Inviting a Nurse to Communion

On Sunday on our way home from Bristol, we took communion to a parishioner in the hospital.  My spouse talked to him while I was getting set up.

A nurse came to record vital statistics and check on the parishioner patient.  I was worried we were in her way and offered to wait until she was done.  My spouse, on the other hand, said, "Or you could stay and join us in this small worship service."

She said, "I would love to stay and join you."

I was surprised but forged on ahead.  She participated in all but the thimble-full of wine for communion.

After we were finished with our very short service, she said, "Thank you so much.  I always miss church when I work on Sundays, and it was nice to do this with you."

I was humbled.  I have spent the whole summer in a hospital, after all.  I have spent the whole summer trying to train my brain to remember that I may see myself as an unwelcome intrusion in a hospital room, but that may not be the reality.  In fact, it's probably not the reality--after all, as a chaplain, I was the only one on the medical team who wasn't there to do an invasive or shame-producing procedure. 

My spouse is often better at parts of ministry than I am; he would likely make a better chaplain than I would.  But we are getting much older, and the time for these decisions is closing.

This Sunday encounter also made me think about other ministry outreach activities.  If that nurse misses her Sunday worship opportunities, there must be others of a similar mind.  When we walked into the hospital on Sunday, the lobby was completely vacant.  Could we be a ministering presence to people there to visit loved ones?  Could we roam the floors, doing "drive-by" communion on foot?

If we were a larger church, perhaps.  If I was full-time, looking to make connections to the community, perhaps.  It does make me wonder if the hospital has a chaplain, and if so, where was the chaplain?

As always, the idea of the ministry field is only constrained by our imaginations and by our time and energy.

Notes on the Halfway Point of Summer

I am at the end of week 4 of chaplaincy training.  July has begun.  We are at the halfway point of summer camp at Lutheridge.  Let me make a few notes.

--My cold has a long tail.  I can go through much of my day only coughing occasionally.  I'm no longer blowing my nose each hour.  But I still have a slightly scratchy throat.  If I talk for too long, I need a drink of water, and I don't feel like I can count on my voice.

--I have been wearing Saucony running shoes to work every day.  I am channeling that 80's woman commuting to work on public transportation--but I'm not changing into heels when I get to the office.  It's a new level of frumpiness for me.  But I am able to spend much of the day on my feet without excruciating back pain at night, so I'll stick with frumpy comfort.

--Music Week at Lutheridge starts on Sunday.  It will be a different experience for me this year--but I'm hoping I still get some quality time with friends and family who are coming through for Music Week.

--We are at so many halfway points:  summer is halfway over, Lutheridge summer camp is halfway over, the year is halfway over.  I wonder where we will be at the halfway point of next summer.  Hopefully I will be meeting with my candidacy committee to proceed to endorsement, which is usually a halfway point to ordination, but in my case, I'm doing things a bit out of order.  At Lutheran seminaries, students would do CPE much earlier, often in the summer after the first year, and then they'd get to endorsement sometime in the following year, before internship (year 3 of seminary) and the last year of seminary. 

--This week, my sketching was lifted up as one of my gifts that I should use in ministry.  I never really thought about my sketching as one of my gifts. I still think of myself as not good at visual art at all.

--As I've been training in various office spaces, I've discovered art supplies stashed away--a delight!  I found a tin box of Crayola markers, but much better quality markers than the Crayola label would imply.  The red marker is missing, which makes me wonder what happened to it.  Did someone love it and take it?  Did it run out of ink?

--I arrived early to rounds and discovered a guitar in the corner of the small conference room.  I strummed it, and to my untrained ears, it sounded like it was in tune.  I assumed that it belonged to someone who might not appreciate me playing it.  But no one is sure who owns it or how it came to be there.  Was it a person who once did music therapy?  That seems most likely, but why would that person leave the guitar behind?

--I looked up the chords to "This Land Is Your Land."  I reminded myself that I am not a guitar player.  I thought about getting my ukulele and bringing it on rounds--but I need a year or two of practice before I might be able to count the ukulele as one of my spiritual gifts

Fish Fries and Mission Questions

Yesterday afternoon we went over the mountain to Bristol, Tennessee for the last fish fry of the season as Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church.  It's one of the community events that the church does, usually 4 of them throughout the spring.  

It's an amazing deal.  Ten dollars per plate, which includes fried or baked fish, green beans, pierogi, mac and cheese, cole slaw, and a roll.  That ten dollars also includes a beverage and a vast array of desserts.  While most people don't treat the event as an all you can eat extravaganza, we do give seconds if asked.  The money raised goes local charities, primarily the food pantry.

It's not an evangelical event, not in the traditional way.  Most of the people who come to the event already have a home church.  Most of the people who come already know about the church.  It's a small community, so most of the people who come have a personal connection to those of us at the church preparing and serving the food.

In a variety of classes and workshops on mission, I've been told that an essential question for churches is this one:  would your larger community miss you if you were gone?  Does the larger community even know that you are here?

Long before Faith Lutheran starts to advertise, the phone calls come in January, phone calls asking when the first fish fry will be.  Our church raises not only money for the food bank, but members work there, distributing food to the community.  We don't do the kinds of things that other churches might do:  no one uses our building but us, for example.  We don't offer computer literacy lessons or other kinds of classes that community members might want.  We are far from the legislative places where big decisions are made--we won't be demonstrating as a single church.

I often think of what I might do if I was their full-time pastor.  I'm not convinced that the church can grow much in terms of gaining new members.  There might be more to do in terms of being an essential member of the community, in terms of networking.  But again, it's a small community, so it's likely already happening, although perhaps not in a way that mission experts would be able to quantify.

How many members, how many individuals impacted?  I am grateful that I don't have to think in terms of these numbers.   I can just show up to enjoy a great meal, exchange stories with people who come, and give thanks for a wonderful community.

Graduation Good Wishes

As people have been responding to my graduation, I've been touched by the responses.  My mom brought a pile of happy graduation cards that people have sent to her.  Many of these cards are from people who have known me since birth and took time to write a personal note--what a gift.

I've had a Catholic friend who was once a priest tell me that he's looking forward to a day when he can have the eucharist that I will celebrate, when he can take the bread from my hand.  If we're being strict, that day is a long way off.  Lutherans and Catholics are not in formal communion with each other.  Pope Leo may change that.  Still, the comment meant a lot to me.

Similarly, my sister has said that if my church was nearby, she'd want me to be her pastor.  That comment means a lot to me.  We've experienced many lackluster pastors between us, so when she says she would love hearing my sermons each week, I know that she's not just giving me empty compliments.

I am also surprised by how many people watched the livestream of the graduation ceremony.  I've been to a lot of graduations, and I don't mind them.  Sometimes I even find them inspiring.  But I don't know that I'd tune in from a distance.  Maybe it's something I should think about in the future.

I also want to remember how much this has meant to me so that I can be the same sort of gift for others.  It's good to know that people are rooting for me.  I want to do the same for others going forward.

Week-end of Abundance

I head back to DC today.  I have a 6:30 pm class, so there's plenty of time.  Once, though, I'd have thrown the last load of stuff in the car, filled up my thermoses, and been on the road by 4:00 or so.  But that was back in the South Florida days, South Florida where it is never truly O dark thirty.

Here in the mountains, it's dark--dark--before the sun comes up.  It will be safer to wait until a bit closer to sunrise to leave.

Yesterday at the Crafts for Christmas retreat, one of the woman said that her father had told her that for every fog in August, there will be a snowfall.  I said, "Well, we're in for a humdinger of a winter."  Everyone nodded.  One of the few non-foggy days in August was August 28, when I headed back to seminary by myself at 4:00 a.m.  The roads weren't foggy, but they were dark in a terrifying way.

The women at the Crafts for Christmas retreat talked about weather wisdom of the elders, and about Harriet Tubman and navigating by the stars and about how younger generations have no sense of any of this.  What a relief to be amongst my people:  educators and people who know how to make all sorts of soul sustaining things, from preserved food to cookies to quilted hearts.

I ate as many cookies in one day as I eat in six months.  When I got the invite for the retreat, I said that I couldn't bring a craft to share, but I was told there would be plenty.  Yes, plenty--many people brought not only supplies for their craft, but other supplies too.  It was heaven:  tables loaded with cloth, beads, baskets, papers, wood, found objects, on and on.  

We were similarly equipped with food.  In fact, I'll be taking some of it back with me.  I felt a bit bad for not bringing food to share, but there was plenty, and I know that more than one person delighted in the fact that they were helping the seminary student who didn't have time to cook or gather craft supplies.  I apologized once or twice and then decided to quit nattering on about it.

We are all from religious communities who believe in sharing, who believe that the sharing produces abundance.  And we had an abundant week-end.

Soon I will head back to my abundant life in DC.  I have a car crammed with all the last minute items that I didn't take last time, from a laundry basket to a lamp.  I have some groceries and some treats.  I have books that I planned to read for this week's classes; I did skim them, but for the most part, I devoted myself to crafts this week-end.  My spouse and I had time to reconnect.

I indulged in the abundance of crafts and Christmas music and cookies and reconnecting, and I have no regrets.

Spiritual Gifts: A Methodist Assessment

For one of my seminary classes, Leading Innovation, we had to take several assessments.  One assessed our spiritual gifts and was created by the United Methodist Church; it's located here, should you want to take it.

I've taken these assessments before, many times during the past several decades, so I wasn't expecting to learn anything new.  So when the assessment returned my results, I wasn't surprised to see that it gave me high marks for teacher and shepherd qualities.  I have been teaching college level classes (mainly English) for decades, and part of the appeal of teaching for me is the ability to nurture students, many of whom are first generation college students, and to help them to success. Outside of the classroom, I am often teaching and shepherding: leading classes for my church, guiding younger faculty members who ask for advice, offering a supportive ear to my friends, and a variety of other activities.

The Spiritual Gifts Assessment placed Prophecy as my #2 gift, and that was a surprise to me. My brain immediately went to ancient prophets who spoke truth to power and were killed for their efforts or to the prophets who ran away from God’s tasks and ended up eaten by a big fish or shipwrecked.

But the Assessment included this language, which will stick with me for days, I am sure: “Prophets do not foretell the future, but they proclaim God’s future by revealing God’s perspective on our current reality.” I want to believe that I could reveal God’s perspective, but I also see the danger in believing that I do—throughout history we have seen the dangers unleashed when individuals or populations think that they know God’s perspective. I know the danger that comes with that kind of spiritual pride, so I will be cautious as I ponder this insight.

My spouse and I discussed the idea of what constitutes a prophet.  He was not surprised that I scored high in this aspect.  He mentioned my sermons and my tendency to remind people of how much God loves us.  I'm not sure I see that as prophecy, but it is God's perspective.  And there are many who might disagree that it's God's perspective.  Many might talk about how God judges us, and I tend to think that the judgmental part of God is not the truest aspect of God.

Maybe the prophecy part isn't as far off the mark as I thought.   

I was surprised by how many questions asked about foreign languages, which I had never thought about as a spiritual gift. Facility with foreign languages is not one of my spiritual gifts.

I was also surprised that there weren’t any questions that think about creative practices as spiritual gifts. I was born into a family of astonishing musical ability; sadly, I did not inherit those gifts. But I have developed other types of creative practices, like writing and fabric arts, and they have enriched my spiritual development in all sorts of ways. By sharing these gifts with others, I have enriched the spiritual lives of others too.

I continue to enjoy taking these kinds of assessments. No matter how often I take them, I always discover something new. And even if I didn’t discover something new, returning to these questions offers a good opportunity to make sure I’m staying on a good trajectory.

Dream Time, Sabbath Time

I have been dreaming of falling in slow motion through a beautiful sky and last minute parachutes clipped to my jacket by someone who could defy gravity.  It sounds like a scary dream, but it was more like a flying dream.  A few nights ago, I had a rising water dream that was more like a raft party featuring colleagues who will soon be moving back to our campus than an apocalyptic plot for a dream.  It does not take a psychologist to interpret these dreams, now, but I am intrigued by how they are not bad dreams.  I call myself the Apocalypse Gal, but maybe I am not.  Or maybe we're not at the apocalyptic moment I was expecting.  I go through life expecting apocalypse, after all.

I thought of my dreams, in part because dream life fascinates me, in part because the teaching assistant for last night's Spiritual Formation for Ministry class asked if we dreamed when we slept.  He posits that if we don't get to a dream stage, we're not getting deep rest.  I realize that people can dream and not remember their dreams, but putting that aside, let me just say that the vividness of my dreams would suggest that I'm getting rest.

My tiredness might say otherwise.  It has been a week of rushed accreditation writing at work, the type of writing that leaves me fried in the best of circumstances, and this week has not been the best of circumstances.

So last night's discussion of Sabbath time in my Spiritual Formation for Ministry class spoke to me on so many levels.  We talked about carving out time, either a whole day, or in 4 chunks of time (morning, afternoon, evening, an 8 hour sleep time).  My small group partner and I agreed that finding 8 hours to sleep is hard; I can find the time, but I can't guarantee that my body will sleep.  Would inserting an hour into each day be a good start?  In my Covenant Discipleship group, we agreed that it would be a good start.

In the virtual synchronous class portion, my professor responded to what I had written in a discussion post.  Here's what I wrote in response to Barbara Brown Taylor's chapter on Sabbath in her book An Altar in the World:

"She connects to the subversive nature of keeping the Sabbath: “. . . there is no saying yes to God without saying no to God’s rivals. No I will not earn my way today. No, I will not make anyone else work either. No, I will not worry about my life, what I will eat or what I will drink, or about my body, what I will wear” (p. 139). This idea continues to intrigue me and seems worth more consideration. I want more ways of resisting consumerism, capitalism, and empire, while being grateful for this idea that couldn’t be more simple.

But as I type that sentence, I realize I’m writing from a place of privilege as someone who has workplace flexibility and resources. I am also writing at a time of workplace upheaval: jobs vanishing, workers who have decided that their old jobs are too toxic, workers on strike, caretakers who can’t do what they once could—in this current environment, does our approach to Sabbath change?"

My inner Sociology major is fascinated by that last question, but my professor focused on the idea of privilege.  She said that Sabbath is not a privilege but a gift, a gift for all, and the fact that we live in a society where so many of us have to work at so many jobs to make ends meet is a sign that our society is broken.

We didn't stay on that aspect long, although my professor did say that it will take much work and many votes to make transformation at the wide societal level.  She suggested that we focus on what our individual churches can do.  She said that she had been a member of a church where people occasionally had trouble making rent, and it wasn't a cause of shame, it was accepted that rents are high and people might have trouble coming up with the money.  So a call would go out, people would donate to the rent fund, and members would avoid eviction.  She talked about the times we could offer Vacation Bible School that would be more convenient for neighborhood moms and dads.

I like the idea of shifting my perspective so that I see Sabbath time as a gift freely given, not a privilege bestowed by God.  But I don't want to forget that it is a privilege that many of us in industrialized nations don't get to enjoy.  I do want to do the work to see that change, so that all may have a day of rest. 

The Spirit and The Flesh--Seeing Paul with New Eyes

In this early morning, I have been listening to one of the lectures for seminary, for my Spiritual Formation class. I had to write down some of the thoughts of my professor, Dr. Emily Peck-McClain, who got my attention by declaring her love for Paul and calling Paul a gift to us with a liberative message that is not often proclaimed.  She gave me a way of thinking about Paul that I have never heard before.

Many people have trouble with Paul for all sorts of reasons.  It's easy to see him as a prudish kill joy, with his seeming rejection of all the pleasures rooted in the body.  But what if we're interpreting those letters that he wrote in a wrong way?  What if he's not talking about us as individual creatures of flesh, but something bigger?

Dr. Peck-McClain brought us Galatians 5 to consider.  Paul talks about the Flesh.  Many people interpret this passage as talking about our own individual flesh, our bodily desires, particularly the ones that can get us into trouble.  

Dr. Peck-McClain points out that Paul is talking about the Flesh, and her discussion made me think of Paul talking about the Powers.  It's a power outside of us much like sin.  She says that he's not talking about flesh, but about the Flesh, which is opposed to the Spirit--she emphasized the article "the."  The Flesh is a power outside of us, a power that is opposed to the Spirit.  He connects the Flesh, Sin, and Death in a kind of triad.

But we can live by the Spirit.  And what would that look like?  Paul gives us the fruits of the Spirit:  love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  She reminds us that Paul is writing to communities, not to individuals.  The fruit of the Spirit is born and comes to fruition in community.

The good news is that we don't have to produce all of these fruits all by ourselves.  When the whole community is together, these are the fruits that we see.  We are intended to have all of these fruits together communally.  And then we are equipped to carry on the redemptive work of Christ in the world.

I also thought of us as individual fruit trees, making a beautiful orchard together.  It's that time of year when I'm yearning for apple orchards and pumpkin patches.  What a delight to encounter Paul in this way, to be reminded of this text that has been so important, and to see it in a different way.

Holy Resilience, Holy Resistance

I spent a part of last week-end both taking photos and loading them to the computer.  I finished this sketch and took a photo:

When I went to upload it, I realized that I had misnamed earlier versions--not Holy Resilience, but Holy Resistance.  I like the idea of Holy Resistance too.  I've spent some time wondering if you can have one without the other.

To be resilient, one must have a certain amount of resistance to whatever events are making us need to be resilient.  And most of us have likely been surprised to know how many years/decades/lifetimes we're going to spend in resisting whatever evil has reared up to fight back.  That takes resilience.

So much resilience required--right now, many of us feel like we're running on fumes.  Let us commit to ways that we can strengthen and build up our reserves of resilience so that we can continue with the work of resistance.

Ministering in the Time of Pandemic

As it continues to be clearer each day about the risk of assembling in groups, I'm seeing churches wrestling with how to best be the body of Christ in a world where bodies need to stay at least 6 feet apart.

Some churches may not have as many issues.  Small congregations may be able to go back to some variation of their previous lives.  Many small congregations worship in very big spaces that were built last century when the congregation was bigger.  They could space themselves out.

But even small congregations, like mine, will wrestle with the question of whether or not it's smart to come back.  If we can't sing, if we can't figure out the eucharist, do we really need to risk being together as a group in the same physical space?

Many of us are growing weary of being the virtual body of Christ.  And then there's the question of who can't join us virtually.  How do we include members of our congregations who can't access the technology?

Some churches, like mine, will send a DVD of the service, for those who can't join us during the livestream.  This morning, I read about a church that does some sort of telephone call.  It's not a Zoom meeting, but an old-fashioned conference call.

I've also heard about church members who deliver a print out of the service, like a bulletin for those of you old enough to remember church bulletins, but with the sermon typed out.  You could drop such a thing in the U.S. Mail, but this morning I read about church members who deliver in person.  They stay safely apart, but it gives the housebound member a chance to see another face and perhaps chat from a distance.

As we move through these days/months/years of this pandemic, I hope that we keep a record of some of the important ways we tried to be inclusive.  I hope we keep the successful ones.

Sketching My Way through a Week of Pandemic

In early March, when I first signed up for an online journaling class offered by Vonda Drees and the Grunewald Guild, I had no idea how much life would change in the next few weeks.  I had no idea how much I would need this class.

I knew it had the potential to be life changing.  I took a journaling class with Vonda at the end of 2018, and it was one of the highlights of my year, perhaps of the decade.

We are reading Cynthia Bourgeault's Mystical Hope:  Trusting in the Mercy of God.  We have 3 markers in shades of gray, and a marker color that brings us joy.  I chose lilac.  Here's the first sketch I made from a quote in the book that talks about life seeming to spiral downward--little did I know how quickly it would spiral downward during the week as pandemic cases spiraled out of control:

The next day, this quote from chapter 1 leapt out at me:  "Must we be whiplashed incessantly between joy and sorrow, expectation and disappointment?"  I have spent must of my life in this kind of whiplash.

As the past week has progressed, I have found it more and more difficult to sleep.  I fall asleep quickly, but my brain usually jolts me awake between 12:30 and 2:00 a.m., and most nights I don't fall back asleep.  I've taken to sketching as a way of leaving the various sites that bring me news and stress, as a way of attending to any activity that might bring me relief--or even joy.

In this quote, I tried to create a sketch that looked like weaving.  I was only partially successful:

On Friday, we had an online session where we talked about our favorite sketch.  I chose this one:

I talked about how I tried to sketch the fingers of God, but I thought they looked like odd fingers.  I liked the negative space, which looks like flames to me.  In the end, I loved the sketch.  I also realized how many of my concerns and anxieties take place in the near or far future, not the now.  I've known that before, but it's sobering to make a list and confront this truth again.

I wasn't as sure about Friday's sketch:

Saturday's sketch might be my favorite thus far.  I started it in the morning and finished it in the afternoon:

I love the mystical hope that swirls across and through the sketch.  I like the dots and dashes that I made with a variety of pens.

I plan to keep trying to sketch each day.  It's become a practice that's even more vitally important in these days of pandemic.

Shelter at Camp

When I need to feel optimistic about the future of humanity, let me remember how many people posted offers on Facebook to shelter people fleeing from Hurricane Dorian--and the offer was often open to friends of friends.

Some of those offers were made in a post, while others were made in comment threads.  Most of the offers were a guest room or space on the couch or floor.  One person offered a mountain cottage that wasn't being rented out right now--so it was clean, but not rental ready.  I might call that spartan or monastic.

Yesterday, I noticed this Facebook post from my favorite church camp:

----------------
Lutheridge Camp & Conference Center, in Arden, NC, is now open for those who are required or choosing to evacuate in the path of Hurricane Dorian. Housing is free of charge. Availability is limited, on a first come first served basis. Housing is available through Friday, September 13th. Guests are asked to please bring bedding and sheets as circumstances allow. Pets are permitted for those staying in cabin housing. Reservations must be made in advance of your arrival by calling Lutheridge Registration at 828.209.6328.

“It will serve as a pavilion, a shade by day from heat, and a refuge and a shelter from the storm and rain.” – Isaiah 4:6

---------------

Lutheridge has made this offer in past storms.  I did a quick search this morning of some other camps in the area, and if they're open to storm refugees, they're not publicizing it in the same way.

What a gift, this sharing of resources.  It's one reason why I continue to support camps.  I'm not sure that sleep-away camp is a model that will be as important in decades to come.  But there are many ways towards spiritual formation.

Being a shelter in the storm is one of them.

Harmonizing with our Gifts

This week  I've been thinking about the baptism of Jesus, and God's words of being well pleased, even before Jesus has done anything to deserve it.  And how strange is it, that I feel we have to do something before God decides whether or not to be pleased with us.

On Thanksgiving, I came across this Richard Rohr quote--I found it in Joyce Rupp's Open the Door:  "The goal isn't to get somewhere.  The goal isn't about forcing something to happen.  The goal is to be in harmony with the gifts that are already given."

If only it could be that easy--but that would mean we've discerned what gifts we have.  And of course, that we know how to be in harmony with them.

Still, in times like these first few weeks of January, when people's thoughts turn to self-improvement, it's interesting to think in terms of already having what we need.  How would our lives changed if, instead of wishing we had different gifts, we learned how to best utilize the gifts that we have.

Notice that I'm still using self-improvement language:  "learn how to utilize."  The phrase "being in harmony" suggests something different to me, a gentler, wiser approach.  That language of being in harmony brings to mind sitting with a friend, a pot of tea, and some delicious scones.

Here's a sketch I made when I first read the quote.  I should probably keep it out to remind me that I'd like to harmonize with my gifts:

Insignificance as Spiritual Gift

In these early morning hours, I often catch up with old NPR programs.  In this episode of On Point, at the end, they aired a Christmas Eve interview with astronaut Bill Anders who took the iconic Earthrise photo:

One caller asked how the experience had changed him spiritually, and Anders said he didn't really want to go into that.  He talked about how small the earth seemed, and it didn't take much in the way of math skills to think about how small it would seem from even further away.

He said, "So one thing that impressed me, even though the earth is physically insignificant, it certainly is important to humanity, but it also is very small . . We go around a rather insignificant star called the sun in a relatively insignificant galaxy; we're not the center of the universe . . .  we definitely are out on the edge of almost nowhere in space."

I thought of all of our recent Advent and Christmas readings and about how God comes to us by way of some of the most insignificant people of the first century:  a first century Jewish woman (so many lower levels of status contained in that description) who lives in Palestine, a distant outpost of the Roman empire.  And now, I'll always think of an even larger perspective:  God comes to us on our tiny planet in an insignificant solar system which is part of an insignificant galaxy.

I'm thinking about the larger message, about insignificance as a spiritual gift. It's the time of the year when many of us start beating ourselves up for what we haven't accomplished in the past year.  It's the time of year when we make resolutions, most of which are designed to make us more significant, not less.

This year, let us embrace our insignificance and let us remember that God often uses insignificance to make major revelations.

In Harmony with the Gifts that Are Already Given

This is the reading that has most spoken to me this far in my online journaling class.

I LOVE the idea of already having the gifts. I tend to approach from a different direction--I have gifts, but I have to improve upon them, and how can I best improve. And always, my inner guidance counselor voice is telling me in how many ways I'm not living up to my full potential. How peaceful it is, this idea that the gifts are already there ready for me to be in harmony with them.

Yesterday morning, I heard one of my favorite episodes of Krista Tippett's On Being, an interview with Rachel Naomi Remen.  She tells a story of how light came into the world, about an accident with the container that held the world, and the breaking of the container is how the light gets scattered everywhere.

And then she reflects on the meaning for us in the present day: "It's a very old story, comes from the 14th century, and it's a different way of looking at our power. And I suspect it has a key for us in our present situation, a very important key. I'm not a person who is a political person in the usual sense of that word, but I think that we all feel that we're not enough to make a difference, that we need to be more somehow, either wealthier or more educated or somehow or other different than the people we are. And according to this story, we are exactly what's needed. And to just wonder about that a little, what if we were exactly what's needed? What then? How would I live if I was exactly what's needed to heal the world?"

What if God doesn't need me to change? What if God has created me to be exactly what's needed, right here, right now? For me, it's a powerful thought.

Church as Hospitality School

When I first came to my job, we had many conversations about retention.  We talked about why students leave.  We talked about what might make them want to stay.  We talked about how to make the campus (our campus and each of the sister campuses of the school, along with the larger idea of the college campus) a more welcoming place.

As I've worked to implement some of these ideas, I've been comparing what we do at our school to what we do in church.  I've been thinking about church as a school that teaches us hospitality.

I realize it may not always be this way.  I've been to many churches as a visitor when no one said a word to me--especially disconcerting when I'm wearing a visitor badge.  I know that churches can be worse than chilly.  I know of all the lives wrecked by a non-welcoming church.

But there are also many stories of how churches save lives.  They work in the community to help the poor and the destitute.  In the best cases, churches are reaching out to those who are marginalized. 

How do they do this?  In some cases, it's as simple as talking to those who come through our doors, no matter who they are.  That talking becomes ever more extensive, and before we know it, we have all sorts of ecumenical outreach and partnerships with all sorts of groups.

As I've been thinking about hospitality, my thoughts often return to food.  Food makes the work of conversation a bit easier.  And there are more of us suffering food insecurity in our society than we might think.

I am trying to make our campus a better place to be, from having treats to greeting visitors to having cleaner bathrooms.  When our Executive Director asked us what we needed as a campus, I suggested having the custodial team come in the afternoon to clean the bathrooms.  Waiting until 11 p.m. was just too long a wait between cleanings.  And lo and behold, we were able to accomplish that.  It makes a difference.

Some of what I do no one knows about.  I spend some time in prayer as I move through the day.  I pray about specific situations, and I pray for us all in general.  That practice helps me keep my heart open to all.

And I try to remember to smile at everyone.  That act may be the one that is the most visible sign of hospitality.

Memorial Stones in the Butterfly Garden

Most churches have a variety of ministries.  Some require lots of human effort:  a soup kitchen or a food pantry, for example.  In my younger years, I'd have said that those ministries that helped people in distress were most important.  But in my later years, I've come to appreciate those ministries that are every bit as necessary, even if they're not the ones that non-believers think of, when they think of the usefulness of church.

Over the past decade, our church's front grassy area has slowly but surely been transformed into a butterfly garden.  Along the way, it's also become an area for memorial stones.

When my mother-in-law died in 2005, we were members of a different church.  We knew that she wanted to be cremated, but she hadn't specified what to do with her ashes.  She had talked about having a space in a garden in a Memphis funeral home where people could come visit, but that was prohibitively expensive.

Through the years, my spouse has felt that it was increasingly important for her to have a stone in our church's butterfly garden.  And yesterday, on Mother's Day, the stone was blessed and laid in the garden.  It's near the door that my spouse uses when he arrives for church or choir practice.

I know that many people share the sentiment of my spouse:  everyone deserves a stone to say that they were here and important.  I'm glad that our church can offer a beautiful space for those stones.

Keeping a Calm Space

Last month, as I caught up on e-mails, I listened to this wonderful Fresh Air interview with hospice chaplain Kerry Egan. 

Interviewer Terry Gross says, "You write about how about one of the things you want to do is hold open a space of prayer or meditation or reflection when someone doesn't have the energy or strength to keep the walls from collapsing."

It occurs to me that many of our jobs require much the same thing, but of course, in a very different way than that of the hospice chaplain.  In other settings, we hold open this space much more silently.

A bit later, Egan says, "And what it really means is to model a sense of in the midst of this storm of emotion, you can stay calm, right? It does not have to overtake you. And you would be surprised at how powerful that is for someone else, just to be with someone who is maintaining a sense of presence, of not being in the past, of not being in the future, of literally being present, you know, in the presence. But that has a way of calming people down."

Yes, modeling calm behavior--another way of keeping the walls from collapsing. 

Each time I have dealt with an upset person (often a student), I have tried to model this calm behavior--while at the same time wondering how people get through life with such a hair-trigger outrage response.  I have wondered if people have changed, if I'm just coming in contact with more stressed out people, if once I hung out with a more laid-back bunch.

But it's also clear to me that we have more people ready to express their rage much more quickly than they once did.  Yesterday I heard the news stories about the guy who drove from North Carolina with his shotgun, thinking (because of a false news story) that he was going to liberate children being held in a sex ring at a DC pizza place.  I thought, who does these things?

Most of us won't be moved to that kind of action, but more of us these days seem to be suffering from extreme moods.  And those of us who are Christians can help to bring peace to the world by some of the hospice chaplain actions that Egan describes.

I look forward to reading the book--and I see a window of time approaching where I might do it.  Perhaps in time for the new year, and some resolutions of a different sort!

The Ministry of Optimism

What an interesting Sunday--because so many of my fellow church members are also Facebook friends, I had a sense of how people were feeling.  Many members of my church are immigrants or the children of immigrants.  A third to a half of our attendees on any given Sunday are minorities (although down here, the minority is the majority).  Feelings are still raw after the election.

Across the morning, we talked about the importance of standing with the oppressed and dispossessed.  We talked about the Christian history of staying silent too long, along with the Christian tradition of resistance.

I had resistance on the brain, having just written a blog post about it before leaving for church.  So perhaps it's not surprising that I would sketch this:

Along the way, several people thanked me for my writing.  I never know exactly what they're seeing:  what I write for our weekly newsletter?  My blog posts?  A stray poem here and there?  I just said "Thank you."

One woman said, "I love your positive approach to life."

I know that my positive approach can be irritating.  My spouse tends to be in this mood these days:  a glass half empty and what's there is poisoned kind of mood.  I'm trying to maintain some balance.  I'm fearful, of course, because beneath my sunny nature runs a strong stream of anxiety. 

But I also think it's important to remember that the end may not be nigh.  Most of us understand how high the stakes are, in a way that we might have forgotten in the past 8 years.  We have some amount of power, both as individuals and as groups.

And it takes a lot to shift the ship of state.  Many people have been angry with President Obama because he didn't accomplish as much as they wanted.  Similarly, people will be angry with Trump.

In the past few days, I've wondered about a ministry of optimism.  We all have our different spiritual gifts.  Maybe mine is optimism.

When I was sorting through paperwork this week-end, I came across some notes that I made during the 2011 Create in Me retreat.  I am reminded that God can take what is broken:

God can use our human hands:

And at the end, brokenness can be transformed into beauty:

Ministry of Reconciliation and Living in Community

I read this post that talks about ministries of reconciliation and making all things new.  I would love to find a ministry of reconciliation that makes everything stable.

There was a moment yesterday during a flurry of e-mails when I stopped to consider how difficult the work of community building is.  Or maybe difficult is the wrong word.  Time consuming comes to mind.  Cyclical also comes to mind.

It's something they don't teach in youth groups or other leadership training groups.  No one ever says, "You will have difficult conversations and move to stages where community is stronger.  And then, 2 months later, you will again have to have difficult conversations which will strengthen your community.  Some of those conversations will be exactly the same two months later or six months later or three years later."

I understand why people decide that community building is just too hard.  I have more sympathy for the U.S. Congress than most people might have.  I understand the frustration of having to get along with all those people and how many of them must have decided to just be done with it.  I also understand why no leader has emerged who can do or even wants to do the work of bringing that particular community together.

I understand why people want to leave their jobs, their families, their churches--the work of reconciliation is so cyclical that it's easy to believe we're making no progress, that life would be better elsewhere.  Some times, of course, that's true.  But we often forget that we will be taking ourselves with us wherever we go.  We will be building community with quirky humans no matter the setting.

I've written before about the variety of spiritual gifts we see, and how we value some more than others.  Clearly we live in a society where we desperately need more people who can do the hard work of reconciliation and then stay rooted to keep doing that work.

I wonder if there's a way to train more of us to be ministers of reconciliation.  I predict we will need much reconciliation in the months and years to come.