Choices: 50 Years of Women's Ordination in the Lutheran Church

Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of ordination of women in the Lutheran church.  I loved watching Facebook explode with pictures of those 50 years of women's ordained ministry.  It reminds me of how radical change is possible.

People who have grown up surrounded by female clergy may be surprised to hear how once it was assumed that women shouldn't be ordained.  People who have grown up surrounded by female clergy may be surprised to hear their stories about the obstacles faced by those pioneering women who were the first to be allowed to answer their call into rostered ministry.

Yesterday was also a day that the Supreme Court struck down a Louisiana law that made abortions all but impossible.  I wrote this comment on a friend's Facebook comment:   "I am as unable to predict Supreme Court rulings as I am the results of U.S. elections. This time, I'm happy to be wrong in my predictions."

The idea of abortion still makes me feel queasy, but that's partly about the cheapening of life that I see all around me.  It's partly about medical procedures in general.  It's partly about how invasive it all feels. 

I do believe that if a woman can't take care of a child, an abortion may be the less bad choice of a lot of bad choices.  I do wonder what future scholars will make of these choices that we claimed for ourselves, to the exception of all the other types of choices we might have demanded.

It won't just be in the area of abortion and reproductive care, of course.  We will think about all the women pastors who never could become senior pastor because of entrenched ideas about gender and jobs.  I suspect a hard time is coming for parents, and that the burden will fall disproportionately on women as we try to figure out how to provide care for children when we can't send them to public schools the ways we have for the past 2 centuries.

It will likely be interesting to see how we frame these questions of choice in this current century.

Drive Through Communion

Yesterday, I was the person in charge of drive through communion, so that my pastor could get a brief vacation.  My pastor left pre-consecrated wafers in individual plastic bags, along with plastic cups of wine.  I followed his approach.  Here's how it worked:

A car pulled up, and with the driver watching, I put hand sanitizer on my hands.  I handed the person a wafer and asked if they preferred wine or grape juice.  I went back and got the cup for them, instead of bringing the tray of cups to the car.  The empty wine cup could go into the empty wafer bag.

I then said a form of this blessing:  "May the Lord bless you and keep you.  May the Lord's face smile on you and be gracious to you.  May the Lord look upon you with favor and grant you peace."

We had about 20 people during the 2 hours.  My spouse practiced his violin and took care of the money counting duties.  I had plenty of time to read the next book on my reading list for my spiritual direction certificate program.  It was a pleasant way to spend the time.

I was surprised by how happy I was to see everyone, even when I didn't recognize them; many of them wore masks, which made it hard for me to tell who they were.  Each car of people seemed profoundly happy to receive the sacrament and the blessing.

And I was profoundly happy to be doing it, even though it was a bit odd.  By the end of the day, I couldn't get the smell of hand sanitizer off of my hands, but even that was O.K. (I do not like the smell of any hand sanitizer that I've tried).

I've always thought that one of the things I would like best about being a pastor would be the weekly communion duties.  Even with drive through communion, I still think so.

Fifth Visit to the Spiritual Director

On Friday, I went to my fifth appointment with my spiritual director.  We began, as we always do, with some prayer.  On Friday, she used a prayer out of one of her prayer books, and then we launched into discussion.

We talked about our general anxiety about the time we're living in:  pandemic, politics, economics, such an uncertain future.  We talked about our different churches' approaches.  Her is opening slowly with people spaced far apart and not singing.  Mine is staying virtual until at least Labor Day.

We then talked about my specific anxieties about keeping people safe, even as I realize I can't keep people safe.  We talked about ways to return to a centered space, a grounded consciousness, throughout the day, even if I can't take specific prayer breaks a la the liturgy of the hours.  Perhaps I could take a word from my morning watch to meditate on through the day.  Perhaps I could do something specific during breaks when I try to get away from my computer screen and get some steps in.  We talked about having a short mantra and having each step correspond to a specific word--a slow, meditative approach to walking.

We also tried to get to the root of my feeling responsible for everyone's safety.  Was that rooted in childhood?  Not that I could see.  Some specific trauma?  None that seems a particular triggering episode.

We talked about how it's important to give grown people their agency in their responsibility to keep themselves safe--and we acknowledged how hard this is.

Now these ideas are not new to me--not at all.  I feel it may be my life's task to try to reign in my anxiety, to try to be more Zen Kristin and not Control Freak Kristin.  I make a bit of progress, have a bit of set back, zig, zag, zig.

We did some talking about safe spaces and about creating more spaces that feel comforting.  I didn't talk about my underlying weariness of years of home repair that still aren't finished, but I did want to record that idea here too.  My spouse and I had been talking about my parents being here in December and how we'd like the house to look more finished.

Because it's spiritual direction, not psychotherapy, we talked about where we see God in it all, what God would say to us.  I don't believe in a God that comes in with a magic wand or a magic word to get rid of all of the consequences of our bad decisions and bad behaviors.  But I do believe in a God who is walking beside us, sharing ideas for better living, rooting for us, and cheering us on.

We closed with prayer, and I was on my way.  So far, I feel refreshed after each session, but it's more than that.  After each session, I feel like I do after a great yoga session--realigned in important ways.  Each session gives me important reminders and spiritual tools to try.

It's important work we're doing.  I hope we can continue to do it.

A Weird, Warm Sky

This morning, I finished a sketch I'd been working on since Tuesday:

I wasn't sure that I was going to color in the sky at all.  In fact, yesterday morning, I thought I might be done, that I might leave the sketch this way:

But last night, I was trying to stay awake past 7:30, so I decided to start filling in the sky with color.  I started to lose the stars, so I tried accentuating them with some thin lines of cranberry color.

Here's the haiku-like piece that I wrote on the second day of sketching:

Stars in a cold sky
Mend the torn butterfly wings
Underground railroad

In the finished piece, I'm no longer sure that the sky looks cold.  It's got a weird, warmer energy--but I like it.

I really enjoyed working on this sketch, seeing what colors emerged and submerged as I added more layers of color.

Subconscious at Work and at Dreaming

I've been working on this sketch all week:

Here's the haiku-like piece that I wrote on the second day of sketching:

Stars in a cold sky
Mend the torn butterfly wings
Underground railroad

At first these 3 lines don't seem to go together at all.  But as I've been thinking about them, I've been sensing connections.

Clearly, my subconscious is working on various connections that I don't readily see as I move from task to task.

This morning, I made this Facebook post:  "I had my first dream that had me worrying about close proximity and COVID-19 transmission. In my dream, we were packed in a Lutheran church for a high festival day. I was admiring the fabrics in everyone's stoles and the banners and light streamed through stunning stained glass. And then I realized we were packed into the pews and had been for hours and no one was wearing a mask. It doesn't take a trained psychologist to analyze the anxiety aspect of the dream--but in a church on a high festival day with beautiful fabrics all around me? Really, dreaming brain, really?"

I've spent the morning thinking about this dream, thinking about the reasons why I'm having a COVID-19 anxiety dream set in a church, especially when my local church will not be gathering in person until after Labor Day, if then.

We know that churches packed with people do pose a unique danger with this virus.  But it seems that maybe this dream is doing more.  Maybe it's a dream of mourning and lament, for all that has been lost.  Or maybe it's a dream about possible futures that seem out of reach right now.

My subconscious is at work--I'm not sure I can handle what it's realizing.

Meditation on this Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, June 28, 2020:

First Reading (Semi-cont.): Genesis 22:1-14


Psalm: Psalm 89:1-4, 15-18


Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 13


Second Reading: Romans 6:12-23


Gospel: Matthew 10:40-42


This week's Gospel reading has the flavor of the theme that Jesus develops more thoroughly in the 25th chapter of Matthew--that reading where Jesus reminds us that as we treat the least of our fellow humans, that is how we treat Jesus. This tiny Gospel reading reminds us of some of the themes Jesus returns to again and again: stay alert and watchful. Treat everyone as if they're God in disguise. Keep our Christian priorities always in the front of our vision, so that we know what's important.

If I wrote a modern paraphrase, I might say something like this: Why do you swoon over supermodels and superathletes? What good do they bring into the troubled world? Why are you not searching out the words of the wise ones among you? Why do you neglect your duties to the next generation?

When I was younger and not surrounded by multiple types of media, it seemed easier to ignore the siren calls of the larger world. I remember a world before cable TV: we had four channels, and when we lived in Montgomery, Alabama, we could sometimes see a snowy version of one of Ted Turner's superchannels out of Atlanta. Little did we know that we were seeing what would become one of the cornerstones of the cable world. Even in the early days of cable, one's viewing options only expanded to 10-40 channels, and then, as now, half of those were just dreadful creations formed to take advantage of cheap airwaves.

At graduation a few years ago, I listened in shock as our graduation speaker told the graduates that there was no Internet 15 years ago. Of course there was. But there wasn't a widespread World Wide Web, so the medium was text based and not as user friendly. Unless we were at a university dedicated to the technology, it was slow and clunky. Therefore, we weren't as prone to let it suck away our lives.

Now we're surrounded by electronic information, media, and gadgets. Of course, in some ways, it's invaluable. It's much easier to research any subject from the comfort of my computer--unlike the old days, when I'd have to go to a library. It's easier to keep in touch and communicate, at least for those of us plugged in. I've often wondered if Christian communities online can be as valuable--even more valuable--in terms of keeping each other centered, grounded and on track. Are we headed towards virtual communion? Is that possible? What would it look like?

But of course, I wouldn't be the first to point out all the ways the technology can lead us astray. We spend our days dealing with e-mail instead of doing real work. In our quest to be connected, we often let our connections in the real, human world slide.

The Gospel for today reminds us that there are rewards for righteous living. Traditionally, Christian communities (at least in the last 300 years) have translated those rewards as coming in the afterlife. But we shouldn't overlook that righteous, connected living has rewards for us in our lives right here and now. We will be able to recognize the prophets and disciples that Jesus promises to send. We will be able to discern the presence of the Holy Spirit. We will not neglect our duties to the young and disadvantaged. We will drink from the streams of living water and be able to know what nourishes us and what saps our strength.

The Feast Day of John the Baptist

Some months, I’m in the mood for John the Baptist. I’m ready to go into the wilderness. I’ve got a file of recipes for locusts and wild honey. I’m in a daring mood—I’ll speak truth to the King Herods of the world, even if it means my head on a platter.

But much of the time, when John the Baptist shows up in the lectionary or when we celebrate his feast day on June 24 or when we talk about prophets in general, I’m weary. Most of the time, I'm tired of having prophets like John the Baptist call me part of a brood of vipers or comparing me to shrubbery that refuses to behave.

I know, I know, I have all these faults. Don't threaten me with that ax. I try so hard to bear good fruit, but I'm afraid it isn't enough. I'm surrounded by people who are clearly in a more crabby mood than I am, and I'm trying to be sympathetic, but it's hard. This attempt of mine to transform myself into a compassionate person is taking longer than I thought it would. I see people at work having meltdowns, and my response is to hide under my desk, metaphorically, although there are days that the thought of literally curling up under my desk is almost irresistible. I don't go to them to say, "What can I do to help you through this painful time?"

But let me return to the mission of the prophets. God does not send prophets because we’re all already damned. God sends prophets to call us back to the path we should be travelling.

On this day in June when we celebrate John the Baptist, it’s good to be reminded that I'm not my final, improved version of myself. I still have work to do. And I need to hear that message that the prophets bring us. I'm lazy and inclined to coast, and it's good to know that God has a vision for me that is vaster than any I could dream myself.

It’s also good to remind ourselves of who we are. I like the passages when John the Baptist is questioned about his identity. He says, “I am not the Messiah” (John 1:20). He could have hoodwinked people who were willing to believe he was the Messiah. He could have made a power grab. He could have gotten great wealth and women and audiences with powerful rulers.

Those temptations have led more than one religious leader astray.

But John knows who he is. He is not the Messiah. He has been sent to point the way to salvation, not to provide it.

Likewise, we are not called to be the Messiah, That doesn't mean we’re off the hook in terms of behavior. We can't say, "I am not the Messiah," and stay home on our sofas. We can’t decide to watch reruns of The Simpsons and do nothing about injustice in the world.

No, John the Baptist reminds us that we are called to emulate Jesus. Some days, though, I’d rather emulate somebody else. I’m so tired of working so hard to be a light to this fallen world.

When I feel that way, I need to listen to the words of John the Baptist again. I need to listen to God, who often calls to us from the wilderness. Most of us need to be reminded to listen to that call that God makes. Let the words fill our hearts with hope: "The crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways shall be made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God." (Luke 3: 5-6). Our salvation is at hand: our grieving hearts will be comforted, our anger and irritation will lift, the planet will heal itself as it always does, God will take care of us and everything we need is on its way, even if we’re not ready for deserts and locusts in our dedication.