"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" --Mary Oliver

I am a procrastinator. I excel at it, and am proud of it--well, not really. It means tasks take twice as long as they should, because it takes up so much time putting them off. So, in an attempt to improve myself, I read a book on procrastination, and one of the suggested exercises was to wrote down 101 things you wanted to get done, from "the laundry" to "repainting the family room" to "getting that advanced degree" to "finding a new job." The idea was that you could start with the smaller, shorter term things, succeed at those, break the larger projects into parts (look at decorating magazines to get ideas, visit the paint store to get some colour chips, choose a weekend, etc.). Then one day I saw the above quote on a friend's email. Taking it as my guide, I sat down and wrote up those 101 things that I wanted to do, but that I didn't want to lose in the busy-ness of living. Actually, I didn't quite get to 101, but I'm almost there.

Here, then, is an edited list:
Plan worship for the rest of the year
Plan ministry for next year
Organize attic, especially books
Organize books on shelves
Read books on To Be Read shelf
Get 1 women’s clergy shirt (I need one more to have a decent wardrobe of them)
Hang pictures (yes, we've been here more than a year and do not have all our pictures up yet)
Get floor lamp for living room
Musings on sermons for rest of year
Repaint stairs and hallways
Start walking program
Use library for books (instead of bookstore...)
Clean office bulletin board
Detailed outline of body theology book
Replace living room blinds
Clean out closet
Read books on list
Put out church newsletter every other month (it's chronically late)
Visit Toronto
Write history of River City's GLBT community
Create Coming-out Guide for River City youth
Write a devotional for each day and publish on church website
Post sermons on website
Visit Mom regularly
Earn PhD

As you see, they range from the sublime (write theological book, earn PhD) to the ridiculous (lamp for the living room? So head down to Post One and buy one, RP!).

So, what's on your list?

If you play, let me know!

Five on Friday!

I'm beginning to feel human again, but now my head is so stopped up, my ears want to pop, and all sound comes to me through a layer of cotton (at least, that's how it sounds!).

I don't have the energy to come up with my own topic this morning, so I'm leaning on RevGalBlogPals once again.

Today the meme is about books:

1. If you received books as holiday presents, how many and what were they?
Not this year, although I usually do. I asked for a couple--does that count? I'll repeat those requests for my birthday in a couple of months, too. We'll see what happens then.

2. Did you buy any for yourself, and if so what are the titles?
Yes, I did. Chapters (Canadian for Barn and Hobble or Hoarders) had a Boxing Day Sale and I picked up "Collapse: How Civilizations Choose to Succeed or Fail" by Jared Diamond (who wrote "Guns, Germs and Steel," about the impact of colonization). I also bought myself a datebook titled (I think) "Strong Women," which I love. Every week has a photo of a not-necessarily famous woman who did something amazing. Each day has an event in women's history (some landmark, some not-so). I use it in my office so everyone else can keep track of my appointments and meetings.

3. Have you read any of them yet? What's next on your list?
Well, you don't really read a datebook (although I have certainly browsed through it extensively!). I am almost finished with Collapse, and it's great. I'm trying to see if Diamond's principles for civilizations can be applied to individuals as well. Next on my list is finishing some books I'm in the middle of: Women Who Run With the Wolves (Clarissa Pinkola Estes, on freeing women); Summer Queen (science fiction by Joan Vinge); and Generation to Generation (? Friedman, on how churches and synagogues act like families).

4. Do you have a favorite place to read a new book? And does the weather have an impact on that choice?
When I was in college, in Ann Arbor, I used to reward myself after tests by going to Hoarders (the original, thank you very much)and purchasing a new Jane Austen/Charles Dickens/Wilkie Collins novel, then going around the corner to Drake's (of lamented memory) for hot chocolate, a grilled-cheese-and-tomato sandwich and a sampler box of their handmade chocolates... That is my definition of the best way to read a new book. However, that no longer being possible, my favourite place now is in the barrel chair in the living room with my down blanket over my lap and the dog on the edge of the blanket, with snow falling outside. Alternatively, I like sitting on the porch with my feet propped up and a glass of iced tea sweating at my side.

Does reading in bed make you sleepy?
Yes.

Your turn!

(Edited to add--I don't know how all the typos got in there! All gone now (I hope)!

(Edited again to correct the name of the datebook to "Women Who Dare" which is a much better title!)

Better? Maybe?

Well, I trudged on over to the doctor yesterday, and she says I have a sinus infection. She thinks. Anyway, got some antibiotics, cough syrup so I can sleep better at night, and some stronger pain meds for my back. And she sent me for a chest X-Ray. Results to be determined today. And that is where we stand--or sit, as the case may be.
I still sound like Mae West in a snit, but I'm not coughing so much, and I don't think I was hit by a Mack truck anymore.
Many thanks for all blogged good wishes...I wish I could take all the good advice about taking a day off. It's looking like maybe Saturday will be the day--or Friday if I'm lucky.
Now to all those meetings that keep me eating cough drops!

Now I Understand...

...why I felt so rotten the other day and had my very own UGH day... A terrible cold, which has left me sounding like Mae West on a bad day. My throat hurts, my sinuses hurt, even my back hurts (OK, that's from taking Christmas ornaments down and moving the boxes around, but still).

I think I'll ask the deacon to lead prayers and consecrate Communion today. I have another busy day tomorrow, with meetings and appointments all day that I really can't miss. I need my voice back!!

Five Pleasures...

Once again, taking my cue from RevGalBlogPals, here are my five pleasures (some small, some guilty, and some both):

1. Watching TV in bed. (small, guilty)

2. Pedicure/acrylic nails. (guilty)

3. Reading Jane Eyre and eating Stauffer's Mac n Cheese.(guilty)

4. Lighting all the scented candles in the house and enjoying the scents.(small)

5. Clean sheets (I had one friend who swore that if she ever won the lottery, she would use her winnings to pay for someone to come in every morning, wash the sheets, and put clean ones on, so that she would have clean fresh sheets every night) (small)

Those are only five of my small pleasures.I have many others: finding all the Reese's Peanut Cups in the Halloween candy; lemonade on a hot day; laughing with friends; finding a ten dollar bill in my pocket; waking up to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying; having my head massaged/shampooed when I go for a haircut; watching my cat "dance" as she plays with her catnip mouse; the sound of Mannheim Steamroller's Christmas music as snow falls gently outside; daffodils and tulips popping up out of the ground...

And then there are the larger pleasures--watching my son, at the age of five or six, playing on the keyboard, making the most amazing melodies; creating a garden out of a boring yard; reading a book and finding the author, unexpectedly, agrees with me and puts my opinion far more succinctly than I ever could; someone saying that the church has made a difference in her/his life.

There is much to be thankful for.

Ugh Day

I'm declaring today my own personal Ugh Day. I got nothing of importance accomplished, felt slow and draggy and incompetent all day, and ended up taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon, after which I managed to get one thing of importance done.

Blah.

I hate days like this--when I seem to have no energy, no motivation, no get-up-and-go--and yet I have to get up and go because there's much to do. I can't just take a day like this off, much as my instincts tell me to do so. I would be so far behind the next day!

Blah.

At least I got one thing done. And I'm hoping to get the tree down and ornaments put away tonight. That would be two things. That's better than nothing, I suppose. Perhaps I'll do something mindless, like update my address book. That would be useful--and it would make three things.

Blah.

Where Will You Go? Parts I-V

A few days ago, RevGalBlogPals asked the question, "What were five trips that made a difference in your life?" Being, as usual, slightly behind the power curve, I'm answering now.

Well, here goes!

In no particular order:

1. A seminary study trip to Poland, on which we examined Biblical exegesis and how it affects our theology in a very concrete way. We visited the Auschwitz and Birkenau concentration camps and the Treblinka extermination camp. As a contrast, and to learn about Polish culture, we also visited several palaces in Warsaw and toured the castle in Cracow. Every evening we had a debriefing, in which we discussed what we had seen, the contrasts between the history and the present and the terrible, terrible events of the Holocaust. It was a deep conflict for me--see below--between what I knew Germans had done, and the positive experiences I had had with modern Germans. We talked about the shades of grey, and how no one is all good or all bad--whether a nation or a person. We began to understand our role as pastors in fighting anti-Semitism and the link between that and all the other -isms and antis-s and phobias (sexism, homophobia, racism, etc.). It was a powerful ten days, and almost every hour of every day made an indelible impression that I will never forget.

2. Five years spent in Germany, in a wonderful Bavarian city. I came to know another culture from my own intimately and well. I still wax nostalgic over the food, architecture, parks, people, museums, music, festivals and general atmosphere of my adopted German home.

3. A week spent near Los Angeles with dear friends who totally spoiled DP and me--lovely home, refrigerator stocked just for us (all our favourite indulgences), loan of a luxury SUV with GPS system (which came in very handy!), company on a couple of day trips, eager ears on the other nights to hear our adventures, and hot coffee every morning waiting for us when we came downstairs (they're tea drinkers...). It felt like a week in Paradise, and it was a care-free week we needed badly at that point in our lives.

4. A week in Florida caring for my parents (who managed to both be injured at the same time). I had a lot of time away from my usual responsibilities at work, home, and church, and was able to sit and listen to God. God was saying the same thing God had been saying for a long time, but now I had time to hear it--and I responded to that call to ordained ministry. See what Florida will do to you!

5. The move to Canada! The drive itself was a nightmare--flat tire on the car trailer, a 30-foot moving truck jammed full, my car likewise, DP's car on the aforementioned trailer ditto, two cats and a dog, pouring rain on the turnpike, Canadian customs and immigration, unpacking one night and preaching my first sermon the next morning! But it's been an amazing year, and I'm loving what I'm doing!

There. Top five trips of my life--so far! We love to travel and will be doing more. There are so many places we haven't been to yet!

Hair! Lots of Beautiful Hair!

I got my hair cut last week.

That might not sound like much, but a friend of mine who is a stylist has been itching to get his hands on my scalp for almost a year now, and I’ve resisted. Why? Mostly because of cost—he’s one of the best stylists in the city and his prices reflect that. Also because he’s—well—high-style. Very Vogue and Glamour and so on, and I’m Just Not Like That! To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure I could live up to whatever style he gave me.

But another friend (Car Man) pointed out that The Stylist has been good to me in many ways, and very supportive of the church, as well as me personally, and perhaps I owed it to him to visit the shop and at least give him a chance.

So I did.

I told The Stylist I had three things for him to remember:
1. I don’t like to fuss with my hair. I’ll blow it dry sometimes (like on Sundays and for weddings and funerals), but I refuse to use a curling iron or any of that nonsense—I don’t have time. I don’t want to fuss with my hair every morning.
2. I like it clipped short on my neck, slightly longer on the back of my head. This is non-negotiable.
3. I wear glasses. I always wear my glasses (I’m practically blind without them). Whatever the style, it has to look decent with glasses, not stupid. I'm tired of having styles that look fine until I put my glasses on and then look like a geek's idea of hair style. Of course, having said that, I’m now considering going back to my contacts…

He looked at me sideways at first, when I told him I had three things he had to work with, but then he accepted them. He clipped and cut and turned me around while we discussed various activities in the community (we work together on a couple of projects and groups). And then he turned me back to the mirror, said, “Put on your eyes, sweetie,” and voila!

I like it! I really like it! It has shape to it and—dare I say—style! It’s very very short, much shorter in front than I have worn it for a very long time (perhaps ever). But it's a bit sassy (never did I think I would be saying that about myself in public), and yes, even cute.

DP thinks it’s too short. She’s not sure she likes it. I’m praying she comes around.

I’m sticking with it for the present (not that I have much choice, until it grows out). I’ve gotten many compliments on it (PF, church members, friends, etc.). I don’t even brush it anymore (orders from The Stylist), just run my fingers through it. Now that’s easy! If I want to, I blow it dry and it looks fuller. If I want to get really fancy I put some styling cream on it and dry it--it holds the hair in place and gives it a finish. For the first time in a long time, I really like my hair. It looks like it belongs to someone who isn’t clueless about style and how her hair looks to the general public.

The Stylist gets full marks for knowing what would look good on me. He listened, but then he was able to use my criteria and turn them into something that didn’t look like a hamster had died on my head (one cut I had made me look like a mutant poodle…). He gave my hair shape and attitude (and a bit of altitude). I have to say, I’m sold. He’s got my head for the foreseeable future.

Did I mention he has plans for colouring my hair?

Brokeback Mountain—review

DP and I went to see Brokeback Mountain this weekend with a group of friends. I had read the short story when it was published in The New Yorker and had thought it amazing—an incredible moving story, and amazing that a mainstream magazine had published it. So I really wanted to see how well it had transplanted to the screen. I had some confidence in Larry McMurtry, one of the screenwriters, but I was still uncertain. And the reviews were so mixed—some praising it, others seemingly so caught up in homophobia that the movie became unwatchable (for them). So I knew I wanted to see this for myself.

It was, in a word, stunning.

First, a brief plot summary in case you’ve been living under a rock and haven’t heard. Two down-on-their-luck ranchers are hired to watch a herd of sheep summering on US Forest Service land in the Montana mountains in the early 1960s. They fall in love, much against their conditioning, and begin a relationship. After the summer is over, they go their separate ways—Ennis to marry Alma, and Jack to go back to bull-riding in the rodeo, where he meets and marries the daughter of a wealthy farm machinery dealer. Six years later Jack contacts Ennis. They go off “fishing” together, and find that their connection is as strong as it was that summer six years ago. For the next twenty years, they “go fishing” or “elk hunting” several times. And always, they come to the same conclusion—this is all they can have, these furtive meetings at long intervals. They are married, they fear the opprobrium of society if they buy a ranch together (Jack’s dream). In the end, all Ennis has is his memories and the view of Brokeback Mountain.

The simplest first—the scenery (which I think was Alberta—Canada once again standing in for the US West) was incredible—starkly beautiful, huge and open. The cinematography let you take it in, let it become part of the story, as in fact Brokeback Mountain is, without letting the mountains and sky take over.
Then there’s the acting. One of the things I appreciated about Annie Proulx’s story was that she showed everybody’s pain—not just Jack and Ennis’s pain, but that of the wives and the children. It wasn’t simply a matter of “poor Ennis and Jack, in love and unable to show it,” which is tragedy enough. Proulx also showed the pain of Alma—who loved Ennis but knew he could never love her, and that he had a side to him that she found repugnant and she could not accept. We see that pain—Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllanhaal did a wonderful job of that. And their love scenes are equally well-done. I have read in a couple of interviews with Mr. Ledger that they did not rehearse those scenes, plan them out—“OK, Jack does this, and then Ennis does that.” They simply let them flow. It says a great deal for these two (straight) actors that they were able to infuse these scenes with the tenderness and love they called for without squeamishness or calling for body doubles or planning them to the point of vapidity. And one of the scenes is pretty graphic, by the way—you are left in no doubt that this relationship has a physical component to it!

Heath Ledger is especially amazing. Ennis is a man of few words, so Ledger can’t use his speeches to convey Ennis’s character. When Ennis does speak, you learn about him—but you learn as much or more when he is silent—from the way he touches a shirt, or eats his pie, or carefully stubs out a cigarette for future reuse. This is brilliant.
The audience surprised me, too. I hadn’t thought there would be much of a crowd, even in Canada, even for a movie with a lot of hype, even for a Heath Ledger movie, when it was about a pair of gay cowboys. I was wrong. Not only was the theatre full, the audience was totally sympathetic. There were no disgusted moans at Jack and Ennis’s first kiss, and there was total silence during their first sexual encounter. The only loud reactions came at junctures when you would expect them—when Alma witnesses Jack and Ennis’s reunion kiss, unseen by the men; at the gruesome shot of a disembowelled sheep (done by a coyote); and so on. There was a real sympathy for Ennis and Jack.

Most of all, I think, I was stunned by the way in which the story was told. It wasn’t played sentimentally, or luridly, or histrionically, or leeringly. Ang Lee simply gave us a narration and let us draw our own conclusions.

My conclusions?

In a more perfect world, there would be no homophobia, internalized or otherwise. If Jack and Ennis had felt from the beginning that they could share their lives, live together, be a couple, the pain of many of those around them would have been much less. As a result, Ennis and Alma would not have married, they would not have suffered the pain that they did. Jack and his wife also would not have gone through what they did. There would not have been the secretiveness, the hiding, the deception that, in the end, couldn’t last.

My hope is that straight people who see this movie will glean an understanding of the damage homophobia wreaks on real lives, in the small everyday things as well as the larger, life-altering ways. I hope, too, that lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people who see it will understand how far we have come in many ways, and how far we still have to go. There are places in the world, in the US, where things have not changed much from the way they're shown in 1960s Montana. There are places where society is very different. Let us be glad for the changes, and work for continued change.

Uh-Oh...

You scored as Pelagianism. You are a Pelagian. You reject ideas about man's fallen human nature and believe that as a result we are able to fully obey God. You are the first Briton to contribute significantly to Christian thought, but you're still excommunicated in 417. Are you a heretic? created with QuizFarm.com

I'm in trouble now... But then, what else is new?

On the other hand, my runner-up was Chalcedon-compliant! And I am definitely not a Docetist or Albigensian! Or Donatist, for that matter.

Ups and Downs

Yeah, OK, so it’s been a while…TO’s visit, trying to get caught up with beginning of the year things—but now I’m (mostly) caught up and ready to roll!

It’s been a Tale of Two Cities week—the best of times and the worst of times, all in the same few days.

On the plus side, I cleaned out (mostly) my filing cabinet (no small chore, I assure you), had friends come over for dinner (we laughed for about three hours straight—well, as straight as we can), and had lunch with a friend from high school whom I haven’t seen for years. That was marvellous—it was as if we had seen each other a few months before, not almost 25 years. HSF (High School Friend) is as much fun now as he was then, and his partner and their son are delightful. High school friends in a way are like siblings, because they both knew you in your less-than-pretty stages! You don’t have to explain things to them as much, because you were both formed by the same things, or at least you saw each other formed, and so you know why they act the way they do. Anyway, it was a wonderful day!

On the down side, of course, was the sad saga of the West Virginia miners. I’m not related to any miners, I’ve never lived in mining country. The closest I’ve come is that some of my fellow-students in seminary were student pastors to mining communities, and I heard some of their stories. And yet this story grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go. All week, through the minor crises and joys of my own life, I watched and listened to the news, saddened when the first lone body was discovered (and is anything sadder than the sister-in-law of the deceased saying stoically, she-roically, “We thought it was him before we were told that it was; it’s where he would be, to do his job, and he always did his job”?), then elated at the first news of survival Tuesday night, then waking Wednesday morning, shocked, to the stunning truth. I’m still trying to figure it out. You would think that after my visit to concentration camps in 2001, 9/11, the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, the tsunami last year, and Katrina and the earthquakes in Pakistan this year (not to mention the wildfires that threatened a friend’s home in California, the current wildfires, the mudslides, the terrorist bombings in Indonesia and elsewhere) and all the assorted other disasters, that it would all be ho-hum, or at best a detached interest. But I found myself teary-eyed when that first miner’s body was discovered, and crying when the rumour came through that the other 12 were alive. I cried again the next morning when I found it wasn’t true, and I’ve been teary again watching the family of Mr. McCloy on TV.

So what does it all boil down to? I’ve found myself repeating my Christmas Eve sermon again and again.

“We are not alone; we live in God’s world.” As long as I can hold onto that, as long as I remember that there will be a tomorrow—and not a Little Orphan Annie tomorrow either—but a tomorrow in which God is still present, still loving this world, then I can face the griefs and fears of today and tomorrow as well. And I can face the joys and good surprises and hopes, too—because “we are not alone. We live in God’s world.”

Serving Stephen

Acts 7:54-60
When the people heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen. But filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. "Look," he said, "I see the heavens opened and the Human One standing at the right hand of God!" But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them." When he had said this, he died.

Wow. What a powerful moment for the new Church. One of their own, one of their dearest, the deacon Stephen, pays for his faith with his life. And Saul—soon to be known as Paul—is there as well. It’s like a scene from a serial movie or a murder mystery—this person Saul will become very important to the church indeed—but in a different way than what you expect…

Stephen the deacon. When I began the long journey towards ordination, there were two questions I had to answer to the satisfaction of the committees that interviewed me. The first was, “Is your call to professional ministry? Or can you fulfill your call as a lay person?” This was a very important question, especially since I was a second career pastor. And it is true that there are many people who begin the process towards ordination because others—friends, a trusted pastor, family—encourage them, whether or not the person really feels the call. So that was the first question. The second was just as important, although it might nor seem so at first glance. “Are you called to ordained ministry or to the diaconate?” In the United Methodist Church, the difference is subtle—deacons may lead worship, preach, and teach, but they cannot consecrate the Communion elements, baptize, or marry people. Of course, there are exceptions when a deacon is appointed to act as pastor, but most deacons are never in that position. Deacons are called to a specific kind of service—Christian education, music ministry, administration, youth ministry, and so on. Also, most deacons must find their own positions—they are not appointed to a church as ordained pastors (elders) are. So for me, going through the process in the United Methodist Church, this was a serious question.

I quickly learned the correct answers to the questions about ordained vs. diaconal calling—that diaconal service is a different calling, not better or worse, higher or lower, but simply different. That we all have different gifts, and some of us are gifted with the graces for diaconal service, and some for ordained ministry.

Stephen the martyr. In England, St. Stephen’s Day was traditionally the day boys went out and shot wrens—an echo of Stephen’s martyrdom. Today in Britain and Canada and other Commonwealth countries, it is Boxing Day—the day when you give boxes—gifts—to the post person, to the newspaper deliverer, and so on (it used to be the servant, but nowadays most of us don’t have any).

And that somehow is appropriate. On the day when we remember the death of the disciple who served others, we thank the ones who help us during the year. Who helps you? The people who have helped me over the years--have served me, if you will--include my son’s day care provider, the dry cleaner who is always cheerful, bank teller who remembers to ask me about the church, the server at Tim Horton’s who knows my order by heart (large double double and chocolate chocolate frosted doughnut, if you’re curious). It’s not that I’m better than they are, and so they serve me. It is simply their job. And when the teller comes to church, I serve her. When the dry cleaner needs an ear, and I listen, I’m serving him.

Because the truth is, we all serve each other—or should. Jesus said, “Serve each other.” He gave us the example by washing his disciples’ feet before that last meal together.

Do we allow others to serve us? Or are we so sure that we can do it all ourselves, and that it’s others who need help, never us, that don't let someone else do for us? Are we so arrogant that we cannot accept a gift from someone? I have learned that sometimes the greatest gift is simply accepting the gift.

So serve. And just as importantly, allow yourself to be served.

Christmas Eve Sermon, 2005

Our readings tonight have one theme, one message: Hope. The prophets of Israel, despairing in their exile, hoped for God to bring them out of the foreign land and return them home. We hope to be rid of the demons that haunt us, that make our days unhappy and our nights unsleeping, to remember that our children, whether of our body or of our heart, are still worth loving. We hope that our lives, too, obscure though they may seem, are not useless or in vain.

And behold, our hope is not idle. Our hope has been answered—through the birth of a child, God made flesh, God come to earth to be with us. Emmanuel—God is with us. Can anything be more wonderful than this? God came to be with us in a shape we could recognize. We are never without God—God is very present with us, always. But sometimes, our human eyes cannot see God as clearly as we would like to, as well as God would like us to see God. And so God came to be with us for a little while, as a human being.

And that’s what we celebrate tonight—not the shepherds and the angels and the candles and the tree, certainly not the presents and cookies and eggnog and fancy clothes. We celebrate the fact that our creator loves us, God wants us to know God—and so God came to us. “For God so loved the world…” For God so loved us.

Soon after DP and I moved here, we found a tract on our car windshield. One of those small pamphlets, I think you can get them fifty for five dollars or something. It was stuck under the windshield wiper, and the title read, “Certainly you may do as you wish.” The writer was trying to convince the reader to go to church instead of sailing or playing golf or playing roulette or horseback riding—at least, I’m assuming those were the alternatives to church, from the pictures on the cover. Anyway, there was some language in the booklet that made me nervous—“your soul could be required of you at any time,” “you have made choices about how to spend your life,” “sometimes we are selfish and rebel against God,” that sort of thing. I had no idea if there was a person in the neighbourhood who made a habit of putting those on cars, or if it was directed specifically at us, if we had a homophobic neighbour. I asked our neighbours who are also a lesbian couple, and they said they had gotten one or two, but they didn’t know if they had been targeted either, or if the tracts had simply been placed on all the cars that happened to be parked on the street at the time when the person was placing them. When the tract appeared a second time, I talked to PF (Pastor Friend), who had been very welcoming and supportive. Dear PF! He didn’t think it meant anything, and was very reassuring and comforting—remember, DP and I were still getting to know this place and our neighbours. For all we knew, we had a homophobe down the street. So we decided to keep an eye out and see who else—if anyone—got a tract next time one appeared on our car.

A few days later, after my office hours were over, I went out to my car. There was something on my windshield, tucked under the wiper, wrapped in plastic. It was a small booklet.

“We are not alone. We live in God’s world,” it began. And it went on.

“We are not alone, we live in God's world. We believe in God: who has created and is creating, who has come in Jesus, the Word made flesh, to reconcile and make new, who works in us and others by the Spirit. We trust in God. We are called to be the Church: to celebrate God's presence, to live with respect in Creation, to love and serve others, to seek justice and resist evil, to proclaim Jesus, crucified and risen, our judge and our hope. In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God.”

It was a child’s book of the United Church of Canada’s creed. Tucked into the front was PF’s card, with a note of encouragement. He had left me a gift, a sweet taste to take away the alarming bitter flavour of the tract, and he left it on my windshield to remind me that people who wish me well are watching me also. And do you know, I have never found another one of the tracts on my car?

We are not alone. God is with us. In the coldest and most fearful of times, when everything seems too much—when you are in exile, or when those demons of fear seem about to overwhelm you, when you don’t know if what you are doing is worthwhile, when you don’t know why you bother, when you don’t know who is friend and who is not—remember. God loves us so much, God is with us. We are not alone.

This is what we celebrate at Christmas—God’s presence with us, now, tonight, and forever.

In the many names of the one loving Creator, amen.

Another Woman!

Exciting news! My niece, who is expecting in early June, had her ultrasound this week, and she's expecting a girl! Another girl to add to my overwhelmingly female family! I'm one of five sisters, and three of my sisters have only girls (seven between them). With my mother, that's fourteen wonderful women! (Checking my math here--five sisters plus seven daughters is twelve plus a grand niece is thirteen plus my mother is fourteen. Yep, it's right!) And if you want to go back a generation, my grandmother (my mother's mother) had two sisters and no brothers, so that's three more women...

Life is good.

Tuesday Evening...

and Commander in Chief's not on! Darn...I was hoping for some relaxation and entertainment tonight. Instead I'll have to do some work. But I can procrastinate a little longer by blogging, right?

DP and I got our Visitor's Record renewed today. Quite easy, once they've (Canada Immigration, that is) decided it's close enough to the expiration of your previous document (see Exciting Canadian Politics entry, below). Drove to the US, drove back, told the nice Customs and Immigration man we needed to renew our VR's, he sent us into the Immigration Office, we showed the nice clerk our papers, she agreed we were eligible to stay another year, she did the paperwork, we got our new VRs, we drove home. All done!

I survived our annual congregational meeting. I'm not exactly up on Robert's Rules of Order, which is how the meeting is run. Other people are up on RRO, and let me know (nicely) when I wander. All the business of the church was taken care of for a year, including the election of a new Board of Administration (thank you, God, for the Holy Spirit moving among the members!).

I'm feeling very tired. I'm not sure why. There's the usual busy-ness of the season, of course, and the added stresses of being a pastor at this time of year (and don't I resent people who do their Christmas shopping all year and are done already? Yes, I do--unreasonably, perhaps, but I do). I have a lot to do, what with getting the Christmas and New Year's worship services ready, preparing for next year (worship, administration, etc.), my own personal Christmas with DP and TO, various meetings and appointments (and the usual clergy meetings and luncheons are doubly important in December)...But the thing is, I'm not feeling motivated. I just want to curl up with a good book (Jane Austen springs to mind), a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, and let the world go away.

Unfortunately, it won't go away.

So maybe if I'm more disciplined--get the work done instead of procrastinating, then I won't feel so overwhelmed. Shoot, I'm making sense. Must be time to get some work done.

Somebody Pushed My Button!

I was reading another blog, and a response to the blog got me going... So look out below, I'm on my hobbyhorse and rocking away!

The comment was on demographically focused devotionals, worship, etc. Such things as A Women's Devotional, or the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC), a church founded in the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community, or even Promisekeepers. One commenter took exception to such things, saying that all Christians should be one, and such things are divisive. My blogger acquaintance responded that such things are needed because marginalized groups do not always feel at home in the larger church.

Let's look at the Methodist Church. Back in the early 1800s, in a church in Philadelphia, the black members were not allowed Communion until all the white members had received, thus insuring that the white folks got Communion, while sometimes there was not enough for the black folks, to say nothing of the attitude thus indicated. The black members finally had enough and went off to form their own church--the African Methodist Episcopal Church, or AME.

Now, some might say that they had no right to do that--they were in the church, and receiving Communion, and members... But they weren't really accepted, were they? They were regarded in fact, of not in the letter, as second-class members. But God has no second-class children.

The simple fact is that different groups in society have different reasons for wanting their own denominations or congregations within those denominations. Sometimes it's cultural/ethnic/language, as with the Latino Methodist churches, or Korean Methodist, or Vietnamese Catholic churches (I once lived five minutes from Our Lady of Vietnam Roman Catholic Church, three blocks from St. John the Baptist Roman Catholic Community; there was room for both). Or the MCC. Or the AME.

The fault is not that of the marginalized groups--they are seeking God, and want to worship God and follow Christ. But the institutional church, the human church, is preventing them. And so they find their own ways to worship.

Personal history: God called me to ministry when I was a member of a United Methodist Church. I (eventually) responded, went to seminary, graduated after five years, was appointed (as probationary elder) to a charge, and led a very hurting congregation towards wholeness over the course of a year. But also during that year, I realized that aspects of myself I had thought I could hide forever would not be hidden. I was less of a pastor for hiding parts of me and lying about it. And so I came out as a bisexual woman, went through a divorce, and left the United Methodist Church. I didn't leave because I was angry at the United Methodist Church, but because they would not allow me to answer my call within the UMC. In effect, I was forced to choose--God or the UMC. I chose God.

I am disappointed in the UMC (and other denominations, but the UMC is the one that touched my life). I was a lifelong UM--parents married there, myself baptized and confirmed there, heard my call there, went to a Methodist seminary, etc. And yet, when it came down to the difficult questions, they (the institution) could not see me as an equal child of God with my straight classmates at seminary or my straight colleagues in ministry.

We, the marginalized, are not asking for special treatment. We're asking for equal treatment. Our lives are often ignored in the sermons we hear, in the music we sing, and in the prayers we pray. If worship does not speak to our hopes and fears, it cannot reach our hearts and inspire us to reach for God.

The Bone People, by Keri Hulme

I've been meaning to comment on this, since I mentioned rereading it and wondering if it would be as good the second time around. Well, it was.

This is one of those books that you start out reading, you're a bit confused, you take your time with the first fifty pages or so, trying to sort out who's who and what's going on. This was especially true for me, since a great deal of the book's power is in the emphasis on Maori culture, which I am woefully ignorant of. Then you really get into it and you start reading obsessively, desperate to find out What's Going to Happen. And then It happens, and you get depressed, and don't want to read anymore, except that you've started to fall in love with this characters, and you need to know how they get themselves out of this situation. And so you finish it.

Most of it is very good, well-written, excellent characterization and descriptive writing that makes you feel as if you are in New Zealand. The plot is fairly good--a couple of odd twists, but hey, what do I know of the cultural norms in an isolated town in New Zealand (see above, re: Maori culture)? However, the ending is a bit too pat, and while it's emotionally satisfying, it's artistically disappointing.

That said, however, find it and read it anyway. Powerful reading for a snowy weekend. Bet you'll find yourself Googling for Maori info before the weekend's over!

Past Lives

I'm hopelessly addicted to those silly online quizzes--what's your personality? If you were on the series "Friends," which character would you be? etc. But I liked the result on this one! I was a belly dancer! Good thing, cause it's never happening in this life!

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Gorgeous Belly Dancer. Where You Lived: Argentina. How You Died: Suicide.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

Snowy Friday!

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas around the RP household! Not only did I get ambitious yesterday and haul down three boxes of Christmas decorations (which now adorn the house), but I've been playing Christmas music on the stereo and--it snowed five inches last night! Our neighbor's teeny tiny evergreen looks like a Christmas card with the snow on its branches perfectly rounded and smooth. It just needs a tiny cardinal or bunny to make it complete. It almost makes me want to go Christmas shopping!
DP has discovered a shop in town that sells goods from the Third World, with proceeds going directly back to the artisans. Finances aren't going to permit a lot of gifts this year, but I plan on visiting it for most of the gifts I do give. I wonder if they have anything for a 17-year old boy? TO's list is mostly electronic this year. Sigh.

Top Christmas CDs in my special Christmas CD box:

• Mannheim Steamroller (several of theirs; they have a great catalog too, and I lust after their parka!)
• Handel: A Soulful Celebration (a reinterpretation of the Messiah--great stuff!)
• Chicago: Christmas (an unforgettable rendition of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town")
• Natalie Cole Christmas
• Sax Winterlude
• John Rutter's Christmas Music (one of my favorite modern sacred music composers)

Other random thoughts:
I'm not preaching this Sunday; our host pastor and his wife (also a pastor) are going to preach a dialogue sermon. It's wonderful how things worked out--I had asked him to preach for me because we have a bingo event on Sunday afternoon after church, and I'll need to be fairly alert, thus need to conserve energy (and preaching takes it out of me!). He and his wife rarely get to preach together, and so this is an opportunity for them as well. See? Benefits all around!
Because I have this Sunday off, I was hoping to use the extra time this week to get ahead of things--plan worship for January, select Scriptures for the year, start the sermon for week after next, that sort of thing. Did not work (see above, with home decorating and snow to be shoveled). I've gotten some other planning done, however. And I keep reminding myself, it's not always possible to finish every job all at once. Sometimes you work on something for a little while, then come back to it later, especially if you're waiting for input from someone else. It's the waiting, I guess.
So I guess I'll work on the Scriptures for a while, then the sermon,. Maybe neither one will be finished, but they'll be closer to it than they are now--and closer than they would be if I didn't do anything at all!

World AIDS Day

It's December 1, World AIDS Day. I remember when AIDS first showed up (then called GRID) in the public consciouness, as I was working in medical libraries at the time, so the doctors would want information on it, and we'd do a computer search on AIDS and get "finding aids," and grant information--but very little on AIDS itself.

MCC really came to the consciousness of many in the GLBT community in those early years--often an AIDS patient's own clergyperson wouldn't come, for fear of infection, or of seeming to condone their "lifestyle" (ahhh, don't get me started), so the hospital staff would call the local MCC, if there was one. A friend of mine who was in active ministry in the 80's went through a period of months where she officiated at 2-3 funerals a week. When the pace was slower, it was 2-3 a month. For comparison, when I served a small rural church with an aging congregation, I performed 3 funerals in one year.

Even now, when we can see that the majority of infections worldwide are through heterosexual contact, so many in the US want to stigmatize it as a "gay disease" or as something that those who are infected somehow brought on themselves through infidelity. And yet so many of the people infected are women whose (male) partners have had unsafe sex (whether with women or other men). And what about the children? And those (fewer now) who received blood or blood products in the years before we had tests? 17 years ago, when my son was born by cesarean, I had a special bracelet on my wrist, in addition to the hospital ID bracelet and the one matching my son's bracelet. That special bracelet warned staff that I had received blood transfusions (almost twenty years earlier), and they should use precautions when handling my bodily fluids.

And I think of those people who say that AIDS is God's pronouncement of doom on the gay community, and I want to laugh. Because, after all, the lowest rate of infections (and there are some) is among lesbians!

Not all is gloom. We have lost some talented and beautiful people, whole regions have been basically deserted, and the human race is the poorer. But there is hope. New medications have be developed, people are living longer and longer with AIDS, and sero-converting later and later. People living with AIDS (PWA) are dying of other things--heart disease, lung cancer. It sounds odd to see that as a victory, but it used to be that anyone who received a diagnosis of HIV stopped at the lawyer's on the way home and made sure the will was in order. I would love it if all my friends who are HIV+ or living with AIDS outlived me. They are all wonderful men (as it happens, all men), who have supported me in some rough times and celebrated with me in some great times. I cannot imagine the world without them.

Keep the promise--stop AIDS.