready.

A Good Stretch of Poetry Days

The past few days have been a good poetry days, in a more well-rounded sense--by which I mean, I've been doing more than just writing down a line or two.  Let me capture what a good stretch of poetry days looks like:

--A few months ago, I had an idea for a poem, Jesus buying a fixer-upper of a house.  I didn't do anything with this idea since I first had it (in late April, as evidenced by this blog post).  But this week, I returned to it, and I'm really delighted with the surprises that the poem offers.

--Yesterday, I read a volume of poems.  My students were working through a time management module and had to enter due dates into calendars and planners.  I thought they would blaze through the assignment, but only a few of them did.  I went back to my office to get something to read.

--That book was Donna Vorreyer's Unrivered.  What an amazing book!  Vorreyer explores themes of aging and the natural world and relationships, and many of her poems have theological imagery and ideas that I didn't expect.  She's also skilled at a variety of forms.  It's a book that demands a re-read, which I hope to do soon.

--I read most of the book in one sitting, and I returned to read the rest of it later in the afternoon.  It's always a very different experience to read an entire collection in one day, and I'm glad I did it yesterday.

--I had a late afternoon phone call after the Endorsement Panel yesterday.  I was invited to be the official poet, a poet laureate of sorts, of the Southeastern Synod's Synod Assembly.  What a cool possibility!

--My mom heard me say that I was invited to be poet laureate of the Synod, which would also be an interesting possibility.

--This morning I returned to my poem about Jesus working on the fixer-upper.  Here's what I wrote, a stanza which surprised me--I didn't know I was going to write it until the lines flowed out:

Jesus wipes down every surface,
scrubbing when necessary.
He paints the walls in a soothing
version of the color that first flooded
the world when God said,
“Let there be light.”

Happy Independence Day: History as Life Preserver

 I have begun this 4th of July listening to a variety of podcasts:  an interview with The Rest is History British podcasters and David Remnick and a NYT Book Review podcast with Jill Lepore talking about history and good books for Independence day.  I listened to this story on heartland rock, which didn't tell me anything I didn't already have figured out about Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A."  This piece on Octavia Butler's typewriter was disappointingly short. 

I have been re-reading Octavia Butler's Wild Seed, and I might go on to re-read Kindred, both interesting approaches to understanding history.  The interview with Jill Lepore meanders into a remembering of what it was to be immersed in books, especially the summer reading in childhood type.  Glorious!  I am always grateful to have longer stretches of reading time than I sometimes do during the school year.

This morning, I've also been re-reading past July 4 blog posts that I wrote.  Every 4th of July post is both similar and different, full of hope, yet also tinged by dread of what might be coming.  This year is no different.  Sure, we have a corrupt president, but that has usually been a national truth revealing how many different ways one can be corrupt, if one has enough power.

Here is the way I concluded my 2012 July 4 post.  It seems perfect for any ordinary Independence Day, but also for this one, which celebrates the U.S. at year 250:

I love this picture of a flag and a life preserver.  I often wish that our country could do more to hold out a life preserver to oppressed people across the globe.  But it's good to remember that our history serves as a life preserver of sorts, a beacon of hope to so many.

Twenty Years of Phyllis Tickle's "The Divine Hours"

As I've been making my way through the first week of Advent devotional time, it occurred to me that I've now been using Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours for 20 years.  Back in 2005, having returned from my second trip to Mepkin Abbey, I wanted a prayer manual that was more like I experienced at Mepkin.  I'm not sure how I found The Divine Hours, but it's probably because some of the theological writers I admired were using it, or maybe I read other work of Tickle's and thought The Divine Hours was worth the price.

And I do mean price, as in the cost of the book:  a 3 volume set, each volume $35 before the Amazon discount.  But it's been worth it.

I have been most constant in my use of the books in the mornings.  It's hard for me to remember to return to the practice through the day, but when I do, I notice a difference.  I'm not sure why that difference isn't enough to make me do it consistently.

In late March of 2020, I started using the books as I did an online morning devotional for my church, which I've written about in other blog posts (most notably here at the 7 month mark and here at the 5 year mark).

I was not blogging back in 2005 when I first started using the books, but I remember loving the variety of readings, something that I didn't have in other books that were much briefer devotionals.  Other devotionals had one or two verses, if that.  I also loved the feeling of participating in an ancient ritual.

There have been times when the physical structure of the books weighed on me--literally, in some ways.  The books are fairly big, especially if one is travelling by plane and wants to bring other books too.  And the print is tiny.  But the physical book is reliable, unlike online sites.

I think back to 2005, when I envisioned a new life of some sort:  maybe a different teaching job (always I've been dreaming of a small, liberal arts college) or maybe a different degree (an MFA or an MDiv).  But I felt trapped in place and would only go on to feel increasingly trapped.

I'm grateful to be in this part of my life for many reasons, but not feeling trapped anymore is one of the reasons that makes me feel most grateful.  And I'm grateful to books like The Divine Hours that have been with me along the way.

Spiritual Direction Book Launch

On Friday, October 24, I finished teaching at Spartanburg Methodist College and headed down to Columbia, SC.  I was intrigued by a book launch, and the stars aligned so that I could attend.  One of my grad school friends came with me; she and I are not only grad school friends, but also writers and creative people who have been fascinated by book launches.

That said, we weren't sure what to expect.  Melanie Dobson, the head of the Spiritual Direction Certificate program at Southern Seminary (LTSS), wrote the book, so it made sense that the book launch would be at Washington United Methodist Church downtown.  The event took place in the smaller chapel, a beautiful choice.

I knew very little about the book, but I knew I would buy it regardless.  I like to support writers generally, but I especially like to support writers I know.  I knew that my book purchase would also support All Good Books, an independent bookstore in 5 Points.  I was happy that they were there and set up early; we arrived early too, so we bought our books and settled in.

The book launch was great.  Melanie Dobson spoke a bit about how she approached both the book writing and spiritual direction.  Then we watched group spiritual direction happen.  Three members of her spiritual direction group were present and they came forward.  We watched a shorter version of what they do when they are together in their regular, private meetings.

There was an opening prayer, and then the directee spoke for five minutes.  There was a moment of silence to see what bubbled to the service.  Then each of the women spoke to the directee for three minutes each about what they thought God might be saying.  Then there was closing prayer.

Then came an interesting twist:  we did a bit of spiritual direction too.  We broke into smaller groups, 3-5 people who happened to be sitting near us.  One person volunteered to be the directee, and the rest of us gave insight.  It was slightly shorter, and slightly less personal, since we didn't know each other.  But it was deeply satisfying nonetheless.

Afterward, there was an actual meal in the fellowship hall.  I was expecting refreshments, but something more along the lines of cheese and crackers.  The meal was salad and soup and bread--but a much more extensive selection than I'm used to seeing:  4 soups, several breads, several crackers, and 3 types of salad greens with about 20 bowls of various salad toppings to choose from.  We also had dessert!  I regret that I took no pictures--it was really impressive.

The book signing was leisurely, which gave us time to meet others and to have more personalized attention from Melanie Dobson.  I did feel bad for her--it seemed like it might be exhausting, but I realize it could also be gratifying.

As the evening progressed, I found myself thinking about whether or not I wanted to do more with spiritual direction.  I earned the certificate and promptly moved on to being an MDiv student.  I'm just recording this whisper, because I want to remember it.

If ever I do decide to do more in the field, the book is an amazing resource, with lots of great ideas for how to do spiritual direction--it's the best resource I've seen on the subject.

Poems and Chocolates and U2 on a September Tuesday Morning

 It's been a strange morning, strange but satisfying.  I began it as I do most Tuesday mornings, by reading Dave Bonta's weekly Poetry Blog Digest and exploring some of the blog posts.  Rachel Barenblat's post includes an amazing poem, which made me weep.  It's the perfect poem for a week of shootings, and sadly, multiple shootings is a hallmark of almost every week these days. 

I also wanted to hear U2's "Shadow and Tall Trees," so I went to a YouTube site, and after each U2 song has come another.  But they've all been from the early years, The Joshua Tree and earlier--such powerful music!

Some of it I haven't heard in decades.  I'm getting deep cuts from the October album for example.  I remember it as an album that I bought and didn't really listen to much; I wanted to be listening to War, and so I did.  And yet, I remember the songs still.  I don't listen to music that way much anymore.

I am also struck by the way the lyrics twine together contemporary politics and ancient religious texts and concepts.  Wow.

As always, this music takes me back to earlier falls:  the autumn of 1983 when I first bought a lot of this music on vinyl (War and October and Boy), the autumn of 1984 when I had The Unforgettable Fire in constant rotation.  That music made me think of listening to my own recordings on cassette as I drove across South Carolina to see my grandmother in Greenwood, SC.

Those memories made me think of her Whitman's Sampler and the time I got one of my own, on sale, at a local drugstore, during the spring of my last year at Newberry College.  Finally I could eat as many of the chocolates as I wanted!  My grandmother only ate one at a time, spaced out across many days, making that box last as long as possible.  It will surprise no one that being able to eat as much of the box as I wanted in one sitting was not as satisfying as I always imagined.  Ah, the heartbreak of grown up life!

I've been trying to write a poem out of it all, and I'm a bit haunted by thinking that I've already used this material but I can't remember if I really have or if I thought that it would make a good poem.

I've continued with the poem composing, and I like this line:  Sugar soaked mouth unsatisfied

I've also done some sketching and noted the way a mostly dried up marker looks like tree bark on the page.  That, too, seems like it should be a metaphor for something, but in a different poem.

I woke up this morning thinking that I was going to blog about reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein this past week, and being struck by how it speaks to our current conversation/argument about generative AI.  Frankenstein seems timeless in so many ways.  Last year I read it for a seminary class, and the isolation of all the characters was what grabbed me.

I feel so lucky to have this life, and I'm amazed that I managed to stumble into it, being able to teach undergraduates in a small, liberal arts college in South Carolina, just up the road from my the small, liberal arts college where I spent my youth listening to U2 and reading British lit and dreaming of being a poet myself.

Contemplating Julian of Norwich During Graduation Week

Today is the feast day of Julian of Norwich, at least for Lutherans, Episcopalians, and Anglicans; Catholics will celebrate on May 13. Tonight I will go back to my seminary campus for the Eucharist service for students who are graduating with their Masters degrees, and there's a dinner and reception afterward.  How wonderful to be celebrated this way!

And how different from how Julian of Norwich has been celebrated, or ignored, through the centuries.  She was alive from roughly 1343 to 1416, a tumultuous time with the Black Death making its first appearance in England and a revolt of peasants that spread across the country.  She lived in Norwich, which was a center of commerce and a center of religion.  

I've been interested in Julian of Norwich for a long time.  When I first started teaching the British Literature survey class in 1992, the Norton Anthology had just added her to the text used in so many survey classes.  Why had I not heard of her before?  After all, she was the first woman writing in English, at least the first one whose writing we still have.

My students and I found her writing strange, and I found her ideas compelling.  She had a series of visions, which she wrote down, and spent her life elaborating upon. She wrote about Christ as a mother--what a bold move! After all, Christ is the only one of the Trinity with a definite gender. She also stressed God is both mother and father. Here in the 21st century, we're still arguing about gender and Julian of Norwich explodes the gender binary and gives us a vision of God the Mother, God the Wife--and it's not the Virgin Mary, whom she also sees in her visions.

Her visions showed her that God is love and compassion, an important message during the time of the Black Death.  She is probably most famous for this quote, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well," which she claimed that God said to her. It certainly sounds like the God that I know too.

Although she was a medieval mystic, her work seems fresh and current, even these many centuries later. How many writers can make such a claim?

A few years ago, I read her complete works, which I didn't enjoy as much as I thought I would.  The writing seemed circular, coming back to many ideas again and again, with lots of emphasis on the crucified, bleeding Jesus, lots of focus on suffering and sin. The excerpts that most of us read, if we read her at all, are plenty good enough.  I was both disappointed to discover that, and yet happy.

Not for the first time, I wonder what's been lost to history in terms of writing. If she was thinking about some of these explosive ideas, might others have been even more radical? What happened to them?

I'm grateful that we have her work--at least there's something that gives us a window into the medieval mind, which was more expansive than we usually give credit for.  And I'm grateful that so many people have discovered her in the decades since the Norton Anthology first included her.

I'll keep her in mind today, as I participate in ancient rituals, like Communion, that she, too, celebrated.  I'll keep her in mind as I discern next steps on the path.  My path would seem as strange to her as hers does to me--although I will confess that the cell of an anchoress/anchorite is appealing on some days.  I love the idea of ancient church rites and rituals that connect us across centuries--may they continue!

That Year When Jesus Came to Your High School

When I was at my mom and dad's, my mom showed me various books that she had used as devotional texts for Lent.  One book, Forty Days with Madeleine L'Engle, had all sorts of scraps of paper in it, including some of my poems.

We couldn't remember whether or not we were using the book together, but across a distance, or whether she was using it to lead a local church group.  I was happy to see that I still liked the poem.  It was first published in Chiron Review, back in 2009.  I'm almost certain that I wrote it earlier.

I've now written a variety of these kinds of poems, the ones I think of as Jesus in the modern world poems.  They are an attempt to answer that old Sunday School question of how the world would react if Jesus returned again and what would Jesus do and how would we recognize him?

I think of my Sunday School teachers of long ago, asking those questions, and I imagine that they would be scandalized by my poetic answers.  Of course, they may have been secretly radical themselves, as they taught us about the Jesus that the Church wanted us to know.  They may have planted these seeds that have bloomed into poems, decades later. 

New Kid

If Jesus came to your high school,
he'd be that boy with the untuned guitar,
which most days was missing a string.
Could he not afford a packet of guitar strings?
Did he not know how to tune the thing?
Hadn't he heard of an electronic tuner?
Jesus would smile that half smile and keep playing,
but offer no answers.

If Jesus came to your high school,
he'd hang out with the strange and demented.
He'd sneak smokes with the drug addled.
He'd join Chorus, where the otherworldly
quality of his voice wouldn’t quite blend.
He'd play flute in Band.
He'd spend his lunch hour in the library, reading and reshelving.

You would hear his songs echoing
in your head, down the hallways, across the years.
They'd shimmer at you and just when you thought you grasped
their meaning, your analytical processes would collapse.
Instead, you write strange poems
to delight your children who draw mystical
pictures to illustrate your poems inspired
by Jesus, who sang the songs of angels,
that year he came to your high school.

Vespers in the Dark

Yesterday was the most full day as a C3ARE leader at Lutheridge.  The C3ARE leaders are the ones who do the Bible study, along with one Vespers service.  We are also invited to go along with any other activities, from swimming to crafts to various outings.

Unlike last year, when we only had 8 middle schoolers, we have a huge group of middle schoolers, 55 of them, 55!  Our meeting space is barely large enough.  We're indoors, at least, but it's not air conditioned, and with all those bodies in the room, it gets muggy by the end.  Our C3ARE sessions will be slightly later each morning, so I'm not looking forward to the warmer weather at the end of the week.

Yesterday morning left me a bit frustrated--it's hard to get everyone to focus.  And then we went to lunch, where everyone sang "Happy Birthday" to me, which was cool.  But the best part of the camp day for me was the Vespers service, which we planned.

We thought about the fact that Vespers for our set of campers, the Night Owls, is much later than for others.  It would be dark, so we talked about light and dark.  First we talked about how we tend to talk about God in terms of light blazing forth in terms of angel choirs and such.  I asked how else God's message comes to us in our Christmas stories.  I was so happy that the kids talked about the wise men and the star and Mary--God coming to us in the dark.

We're doing an experiment with seeds.  I wrapped some basil seeds in a wet paper towel, which I put in a plastic bag and put into a dark box.  We'll unwrap them in a few days when we talk more about how God works in the dark.

I had in mind Barbara Brown Taylor's Learning to Walk in the Dark, and I wondered if it would have a good meditation to read, but it was too late to get that book.  So instead, I created a guided meditation of sorts, doing some focused breathing and paying attention as we had less and less lights on in the Lake Pavilion.  We ended up with everyone at the railings, while I guided them to look up at the night sky, look out at the lake, look down at the ground, to remember that God is all around us and messages from God are all around us.

Then we sang "This Little Light of Mine."  One guy really wanted to sing "Kumbaya," so we did that too.  And then it was time to turn on the lights and have a closing prayer.  

Afterward, the area director counselor told me how much she appreciated the Vespers service and how it was so meditative, an exercise in mindfulness, which she really needed.  So, at least it worked for someone.  But I also felt that the middle school campers were much more engaged in the evening than they were in the morning, which was cool.  

Maybe that momentum will follow through today.  But even if it doesn't, I'll hope that something meaningful breaks through, even as I understand that I am unlikely to ever know for sure.

When RevGalBlogPals Meet in Person

One of the joys of last week's intensive that I haven't written much about was the chance to meet a blogging friend in real life.  In a time that feels very long ago now, there was a group called RevGalsBlogPals, a group for clergywomen and people who support clergywomen.  We blogged about all sorts of things, some of them church related, some not.  There were all sorts of support groups and there were conferences and fun outings.  I was sad to see it end, and like so many things in my life that end, part of me understood and part of me was baffled.

I've continued to see various RevGals in the online realm, but last week, one of them came to the intensive.  I knew that Diane Roth had started the program, but I lost track of her progress; in retrospect, I should have sent her a message in advance so that it was less awkward on that first day.  I saw her nametag before she got there, but I wasn't sure how to say, "I know you online, but I'm not sure if you know me."  Sure, in retrospect, I should have just said that, but I was worried I might sound like a weird stalker.

Happily, Diane took the first step, and she did it during the pre-dinner meet and greet, which meant that we could spend the rest of the intensive as friends, not as people wondering how they knew each other.  On Friday at lunch, she asked what I was planning to do during our free time.  I talked about going to the library, and she wanted to go to an independent bookstore.  She tries to go to independent bookstores as she travels, and I'm happy to support bookstores too.  I had a car, which she didn't, and I'm familiar with Columbia.  It was a recipe for a successful outing to All Good Books in Five Points.

And we did have a successful outing.  The bookstore had a great selection of books, and we both found one to buy.  I was happy to find Susan Rich's latest book; I love supporting poets and independent books by buying books from bookstores.  

Alas, we didn't have time to buy a coffee or to explore Five Points.  We had to get back for more instructional sessions, which after all, was the reason we had come to the seminary campus.   I was happy to post this picture to Facebook, happy to be part of my favorite subgenre of FB posts, when online friends meet in real life and realize that they are just as delightful in person as online:

Don't Be a Zombie: Celebrate Love

I am writing in a state park in Arkansas, Petit Jean State Park, in the CCC room.  A very kind park ranger who tends the front desk overnight offered me a cup of her strong coffee, and I said yes.

As I understand it, this lodge where I am writing was constructed by the CCC, and the furniture in this room was constructed to match the original furniture.  It's not exactly comfortable--a straight back chair with a woven seat--but I've used worse.  There's a charm in being the only one in this room, while the sky slowly lightens.  Here's a view of the lodge from the table where I'm writing:

As we drove across the state of Tennessee yesterday, I thought about how much of the state I've seen in the past week:  from Bristol in the northeast corner all the way to the Mississippi River.  As an English major, it's impossible not to drive by places and reflect on the literature that these places have inspired.  

And of course, there are darker thoughts, about the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement and the fierce battles for the soul of America.  My younger self would have thought that these battles were settled and that we were on a trajectory towards a better future, a more egalitarian future where everyone (except for the very richest of us) has similar opportunities.

As we drove and drove and drove across Tennessee, I thought about the current battles over land, especially Ukraine.  I understand the value of that land, the literal land and the historic ideas of it, from reading Timothy Snyder's Black Earth.  It wasn't the book I was expecting, but I haven't forgotten it--an excellent book.  

As we drove and drove, I thought back to history, people who lived in the lands that the car drove by, people in the 1850's who tilled their fields and tended their farms, people who lived far away from decisions made in Washington, D.C., people who had no idea how history was about to rip apart their lives.  Most of the people who lived in most of the country in pre-Civil War years didn't own slaves.  Their lives were about to be upended over policies that would never have impacted them otherwise.

Happier reasons bring me to Arkansas, a wedding and the family reunion that these kinds of events can create.  Last night I watched small children lurching around the picnic area pretending to be zombies.  The smallest one came over to me, looked directly into my eyes, and said, "Be a zombie."

I am of an age where I don't get these kinds of invitations/directives often.  And so I rose from my camp chair and played at being a zombie.  By the end of the evening, most of us, all ages, had taken a turn at this game.  I talked to the child's mom about how kids these days are learning about zombies, and now I have a Disney creation to look up.  I didn't realize that Disney had travelled to the land of the undead.

I am traveling through the land, rejoicing that we are not yet dead, that there are still kind front desk managers who share their coffee with early morning writers, that there are still children who will spend hours playing make believe, that the land offers up so much beauty, as does life itself, if we look away from our screens and 24 hour news feeds and the other ways we allow our joy to be killed.

Today we celebrate love.  Today I am remembering that we should celebrate love, in all of its forms, in every way we can, each and every day.

Advent Treats of the Reading Variety

I am trying to convince myself that I have enough time to write a blog post.  My Systematic Theology paper is due today, at 11:59 p.m.  I have been hard at work, and I am in the writing stage where I don't know if any of it makes any sense.  I have one more section to write, about what salvation means, and that's the part that will be easiest.  The part on Trinitarian theology requires me to weave together many ideas that show I've done the readings and understand the history.  Part of me worries that I'm relying too much on notes and the theology of others.  But that's what the assignment requires; I'm not asked to create my own theology of the Trinity.

I've been enjoying an Advent reading, Gail Godwin's Evensong.  I read it when it first came out, back in 1999, and then I reread it again a few years later.  So, it's been about 20 years since I've read it, and I don't remember much about it.  

It's about a woman who is an Episcopal priest; it's the sequel to Father Melancholy's Daughter, a book I loved deeply.  Twenty years ago, I loved Evensong because it told me what happened to the main character of Father Melancholy's Daughter.  This year, I'm loving it because it's set during Advent and because it's about church life in a mountain town similar to the one where I live and the one where I serve as Synod Appointed Minister.

This morning, I'm enjoying the Fresh Air interview with poet Christian Wiman--lots of great thoughts on faith, pain, and creativity.  Here's a quote to give a taste:  "I think you can believe in God and not have faith. I think faith means living toward God in some way, and it's what you do in your life and how you live it. I don't feel the sense of mystery or terror alleviated by faith. I don't feel that at all. I don't understand when people present God as an answer to the predicament of existence. That's not the way I experience it at all. I have this hunger in me that is endless, and I think everyone probably has it. Maybe they find different ways of dealing with it, whether it's booze or excessive exercise or excessive art or whatever. I tried to answer it with poetry for years and hit a wall with that. And finally ... I discovered ... the only solution to me was to live toward God without an answer."

Well, speaking of quotes, let me get back to that paper for Systematics.

Thanksgiving 2023

Here we are, very early on Thanksgiving morning; I'm writing at the kitchen table while my uncle fries bacon.  Soon the younger parts of the extended family will get up to do the Turkey Trot down in Hendersonville.  Later, we'll eat a feast.  This afternoon, we'll try to replicate my grandmother's yeast rolls.

We can do that because my mother thought to preserve the recipe.  My cousin's wife asked if I had it, and I did not, so I asked my mom and sister.  My mom brought all the recipes she had, including the one for yeast rolls.

Yesterday afternoon, my cousin's daughter copied the recipes, and I made this Facebook post:  "My heart is so happy - - the next generation copying the recipes from my grandmother, which my mom preserved."

It may be one of my most-liked post in recent years.  For me, it captures so much about this holiday and why I love it:  family recipes, family time, family feasts, family traditions.  I realize these aspects are also the elements that can make this holiday, and life in general, painful.

I have had to use my cell phone's hotspot capacity to access the internet, which feels miraculous, but also makes me aware of being online.  I don't have unlimited data, and this hotspot consumes data as if it's a Thanksgiving feast.

That, too, is a blessing--it makes me move offline and enjoy being together in person.  It's an interesting insight.

One last thing I want to record:  last night, over dinner, we were talking about books that have been helpful.  My cousin said that the most important and profound book he'd ever read was Man's Search for Meaning.  I said, "You mean the one from the middle of the 20th century?  By Viktor Frankl?"  Yes, that very one.  I was surprised I could pull Frankl's name from my memory, and surprised my cousin had read it.  

Have I read it?  Surely I've read at least part of it.  Still, based on my cousin's recommendation, I'm planning to reread it again.  I am grateful for these connections.

Boundaries Training and the Chance to See Amy-Jill Levine

Two weeks ago, I was part-way through the Southeastern Synod's Convocation.  Yesterday, I went to a different one, the one hosted by the South Carolina Synod.  I won't be able to make a fair comparison--today I can't attend because I need to attend a different synodical event:  boundaries training for all of region 9 of the ELCA (this region of the Lutheran church extends as far north as Virginia, as far west as Tennessee and Mississippi, and as far south as Florida).  It's required for all rostered clergy, so I'm attending because of my SAM position preaching at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee and as part of my internship hours.

I think it will consist mainly of sitting at my desk and watching the Zoom session that has been prepared.  I really hope that we're not divided into small groups.  The event lasts from 9-4 with an hour for lunch.  I am happy when I look at my life and realize how little of it now involves sitting at a desk for hours.  Once upon a time, if I only had to sit at a desk from 9 to 4, I'd feel that I had a light day of desk sitting.  At times in my last administrator job, it wasn't uncommon to be at my desk for 9 hours.  I could have left for lunch, but it wasn't a going out to lunch culture.  I tried to get up to walk around a bit throughout the day, to do more than just going to the bathroom, but the setting wasn't conducive--no outdoors walking, and a rather small building.

I have been at the SC Synod Convocation because their featured speaker is Amy-Jill Levine  (gasp!).  After going to yesterday's presentation, I will just say that she is more wonderful in person than she is on the page.  I may say more on that after I see tomorrow's presentation.

I am sad to miss today's presentation by her, but I don't want to risk my attendance at the boundaries training.  I did have a chance to ask Dr. Levine if one of the display books would cover what she would talk about today, and she said it would.  So, I've got a friend taking good notes, and I've ordered the book:   The Bible With and Without Jesus: How Jews and Christians Read the Same Stories Differently.  I'm looking forward to reading it.  Her book, Short Stories by Jesus: The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi, has been revelatory.

It has occurred to me that I might have saved money by just buying a book or two.  I did have to pay a fee to attend the Convocation, and I'd have gotten more for my money if I was free to attend more events.  I couldn't go to the worship service last night because I was in class, and I can't go to the daytime events today because of the training.  But I am happy to have had a chance to see Dr. Levine live.  She has a remarkable presence, both fiercely smart and fiercely funny.

Much of what she presented wasn't brand new to me.  I'm happy that my seminary has done a good job of reminding us that Jesus was Jewish.  I try to be alert for any way that my sermons might be anti-Jewish.  I stay away from the worst stereotypes of Pharisees and the religious leaders of Jesus' day.  But of course, for many of my parishioners, the damage is already done; they may have had decades of sermons that faulted the Jews for the crucifixion of Jesus.

At some point, I may look back on this week as a week about boundaries of all kinds.  But it's too early to know that now.  Let me get ready for the day ahead, this day at my desk.

Brief Reflections on the Second Week of Teaching

I'm feeling tired this morning, and I can't decide if it's a good tired or not--maybe it's a mix of good tired (I did good teaching and preaching this week!  I made mostly healthy food choices and walked every day!) and not-as-good tired (driving!  depressing politics!  no creative writing done!).  Let me record some snippets:

--I have finally gotten the computer in my work office to communicate with the printer, which makes my life much easier.  Hurrah!  It's not a speedy computer, and the keyboard makes writing difficult (it's got a few extra keys, so I hit a backslash button every time my pinkie reaches for the enter key).

--I also got a key to the office.

--I am surprised that it feels easier to teach English 101 than the 102 class, which is the Literature class.  I'm still figuring out the pacing in that class and how many handouts I need.  There's not as much participation as I would like, but it's only the first week of talking about literature so that might change.  And if it doesn't, I'll make adjustments.  I can talk about literature all by myself, even though I'd prefer a discussion.

--I am still loving the ability to feel inspired and/or to find a poem/writing online and to bring it to class.  Finding one poem often inspires me to go hunting after others that I had forgotten that I loved.  For example, I found this New York Times article about hip hop being the answer to poetry malaise, and I wanted some poetry to go with it.  I am not into 21st century hip hop enough to bring in song lyrics, so I went way back and made copies of Gwendolyn Brooks' "We Real Cool."  I tried to think of other great African American poets and went hunting for Natasha Trethewey poems--wow!  She is so wonderful, which I have known since Native Guard was published.

--For the past 3 of my 4 teaching days, I've gotten home and quickly lost any energy that I had.  I have been so exhausted in the late afternoon and early evening, going to bed at 7:15 kind of tired.  I need to figure out how to change that, at least on Thursdays when I am a seminary student in a Systematic Theology class from 6:30 to 9:30.  I suspect that if I don't drink wine and have a bit of iced coffee, I'll be fine. 

--This morning it's time to take the newer car in for an oil change--it's been a year.  Let me bring this blog post to a close so I can get ready to assist.  Then it's time to turn my attention to my other job:  sermon writing awaits! 

Extra Yarn and Beads and Prayer Bracelets

Last night, the Bible study leaders at camp were in charge of Vespers.  We were given very little in terms of guidelines; from what I can tell, leaders use a variety of approaches to this service at the end of the day.  My co-leader had a book she wanted to use, but we didn't have it, so we used a different one:  Extra Yarn by Mac Barnett and illustrated by Jon Klassen.

It's a charming tale of a girl who finds a box of yarn that never gives out as she knits and knits and knits:  sweaters for all!  But we needed a bit more than just the story--we were supposed to create a Vespers experience that lasted 20-30 minutes.

I had a vision of tying in to the yarn and having the campers create something they could take with them to remember camp, to remember to pray, to remember that we will pray for them throughout the year.  I thought of a prayer bracelet or something they could keep in their pockets.

I went to the resources room and got a variety of possible supplies:  yarn, ribbon, beads, and more beads.  I spread them out on the table so that it was a focal point:

After we read the story, I said that we would make something out of yarn and ribbon, a bracelet or a necklace or a key chain.  I suggested several strands, woven together, with beads that would represent something to them:  fellow campers, God, prayers that they wanted to remember, elements of nature.

It seemed like a great idea when I thought about it before the campers arrived.  But as my partner read the story, I worried that the creation part of Vespers would fall flat--the campers are in middle school, and they can default into the "I'm too cool for all of this" mode fairly easily.

Our group of campers had their closing celebration before coming to us, which also made me worry.  How would that energy flow into Vespers?

It all went much better than I was worried that it would.  The campers all entered into the spirit of the exercise.  I had brought small plastic bags, and everyone was eager to fill them with beads, yarn, and ribbon.  As everyone was creating, there was a meditative quality to it all that I didn't anticipate, but was so happy to witness.

We closed with prayers of thanks to God who weaves us together, with prayers of requests for a peaceful night that would restore us, and with gratitude for our good experiences together.  I went home with a sense of wonder and a hope that I remember that people are more often open to spiritual encounters than I might think.

Summer Solstice in a Time of Climate Change

We are still a few hours away from the official summer solstice, which occurs at 10:58 a.m., Eastern time.  Here in the mountains of North Carolina, it's more like chilly spring.  We have yet to turn on the AC; in fact, last week we had the heat on for a few minutes, just to take the chill off the air.

Let me be clear that I am not complaining.  My spouse complains about the lack of blazing heat and sun, but I like being able to take a walk in the afternoon without melting.  I like being able to get in the car without feeling like I'm suffocating for the whole trip because the car's AC can't get rid of the heat that builds up when a car sits in a parking space for an hour or two in the daylight.

I thought about this location that we've chosen as I read David Pogue's How to Prepare for Climate Change:  A Practical Guide to Surviving the Chaos.  Part of the book talks about deciding to move to a safer climate.  Pogue recommends the Pacific Northwest or the Great Lakes.  He also lists about 14 specific cities, all of them a bit cold for me, at this time of climate warming.  

But we've chosen a good spot.  I almost said we've accidentally chosen a good spot, but it wasn't an accident at all.  I've been thinking about this issue for at least 20 years, as it became clear that South Florida has some severe disadvantages as a spot to weather climate change or the lack of oil, which is the lens through which I first started having these thoughts.  

Pogue suggests we think about 4 things:  moving inland, moving north, being near fresh water, and finding a place with good infrastructure.  Pogue might think we're not far enough north, but it's far enough to escape the heat that worries Pogue.  We are near a huge lake and the French Broad River, plus Lutheridge itself has a lake.  So far, we also get a lot of water in the form of rain, which will be less and less true of much of the southeast in the coming years.

I am less sure about the infrastructure, but the fact that the population is less and more spread out is a good thing.  The roads seem in good shape, as do the power lines and the internet access.  The great December ice storms may have made me wonder about the water, but the city of Asheville did a great job of keeping us informed as the crisis was unfolding, and they did a great job of figuring out resources for those affected.

I read most of the book yesterday afternoon, even though a lot of it doesn't pertain to me anymore.  I have always loved disaster prepping narratives.  Even as a child, I loved books about being lost in the wilderness and needing to find a way to survive.  Hopefully, my life won't come to that, but life in Florida, particularly after a hurricane, resembled that narrative more than I wanted to live anymore, particularly as we got older.

In the past, I've written summer solstice posts about summer pleasures, in part as a way of remembering that there were some to be claimed, even as the season wore me out.  Let me think about summer pleasures in a new way this year--this season will be fleeting, I suspect, and I'll need to make the most of it while it's here.  That said, I'm looking forward to seeing how the seasons shift here in the North Carolina mountains.  Last year, I got a glimpse, but I was in D.C. for the most part.

For me, the pleasures of summer revolve around food, particularly melons and tomatoes and corn.  A week ago, I started looking at community swimming pools, and I've kept a swimsuit out of a box in the hopes that we'll get in a swim or two.  I'd like to go to an evening outside concert at the NC Arboretum.  And I'm going to have to do much of this later in July, when I'm done with the seminary class that I'm taking.

Maybe by then, it will be warmer; if last year is an indicator, that's when we get the most summerlike weather, in later July and early August.

Library Love

Usually when we move to a new place, getting a library card is high on my list of priorities, along with getting a driver's license.  Last year, when we moved to North Carolina, we discovered that getting our driver's license would take much more effort than in any other location we had ever lived; I had a hint of that when I went online to make an appointment to avoid lines, and the nearest appointment was 5 months away.

So, I barely got my driver's license in time, and since I thought I'd be living in D.C. for the next several years, I didn't prioritize my library card.  But I've been yearning to read some books that I don't own, both light reading and some climate change texts, and the local library has them.  Yesterday I needed to escape some of the deconstruction noise at the house, so off I went to the nearest branch of the Buncombe county library.

Almost always, entering a library feels like coming home.  My earliest memories are of going to the library, and libraries haven't changed radically in appearance in my lifetime, so it makes sense.  Libraries have more stuff now--computers, meeting rooms, non-book media/items--but libraries still have books, shelves and shelves and shelves of books.

I got my card with no trouble, since I now have a North Carolina driver's license.  The librarian asked me if I'd ever had a Buncombe county library card before, and I said no.  Suddenly I realized that I've had a library card in almost every state south of the Mason-Dixon line and east of the Mississippi River.  I have no particular desire to live in the missing states (Mississippi, for example), so this might be the end of my run.

I spent some time in the stacks, wondering what I'd like to read.  Yes, I keep a list, but that list is in a box somewhere.  I ended up with Living Resistance by Kaitlin B. Curtice and Sue Monk Kidd's The Book of Longings--not the light and fluffy reading I wanted, but maybe they'll hit the spot.  I came home and went online to request the climate change books I wanted--they are at a library far away, and I'm happy to wait for them to be delivered to the branch nearer to me.

One of the cool elements of this library system is that I have borrowing privileges at many other North Carolina counties.  It's hard to imagine that I'll get to many of them, but I do live just one mile away from Henderson county.  There are no overdue fees, but after 30 days, the item will be charged to the card.  But if you bring the item back, you're good; I know this, because I heard it explained to the young child and his dad who had brought items back.  If you're charged, and you bring a new copy of the book that you got from somewhere else, you don't have to pay what the library will charge you to replace that book.  Once I lost a book from the Broward county (FL) system, and not only had to pay an exorbitant cost to replace it, but also a service fee; I ended up paying almost $50.00 for a paperback that was widely available for a few dollars elsewhere.

One feature of this library card is that I can get Zoom passes, which gets me and my group admission into a variety of educational spaces (the NC Arboretum!  the WNC Nature Center!  the Asheville Art Museum!), with one pass per place per month.  Wow.  It requires some thinking ahead because I have to get the pass at the library, but I'm fine with that.

On my way home, I heard that Cormac McCarthy died; I was surprised that he was as old as he was when he died.  I only read The Road, which had some of the most gorgeous language I've ever read, which is particularly unusual in a dystopian novel.  My reading life is short, and I'm unlikely to read more of his work, although this appreciation made me want to read more.  NPR commentator Wade Goodwyn recorded it just before he died of cancer--he died in his 60's, much younger than anyone should.

I did not waste time with news coverage of the Trump appearance at a federal court room yesterday.  This story will drag on and on and on.  In some ways, it's much like a kitchen remodel.  I did get kitchen counters ordered yesterday.  

It will take 3-7 weeks for them to be made and installed.  Sigh.  

But at least the process is underway.  I also got the tin for the backsplash ordered; happily American Tin still had some of our old pattern in stock, which we're getting in hopes of duplicating what we've had before.

In the meantime, we have a temporary sink, and we'll keep making due.  Earlier this week, standing on the deck in the morning dark, looking through the sliding glass doors, I thought, if this was a picture that I saw in a magazine, I'd want to live here--even if the kitchen doesn't have counters yet.

Things Fall Apart and Come Together

My Church History II professor requires us to read 2 shorter books during the term; he gave us a list of 3 books to choose from, and we chose 1 in each part of the course, and then we spend part of class time discussing the book.  The idea of which books should be on the list is the topic for a different blog post.  But this morning, I'm still thinking about poems and last night's books.

In class, we finished the in person part of the semester by discussing Achebe's Things Fall Apart.  One student talked about the hopeful parts of the book, about the hopeful part of the Biblical book of Revelation, and the poem that gave the book its title ("The Second Coming").  From what he said, I thought, hmm, I don't see that poem by Yeats the same way at all.

I raised my hand and asked how many of the editions had the full text of the Yeats poem because I never saw the poem a hopeful poem.  I was surprised to find out that one edition apparently didn't include the poem at all, while others just included a few lines.  After class, I went back to my computer to read the poem again, just to be sure that I still felt the same way about the poem.

It may or may not surprise you to find out that I still find the poem less than hopeful.  I was happily surprised to find that I could still remember a lot of it; long ago, I taught it so often that I almost had it memorized.  I am surprised that the Achebe book doesn't have all of it, but perhaps there are copyright issues.  Maybe modern editors don't see the allusion/epigraph as essential.  Perhaps Achebe only wanted those few lines included with his novel.

After I sat with Yeats for a few minutes, I turned off the computer and the lights and got ready for bed.  My bedtime reading has been from a different poet, Maggie Smith's You Could Make This Place Beautiful.  Yesterday I saw her post that the book is #3 on the NYT best seller list.  Hurrah!  It's a well deserved spot; I've been enjoying the book immensely.

I'm happy for her success; it's good to see a woman poet succeed this way.  I'm happy when I see anything that tells me that people are still buying books, and I'm even happier when people are buying the books of poets, even if it's not their volumes of poetry.  I'm happy when a woman outside of New York City is finding publishing success.

You Could Make This Place Beautiful is the book that I was hoping Keep Moving would be.  I liked the inspiration that Keep Moving gave me, those nuggets that first appeared on Twitter.  But I found myself wanting more about Smith's life as a poet, and You Could Make This Place Beautiful gives me that window into her life as a writer.  She's also very honest about the price that came with her success.

Today will not be quite as steeped in literature, but that's O.K.  I'm headed over to my sister's, where we'll catch up and have dinner and do carpool duties and relax.  I know how fortunate I am.