It's Been a Few Days...

Life has been absolutely chaos the last week. The church is having several crises, most minor, but one major. It's not going to close the church down, but it's going to be difficult and very ugly for a while.

They say you're not really succeeding as a pastor until you've p*ssed someone off...

Look, Ma, I'm a success! (Sarcasm off)

Please keep us in your prayers.

On a Lighter Note...

My last few posts have been serious. And well they should be, given the subjects.

But before I go to spend a few days with the 'rent, and to be a 'rent, I thought I'd have some fun.
As LutheranChick mentioned yesterday, whatever happened to all the memes we used to post for each other?

Herewith, a meme for Christian music lovers! My responses are below.

1. What is your favourite "praise chorus?" At what point in the service (if any) is your congregation likely to use them?

2. Taize. Discuss.

3. Rutter, Bach, or Jars of Clay for the anthem this Sunday?

4. How do you and your musician share the selection of music for worship? How do each of you locate music (hymns, anthems, responses, etc.) for worship?

5. What is the one part of worship you would never set to music? Alternatively, what is the one part of worship you cannot imagine without music?

Bonus question: What is your favourite minor chord?

RP's responses:
1. What is your favourite "praise chorus?" At what point in the service (if any) is your congregation likely to use them? My favourite (and I'm not sure why) is "Let Us Break Bread Together," which some of you may not even consider a praise chorus! We use them (if at all) as a medley for the opening hymn or during Communion (while the congregation is taking Communion).

2. Taize. Discuss. I've heard a lot about Taize, and sung some of the choruses that are in the United Methodist hymnal, but that's about all i know. The ones that I do know I love, because they are so meditative, and conducive to prayer.

3. Rutter, Bach, or Jars of Clay for the anthem this Sunday? For me, any and all of the above. I truly love, love, love John Rutter. I know he doesn't really consider himself a Christian composer, but his music is so moving. His Requiem can bring me to tears. Bach is, well, Bach. And Jars of Clay (used here as a place-marker for any contemporary Christian group) can be as powerful and moving as anything I've heard. Can be.

4. How do you and your musician share the selection of music for worship? How do each of you locate music (hymns, anthems, responses, etc.) for worship? Our musician selects most of the music. He's had years of experience in the denomination (helped create our hymnal), and has a broad knowledge of church music in general. So I let him do most of it--if I have a hymn or song in mind that fits especially well, I'll suggest it and it will be either the opening/closing hymn or the "response hymn" sung right after the sermon. I find things by serendipity. Our musician has a more organized approach, I suspect, although I've never asked him.

5. What is the one part of worship you would never set to music? Alternatively, what is the one part of worship you cannot imagine without music? Ah, yes. We have a sacred cow here, called the sung Prayer that Jesus Taught Us. For variety's sake, if nothing else, we (meaning the music director and I) would like to not sing it sometimes, or use a different tune, but the only time we can get away with changing it is during Lent, when we speak it instead of singing it. Otherwise you would think we were committing sacrilege by not singing it or changing the tune... But that's the congregation. I personally can't imagine not singing the Doxology. Probably everything else could be spoken, but the Doxology needs to be sung. And, conversely, everything else can be sung, too--we've used sung calls to worship, prayers of the people (sung response), Communion consecration, of course, benedictions...pretty much everything. I've used music in the sermon, too, of course.

Bonus question: What is your favourite minor chord? E Flat. Seriously, I'm not enough of a music theorist to know the difference, but I found the website LC posted to be just spooky. Are there really people out there who think the Debil will get to them through their ears and not their hearts? Apparently so.


Leave a comment if you play!

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Monday, November 20, is the Transgender Day of Remembrance, a time to remember the lives lost to ignorance and hatred, the lives of transgendered people who have been murdered simply because they were brave enough to speak truth to the world.

To be clear and honest about this: I am not transgendered, so understand that I am speaking as an ally, a friend, not an expert or from my own transgendered experience. I do not speak for trans people, of course—and to my trans friends, I apologize in advance for over-simplifying, for leaving out some of the complexities, for not speaking to all the difficulties and complications. I speak, again, as an ally, from my friendships and my love for my transgendered friends of all genders. You know who you are—thank you for your presence in my life. You have been my partners in crime, my inspirations, my role models, my refuge from time to time, and most of all, my beloved friends.

I have many transgendered friends—they are transwomen, FTM, genderqueer, transmen, androgynous, pre-op, MTF, transitioning, post-op, transitioned, never planning to transition. Without exception, they are some of the strongest, wisest, most grounded, and self-aware people I know. They know who they are; they have fought and struggled and worked hard to be who they are—and they are beautiful, every one of them. All the extraneous “stuff” is being burned away, and the refined gold is left--because of course, it's a continuing process. They know who they are, they have worked hard to be the person God wants them to be, and they aren’t going to let anyone take it away from them. They’re not perfect, of course—they’d be the first to tell you that—but as John Wesley would say, they are going on to perfection, with God’s help.

But my particular friends are, in many ways, the blessed ones, the ones who have been able to work through it all to a place of relative safety—relative only, of course, since there is never absolute safety for those who are different form society’s strict categories. They were able, with a struggle, but able nonetheless, to get the education, the therapy, the surgery, the employment, the treatment, the relationship, the sacred space of church or temple or synagogue that allowed them to speak truth. Many others aren’t so blessed.

Humans tend to dislike what they do not understand—which may have had its uses back in the stone age, but it is a trait that has out-lived its usefulness. The vast majority of people expect another person to be identifiable as a man or a woman, and when another person is not readily identifiable as one or the other, frustration and anger often set in. If the other person seems to be deliberately trying to “fool” them, their anger increases. Thus the butch lesbian and the drag queen are attacked; cross-dressers are mocked by emergency medical personnel and young transgendered women (transwomen) are placed in the men’s section of jails, where they are beaten and raped.

You have doubtless heard of some of the more famous cases of transphobia resulting in murder—Brandon Teena, Gwen Araujo, and others. But for every one of the famous ones, for every one who is killed, there are countless others who are harassed on a daily basis; who cannot use a public washroom for fear of being violently ejected and even arrested if they use the “wrong” one; who are kicked out of school, jobs, church and home; who are referred to as “it” by medical personnel, prison officials and teachers; refused entry into emergency shelters because they do not “fit” into either the men’s shelter or the women’s shelter; and told they are “sick” by the world in general.

In spite of it all, they continue, as a group, to march forward, insisting on their humanity, on the presence of God within themselves and their relationships. In many of our theologies, we make the claim that God is beyond gender, both and neither male or female. If we understand our God to be both and neither, why then can we not accept fellow human beings who are also both and neither? Take some time this week to think about those you know or may have heard of, who are transgendered, and pray, as I will be praying, that you may have the courage they have shown, to live their own truthful, beautiful lives.

Friday Five—What I’m Thankful For…Version

Please note: these are in no particular order. In fact, the ones further down the list may be closer to my heart, because they took longer to surface…

1. My retreat last month (was it only last month?). I will say it again (and again, and again, and again)—take a solitary retreat. I had six days; five would have been enough, three would have been too short. A day to settle in, a day to begin surfacing, and two or three days to just be. The best things I took away from it were that schedules are not as important as I think they are and neither are to-do lists; I can read indefinitely long if provided a comfortable place and plenty of iced tea or coffee; sometimes it’s OK to just sit and stare out the window. So I give thanks for my retreat, Jeremiah House, GilChrist Retreat Centre, and John and Debbie (the caring staff).

2. My health. Overall, it’s pretty good. Yes, I could lose some weight, and I will never have 20/20 vision, but otherwise I’m doing OK—internal parts all functioning properly. When I think of friends and family members who have chronic illnesses and physical issues, and the effect it has on their lives (and personalities), from HIV/AIDS to cancer to high blood pressure to hernias to you-name-it, I am thankful that I am healthy.

3. Friends. This was brought home to me by the recent conference I attended. Some of the friends I spent time with were people I have known for a long time—we’ve shared meals, tears, joys, frustrations, hotel rooms, classes, our homes. Some of them I had only “talked” with via email. Some I had met and shared a meeting or meal or coffee with at another conference, and we had touched each others' heart--but then we hadn’t had any contact until the next conference. But it was as if we had seen each other a month ago, not two years. And some friends I made I didn’t know were even on the planet until that weekend.

There’s an item that’s gone around the Internet, Friend for a Reason or a Season. Sometimes your friendship with someone lasts for a lifetime; sometimes it’s for a few months or a couple of years. But no matter how long it lasts, each person comes into your life for a reason, even if it’s only for a season. I think of the friend whom I met when I was just beginning to come out; he led me, encouraged me, and supported me through that process. We are no longer in regular contact now; but he will always have a place in my heart, and I, I hope, will have one in his. He was a friend for a reason, for a season. Some of these friends at conference and elsewhere in my life are like that—warm and intense as the friendship was, it will not last. Others will last—and will become even deeper and richer with time. Both kinds of friendship enrich our lives. I am thankful for all my friends.

4. My son. There are many things in my life that I would change if I could, but he is not one of them. It was an incredible experience watching him grow up—and seeing some traits stay the same over time, morphing to fit the age (from Disney videos to SimCity to PS2…). He is an amazing young man, intelligent, attractive, articulate and funny. TO is a joy to me, and the saddest thing about moving to Canada was moving so far from him. I miss him every day.

5. My call to ministry. It hasn’t been easy, but as a wise person once said, the best things in life rarely are. That call has led me on an amazing journey, deeper into my own heart and in a closer relationship with the One who called me. I was given every chance to refuse and turn away from the call, but somehow…well, you all know how it is. And while I have doubted myself, sometimes even doubted my call, I have never regretted responding and embarking on this wild voyage!

What Makes RP See Red (this week)...

By popular demand (well, sort of…), here is my expanded version of what makes me see red.

Ignorance in charge of other people’s lives and freedom.

I think I’ll focus on that one for now. But where do I start? Let me begin with an easy one.

Ignorance: Some people will tell you there’s really no reason for same-sex couples to want marriage, that they can get all those benefits through wills and such, that same-sex couple just want the name of marriage for the prestige, to be just like different-sex couples.

Oh, really? Tell that to the man whose partner had stipulated in his will that he was not to be buried in the family plot but in the plot he and his partner had chosen. His family was able to bring suit for him to be buried where he did not want to be--luckily, the judge ruled in favour of the will and the partner and the deceased’s expressed wishes. Wills are continually contested, they cannot cover benefits (like veteran’s benefits and Social Security), which are regulated by law, and they are not usually settled until well after the person’s death—by which time the ones contesting it may have marched off with all the deceased’s belongings. Ever seen “If These Walls Could Talk 2”? It details the three generations of lesbian lives lived within a single house. The first segment, set in the early 1960’s, is about two women who have lived together for many years until one of them passes away suddenly and her nephew comes to claim the house. It will break your heart—and it is still all too true.

And the lack of marriage rights hurts same-sex couples when they’re both living, too—everything from being able to file taxes as a married couple to getting health benefits, to child custody laws to having both their names on the title to the home….every one of those things matters, financially and emotionally, and in many states of the US, same-sex couples cannot do those things. Opposite-sex married couples don’t even think about it—and that’s the point. It’s automatic—you’re married, you get it. Unless, of course, you and your partner are the same sex. Then you’re out of luck, no matter how long you have been together, or whether you have raised children together, owned a home together, been through illness and job loss together.

The love and commitment of two same-sex people who want to be married is no less than that of two different-sex people. I can attest to this personally, having officiated at more than 25 same-sex marriages. But some ignorant people want you to think it is less, that same-sex relationships are all about sex, and there is no commitment between same-sex couples. Tell that to the ones who have been together 15, 25, 35 and 50 years. It’s about the relationship, not the body parts involved.

Let’s change gears from same-sex marriage to another legal issue—birth certificates.

For transgender people, legal identification is a huge issue. A person can be physically hurt or even killed, not merely insulted or hassled (which is bad enough) if the sex on their ID does not match their gender presentation (the gender they appear to be, based on dress, hair style, etc.). So the correct sex on the birth certificate, needed for so many other forms of identification to be issued or changed, is supremely important for them. Some municipalities require that transgender people provide a certificate of surgery before they will issue a new birth certificate; this is difficult for many trans people, since it takes years to get the surgery (partly for medical reasons, partly because they have to save for it, since insurance won’t cover it); and some trans people simply don’t want all the surgery that the municipalities require (especially female-to-male—FTM—trans people, because the surgery is so difficult and unrefined currently). So some trans people are partly transitioned, and may need to have identification that matches their target gender, not their biological gender. Not to mention that many clinics require their patients to live for a time (anywhere from three months to a year) full-time as the target gender before the surgery is approved. And so if they are going to travel, they have to go through airport security either dressed in a way that is a lie to them, although it matches their (unchanged) identification; or they pray the police officer who stops them doesn’t notice the disparity; or they dress in a neutral way. And they have to fear on the subway, in church, shopping, in the bars, on the street…because their identification doesn’t match who they seem to be.

Both of these—same-sex marriage and transgender identification—are about a choice between living a truth that is inconvenient and uncomfortable for the rest of the world, or living a lie called a closet that doesn’t bother anyone else, but that can lead to depression, psychological self-mutilation and even suicide for yourself. It’s about having to one day face God and say, “I wanted to live my truth, but when I tried to live as you created me, I was threatened—with rejection, ridicule, ostracism, violence, even death.” It’s about having the courage to face down the world that doesn’t want to even acknowledge that you exist, that would rather you stay in a corner, in the dark, remain the Other. It’s about being who God created you to be.

God is truth; and the truth will set us free.

Friday Five: Red, Blue, and Purple!

It’s Friday, I’m in town and have a few minutes, and so here we have the RevGalBlogPals Friday Five!

1. Favourite red food: Strawberries. On angelfood cake, on ice cream, dipped in chocolate, as jam or jelly, just by themselves, hands down favourite red food.

2. Tell us about the bluest body of water you've ever seen in person. Lake Erie, believe it or not, from Point Pelee (http://www.canadianparks.com/ontario/ppelenp/index.htm) late one afternoon. The atmospheric conditions must have been just right, because I have never seen a bluer body of water. Dark, dark blue, like a sapphire. Lovely.

3. It's movie rental time: Blue Planet, The Color Purple, or Crimson Tide? THe Color Purple, hands down. One of my favourites anyway, and certainly of those three!

4. What has you seeing red these days? Oooh, do we have that much time? OK, I’ll boil it down: 1. Intolerance claiming its right to exist as religious freedom. 2. Ignorance in charge of other people’s lives and freedom. 3. Deception as a way of life. If I get a chance, I may expand on these later. (You have been warned!)

5. What or who picks you up when you're feeling blue? Three things: comfort fiction, journaling and walks. Reading something I know and love—Jane Austen and the Brontes spring to mind—allows my mind to work on whatever has me upset on one level (a lower level, sort of subconscious) while I don’t have to think about it for a while on the surface. Journaling and walking both let me “talk it out”—mentally or on the computer. Walking has the advantage of exercise, and if I’m really upset, I can walk faster. Journaling, on the other hand, helps me put into words what I’m feeling, which gives me perspective, and sometimes gives me a solution. If nothing else, I can vent and pour out my sad/angry/frustrated/petty/whining emotions elsewhere than on my family and friends.

Bonus response (not requested but extra credit is always good): Red letter days recently included an amazing conference worship service on Sunday(friends, worship, Communion, the Holy Spirit--what could be better?), dinner with good friends tonight, and last week, the discovery of an almost perfect beer--"Final Absolution," a Belgian-style lager from Dragonmead Brewery in Warren, Michigan (famous as the former home of a tank plant). There's a reason it won a gold medal at the world beer competition!

Taking the Leap!

Well, I’m back from my conference—three and a half days of amazing workshops, a mini-retreat, friendships new and renewed and expanded, and a testing of my energy and stamina.

As I’ve mentioned, I volunteered to coordinate the worship assistants for the entire conference—the Communion servers and holders and the ushers. You know, there are a lot of logistics involved with that! How do we get Communion to the choir? How about taking up the offering from the choir? How do we get Communion to the people doing the counting of the offering (which, of course, comes right before Communion)? What about getting the Communion elements down from the altar to the holders (they hold the Communion elements while the servers serve the congregation and say the blessing for each person)? How do I find enough of each of those? Luckily, I had many volunteers and when I didn’t have as many people as I thought I needed, the ones I did have pitched in and did what had to be done.

A wonderful side-effect—or maybe it wasn’t a side-effect, but one of the main reasons for the conference—was the affirmation, the support, from my colleagues (shout-out to Rev. Dona here! Thanks for the props!) and our regional elders (roughly = bishop). I don’t think I’m a particularly bright star in the denomination’s firmament, but from the compliments and thanks I received, you would think I was the next best thing. I even had my hands kissed! It was the kind of balm I know my ego needed, and I don’t think I’m the only one who had come there bruised and tired. One friend said she felt better than she had in weeks—and she had been on vacation only a couple of weeks before! The mood of friends and co-worshipers on Sunday morning was much more relaxed, joyful and hopeful than on Thursday evening.

One of the workshop presenters made a point that was a real aha! moment for me. He pointed out that most of our congregants (in the UFMCC), were hurting and battered, psychologically and spiritually. In a mainline church, the proportion is much lower. So much of our work, as pastors in MCC churches, is working with badly hurt people. Unlike many others who work with hurting people, such as chaplains and psychologists and psychiatrists, we don’t have the support and institutional protections and requirements for self-care. We really are at higher risk for burn-out and damage ourselves. As an aside, the same presenter pointed out that most of the people who come through our doors for the first time are already giving church a second chance, having been made to feel unwelcome, despised, or evil in other churches. We cannot fail them. And thus, of course, we have more pressure on us. Listening to all this, I began to understand why my colleagues in UFMCC seem to suffer greater stress than my former colleagues in the UMC. Part of that may also be due to the job security in the UMC, but that’s another issue (UMC pastors are appointed, UFMCC pastors are called by the congregation).

As a result of these few days, I can see many changes I want to make, things I want to do—not all of them easy, and some will get me grief. But I believe they are all things I am called to do as the pastor, and/or that this congregation is called to do. We need, as a congregation, to take that leap of faith and make a difference. Rev. Dona (http://revdonaquixote.blogspot.com/ ) talks about cliff divers. She and I both have plans to take a leap of faith off those cliffs—but in keeping with the covenant of Christian community, we’re jumping together!

Wandering off to Conference....

I have been very neglectful of my blog in the last couple of weeks, leaving my readers high and dry—my apologies to all five of you!

Tomorrow DP and I leave for our Regional Conference (she is the lay delegate), so I will definitely not be blogging until I return, early next week.

Nonetheless I am sure I will come back with tales to tell! I am coordinating worship assistants during the conference, and helped put together one of the worship services, so even though I’m not preaching this week, I’ll as busy as if I were!

So I’m off to worship with old friends, retreat and conference with new ones, and hopefully get some time to relax as well.

A word in advance of late Saturday night---If you have a dog, walk it proud!

Friends and self-care

Ever have times when you were so busy you barely had time for a meal, when you went right back to your office/study after an evening meeting to finish a project, when you barely had time to breathe, when your laundry piled up, the houseplants wilted for lack of water and the dishes piled up in the dishwasher (because you didn’t even have time to turn it on)?

That’s where I am. I’m not going to list the many meetings, projects, and so on that I have deadlines for in the next four days…but rest assured, I don’t think I’ll have much free time for the next ten days.

Which is why I’m planning to take tonight off. A good dinner, a little Jeopardy, some light reading and bed early. It’s what I need to get through the next few days!

Lest you think I’m a very grounded person who always knows what she needs and takes it, let me say that this wouldn’t be happening if not for a letter from a friend of mine that arrived today. He is ill, chronically so, and had not been taking care of himself. But one day he realized that he probably wasn’t going to die that week, or even that month, and if he was going to live for a while, he might want to do so in a state of as much health as he could muster. And so he made some changes in his life, not the least of which is pulling back on activities, taking evenings to himself, taking care of himself.

What was so wonderful about his letter is that he thanked me for writing to him while I was on retreat (his letter was in response to mine), for taking the time while I was at a place where he would love to be, to think of him and write.

There is grace. Not only the warmth of our reconnection, but his openness, his honesty in confessing his need, his shortcomings (as he sees them), and to thank me for hearing him into speech, when I have long felt that he was the one encouraging me to grow and change and become what I needed to be.

There is the true agape love—helping each other to grow in love for ourselves, for God, in service to God, and in love for others. There is no part of our relationship that is self-serving—if he receives support from me, so do I receive encouragement from him. When I needed a good slap upside the head, he gave it to me. When he tends to neglect himself, I (unwittingly, in this instance), remind him that he is not the only one who cares about him. And so on.

I cherish him, and our friendship. I’ll be seeing him soon, and I’m saying this now, here in my blog, so I won’t forget or decide it really isn’t important—I will tell him how very important he is to me, and how much I treasure our friendship.

If you have a friend like that—your partner, spouse, friend—be sure to tell them how much you treasure them. I know we hear that all the time, but have you done it? If you haven’t said it recently, try it. They need to know, and so do you.

Friday Five--Word Association

Back into the routine--Friday means the RevGalBlogPals Friday Five meme. This week it's word association time!

Whirlwind: Tornado, probably much like the one in The Wizard of Oz. Brownish grey, spinning...dusty, too.

Foundation: Solid; cement, building. Interestingly enough, I don't automatically think of foundation in the sense of a non-profit benevolent-type organization, in spite of the fact that I have worked with them a lot.

Lightning: A flash of lightning, against a dark sky.

Den: A safe place, a cozy place; almost a nest, but underground.

Prey: Here's the odd thing--I think of a predator. What is up with my mind, that I think of the opposite? Say "prey," and I get a mental picture of a wolf or hawk.

Well, there's a sense of dynamicism there, for sure--of movement, witht he lightning and the whirlword--and even with foundation and den, there's the idea of settling in from movement, of coming to rest.

I can't explain the prey thing at all. And I'm not sure I want to know.

Personality DNA

Well, since I understand that to be truly KEWL, I must have my personality DNA on my blog, here it is (at least I hope it works)...

I am, as you can see, a Benevolent Creator.

Oddly enough, I am, according to these folks, extremely feminine, and barely masculine. Anyone who knows me is now howling with laughter. I have been known to wear a dress, but mostly at Halloween. The last time I wore makeup was at Easter to demonstrate a "complete change." I have never been mistaken for a "lady" and high heels make me uneasy. If I can't do something myself, I find an expert who can, but I'd rather figure it out on my own than have someone do it for me (except DP, but she's special).

'Course, they do have my spontaneity level pegged--way low. I like a schedule, darn it. I do try to be spontaneous, but, but, but can we plan it for Saturday, please?

Back in Harness

It's amazing how quickly the old routines fall back into place...

The serenity of my retreat is still with me, however. It's amazing to feel so centred and grounded, to be able to do so much and not feel hurried or harassed. Attitude and the Spirit both have something to do with that, I think!

Still basking...

Home again...

Last week I was on retreat.

I saw:

• Beautiful colours of autumn against a solid blue sky
• A doe and her half-grown fawn (they live behind the cabin I was staying in, so I saw them several times)
• A wild tom turkey (which I almost hit, because he dashed into the road…)
• A red-tailed hawk (only ten feet away, outside my window)
• Snow in early October!!

I also:

• Meditated for most of Sunday
• Missed DP and the pets
• Walked a labyrinth
• Stayed up to midnight without feeling guilty
• Read several books (some for fun, some for the book, and one “professional” book)
• Had three fires in the fireplace
• Outlined a book of my own
• Ate healthily
• Walked almost every day
• Journaled regularly

GilChrist (the retreat centre) is a wonderful place. I can highly recommend it as a place for a solitary retreat or for a small group retreat (I don’t think they can hold more than about 12-15 people at the most). After I was greeted and given a tour and taken to my cabin (Jeremiah House; somehow very appropriate!), I was pretty much left alone. If I wanted to wander about and speak to other people, I was welcome to do so—but no one came by to invite me to the various activities at the main building (I had been told about them) or to “check up” on me. I had said I was doing a solitary retreat and they respected that—my solitude, my silence, and my space.

Jeremiah House was just about big enough for a table, two chairs, a small kitchen, a bed and a dresser, with a fireplace/chimney in the middle, and a bathroom to one side. I also had a lovely small sun porch. The table stood in a tiny bay window overlooking the meadow where the deer played and the mist flowed in the morning like an ocean. All around the cabin were woods, with wrens, chipmunks, jays, nuthatches, turkeys, deer and raccoons, all feeling safe.

I wrote, I read, I slept, I meditated, I stared into space, I simply was—for a whole week.

And now I pray that the serenity with which I returned will remain with me for a long time.

On Retreat

Well, I've done what I can for regional conference worship, I've packed up my stuff (in my old kit bag...), I've got the books I want to refer to, I've got my special coffee and tea (due to the international border, I have to purchase the rest of my food for the week over there), and I think I'm ready to go.

Bless each of you this weekend and next week as you prepare to preach and lead services, as you discern God's call, as you rest and refresh, and as you do all the other activities this busy group does!

I'm going on retreat!

Preaching with the Holy Spirit

Browsing around to try to get a start on the sermon for next week, I ran across this ">article on pastoral plagiarism.

What the original writer seems to be saying is that we cannot trust to the Spirit, that we have to have “the best sermon” at all costs, and the end justifies the means.

Well, that brings up some questions for me.

• How do we decide who “the best” preachers are? Even those we often think of as great speakers and preachers had off days; are all their sermons to be considered equally “great?” And is it really a good idea to elevate these people to the level of the only ones who can preach?

• What does this say about our own arrogance? Do we really think that people only hear what we say, or do we believe that the Spirit speaks through us, in spite of us?
• Preaching, I discovered before I even left seminary (thank you, Jesus!), is not always or even usually about educating the congregation, but about the preacher learning something from the passage in question. If we only use what others have said, we lose that gift of study and learning the Words of God. Where does that leave us?

I’m with Ray Van Neste on this one—we preachers have to trust in the Spirit to convey the truth of God to the congregation, over time, in spite of ourselves. If we use another person’s words, we are not true to ourselves, or to the gospel. Does it really make sense to preach a sermon written for, say, a rural majority-white congregation in Ohio in 1990 to an urban congregation of mostly African-Americans in Philadelphia in 2006? Of course not! And yet that’s what Steve Sjogren seems to be saying.

This is troubling. Are we so afraid of not “hitting a home run” that we cannot trust the Spirit? Are we really putting things of the world (a “successful” sermon, whatever that is) ahead of divine inspiration?

I thank God for the example of the friends and blogpals on this ring, who every week gather at a virtual sermon-writing party, difficult and stressful as it is, to pull out another sermon from our hearts and spirits, praying for the Spirit to breathe life into it, that it may rise up and show God to our congregations.

In the immortal words of Songbird and the other 11^th Hour hosts:

• The Holy Spirit has your back.
• If you’ve got a dog, walk it proud.

Of the Writing of Books, There is No End...

Two books.

As long as I can remember, I have loved to write—to put words together in a way that brings a deeper meaning to the world, that offers new ideas, thoughts, or experiences to the reader. For a long time, I wrote a lot of (bad) fiction. I wrote (bad) poetry in high school and at university. I always did well in academic subjects that required papers and written exams—psychology, literature, history, theology. I like to write (as demonstrated by the fact that I am writing this instead of doing other tasks, like phone calls and laundry!).

Over the last ten years or so, I have come to some conclusions about theology, religion, and spirituality. My life has changed a great deal in those years—I have experienced things I never thought I would, done things I had always thought were for someone else to do. I have read and thought and grown and changed. As a result, I have a vastly different perspective on issues of spirituality and culture than I did when I was, say, 20 or 30. Some of that is maturity and experience; but some of it is due to the specific experiences I have had, and some of it is ideas I might never have encountered if not for the changes in my life. I’m talking about seminary, field experience, the death of my father, of a parishioner, the whole experience of 9/11, of divorce, of coming out, of leaving a denomination I had grown up in and fully expected to die in, of becoming part of another denomination, of new relationships, of moving to a new country, and so on. Because of all this, my theology has changed. The personal creed I had to write as part of my Systematic Theology class in seminary is totally outdated now—there is little I would bring into a creed today from it.

I want to test those ideas, beliefs, concepts—put them out there and see what others have to say about them. As they used to say in advertising, “Run it up the flagpole and see if anyone salutes.” I trust in the cut-and-thrust of intellectual debate (allowing, of course, for nastiness and jealousy, not to mention ignorance and bias—both ways) to help me refine my ideas. But first I have to get those ideas out there. Thus the first book I want to write is a book of theology, of understanding Christianity without sexism, heterosexism, racism, or any of the other –isms that creep into our beliefs. I want to try to bring back the radical vision of the world and God’s realm that the Gospels show, and that has been overlaid by tradition and the inability to accept the depth of the changes required by the Gospel. Do I sound nuts? Perhaps. But I want to at least try to get this all down into words, on paper. That alone will help me to refine it, and to see whether what sounds reasonable in my head also looks reasonable on paper!

The second book is much less ambitious. Over the years, I have written a variety of prayers for many different occasions—weddings, weekly services, retreats, funerals, civic events, and so on. I want to gather those together, see what I have and how much work would be needed to polish them up, and decide if it’s enough for a reasonable book. If not, perhaps get together with some friends and put theirs in there as well, and see what we come up with. This is much simpler, of course, and perhaps more do-able .I know I can get this outlined and maybe organized during that week away.

Two books, one week. We’ll see what happens!

Fall is here. I know it actually began a few days ago, but it’s really here now.

I would have to say that it’s my favourite season. The others have their charms—the coziness and stark beauty of winter, the rich unfolding joy of spring, the laziness and relaxation of summer—but fall is my favourite. I like the transformative seasons—fall and spring—more than summer and winter. I like to see the changes—the slow greening of the trees in the spring, the growing colour of those same trees in the fall.

Perhaps it’s also because, unlike my other favourite season, spring, my sense of fall isn’t tied to one day or event or holiday. Spring is always connected to Easter for me, and my birthday, which falls in early April and therefore usually close to Easter. Or, in the case of 2007, is the same day as Easter… But spring means all those traditionally Easterish things—the tulips and hyacinth and lilies, and new green grass and apple blossoms and cherry and pear blossoms, and the dogwoods and azaleas (well, not the latter, not around here—too cold in the winter). Not to mention rabbits and chicks and other birds, and Easter eggs and so on.

My sense of fall is centred more around the richness of harvest—the golds and yellows and browns of apples and pumpkins and corn, of grapes and squash. And the glowing colours of the trees—the red and orange of maples, the blazing yellow of birch, and the amazing changes of the Bradford pear I once had in my front yard, which metamorphosed from green to yellow to gold to red. My memories of fall are of outside things—picking the windfall apples in an orchard at the local cider mill for the youth group to make into cider and sell at church; canoeing on one of Michigan’s many rivers; raking leaves; hiking; camping one last time; making apple butter over a fire at the local nature centre; driving the country and stopping at a farm stand for the shining glossy red and gold apples, the glowing orange pumpkins, the gleaming knobbly squash, and the bunch of Indian corn cobs for the front door; the hayride with the youth group; our annual work camp at the conference camp to put the camp to rest for the winter; the smell of leaves burning in our backyard; and horseback riding in the crisp air with the sun shining like gold.

See? Fall brings out my purple prose!

I’ve even changed my computer desktop to a picture of the woods in the fall. And my screensaver, too.

Perhaps the real question is why fall brings out this feeling in me. Is it because it feels so bountiful—the harvest and the storing up of food and other needs against the coming winter? Or is it the sense of settling in for the winter—close to the storehouse of harvest feeling, but not quite the same. It might just be the beauty of the season. Maybe it’s because, ironically, I always have a sense of new beginnings, of fresh starts and another chance in the fall.

Whatever the reason, I wish each of you the most glorious fall on record, a season of grace, of the harvest of all that is good in your life—love, health, support, friendship, fulfillment, and the knowledge that you are where God intends you to be, doing what God wants you to be doing, answering the divine call. May your storehouses of blessing be full to overflowing!

I'm Still Alive!

Rumours to the contrary, I am well and breathing!

Saturday I usually spend my day popping in and out of the 11th Hour Preacher's Party, writing a sermon with much struggle, on and off the computer all day and then on Sunday venting my relief that it went well (or at least no tomatoes were thrown!). Monday I often blog to get my pump primed for the week. Yeah well...

It's been one of those weekends. Saturday was a membership class all morning (two new members, yay!) and then in the afternoon it was unpacking (winter) clothes and packing (summer) clothes. I did work on the sermon, but didn't have time (sorry!) for the party.

Sunday I was just tired.

Yesterday I spent with my mother and a visiting sister in Capitol City, and what with that and the drive there and back....well, blogging just didn't happen.

Tomorrow--forget it! Errands to run in the morning and meetings all afternoon, plus a church planning meeting in the evening won't leave me any time for it. Thursday is the sermon and the service for the Saturday wedding, plus planning worship for October.

I'm trying to get ahead so that when I go on my retreat next week, I won't have to worry about the sermon or worship on that first Sunday (I have a wedding the day after I get back, too).

How DO you get ahead, those of you who manage it? Someone? Anyone?

Friday Five--Boo Boos!

As is my habit on Fridays, here's the RevGalBlogPals Friday Five meme. Thanks Songbird!

1) Are you a baby about small injuries?
Not really. I've fairly accident-prone, so I'm fairly used to a scrape here, a cut there, and a burn elsewhere. I usually wince, say, "Ow!" and move on.

2) What's the silliest way you have ever hurt yourself?
I have four nominations--not sure which is the worst. But they all involve falling, oddly enough. Not so oddly, I do have a fear of heights and of falling!

My senior year of high school, I was in the spring musical ("Carousel"), and working at the local mall after school. A bus ran by school directly to the mall, and there happened to be a bus at, I think, 4:45, which got me to the mall by 5 so I could work until 9. One day we were late getting out of play practice, and as I came to the parking lot I had to cross to get to the bus stop, I saw the bus coming. Afraid I would miss it, I took off running--not a good idea in platform shoes! I fell hard, scraping my right knee and the heel of my right hand to tatters (not to mention my stockings!). My job that night was sitting at a slow register putting price tags on hair colour, so I could sit down.

Then, at a friend's family reunion, I fell again. It was just dusk, and I was crossing their yard, when I fell into a shallow drainage ditch I didn't know was there! I hadn't been to the house before (it was their summer trailer by the lake), so my unfamiliarity with the lay of the land and the dim light, not to mention the Dr. Scholl's (R) I was wearing combined to make me stumble and fall flat on my face. The worst of it was that I was about 19, and the crowd assumed I had been testing the beer in the keg on the back porch--and I hadn't. I was mortified to have fallen front of so many people, most of them strangers. It was a running joke the rest of the (very long) weekend.

And like Songbird, I fell off a curb. It was December 23, I was a newly-wed going to my in-laws for our first Christmas. I had worked the 3-11 shift at the hospital, and we were leaving right from the hospital (where I worked) to my in-laws'. My husband pulled up near the curb, I stepped off to get in the car, and fell as my ankle twisted under me. By the time we got to my in-laws', it was swollen; the next morning=Christmas Eve!--when we got up, I couldn't put my shoe on that foot. I went to their family doctor, got an x-ray and an Ace bandage, and spent the holidays on the couch with my foot up.

Finally, when we lived in Germany, at a village fair, I was crossing a railroad track (in a field, not at a crossing) on foot and carrying my son, who was a toddler. As I stepped on the gravel, I felt my foot give way, and instinctively twisted to fall under TO, instead of on top of him. I did it, but pulled a muscle in my back that still bothers me from time to time.

None of those are really funny (although my friend's family thought the one was); all a bit odd, though!

3) Who took care of your boo-boos when you were a child?
Oh, my mom or one of my older sisters. Merthiolate and a bandage!

4) Are you a good nurse when others have boo-boos?
Boo boos, yes--blood doesn't bother me. Digestive upsets, yuck. I once knew a nurse who hated the sight of blood, believe it or not. She did NOT work in surgery!

5) What's the worst accidental injury you've suffered? Did it require a trip to the Emergency Room?
When I was about five, I put my arm through a window and needed stitching up. I still have a "J" shaped scar on my right upper arm from it. We didn't go to the ER, though--in those days, you went to the doctor's office and got hustled in ahead of everyone who stared at you, startled and horrified at all the blood.

You know, in putting this together, I had to think about all the times I've hurt myself. I am accident prone! There's the cut on my arm, one on my hand, between my toes (don't ask; that should be number five of the silly accidents), sprained ankles (three times), sprained knee, back muscle, innumerable falls (including two while I was pregnant), several burns and cuts in the kitchen, and three minor car accidents. If you suscribe to the theory that we get hurt when we aren't happy with ourselves, then I was suppressing some major anger from time to time. On the other hand, perhaps I was just distracted and thinking Great Thoughts.

Blogthoughts!

Random blogthoughts…

I just received word that will be able to stay at the retreat centre for a full week, instead of the five days it originally seemed it would be. One of the groups scheduled to come the weekend before didn’t need the cottage after all, so I will be installed there instead! I’ll be sharing a bit more about what this retreat will mean to me in the next week.

I haven’t felt well the last couple of days—nothing so much that I wanted to go to bed, but just draggy and slow and achy. Thanks to you all for your prayers (and a healing slap upside the head from Rev Dona…owww). I spent the time not terribly productively (but very entertainingly) in playing with themes and colours and wallpapers on my ‘puter. I am amazed at the variety of tastes and the amount of creativity in the world. If you like something, anything, you can probably find a theme, and definitely a wallpaper for it—from the predictable like angels, cars. Pets, various movies and TV series to wine, obscure authors, and even manatees. Oh, and a theme is a set of customized items for your computer desktop (wallpaper, icons, colours, pointers, sounds, screensaver, etc.) with a (duh) theme. So a theme on, say, the Fourth of July might use red, white and blue as a color scheme, with firecracker and brass band sounds (for programs opening, new mail, etc.), a desktop picture of a Fourth of July parade, and a screensaver of fireworks. I now have themes for cats and books (yes, together), wine, the beach, fall and an aquarium. If I could find one for corgis, I'd use it. Or Canada. Or Michigan. Or....

I’m working on planning a worship service for our denomination’s regional conference later this year. As many of you probably already know, it’s difficult to create a service when you aren’t preaching, consecrating communion, or directing music. Luckily I’m working with a good, long-time friend—one of the first people I came out to, my first UFMCC pastor, and a kindred spirit when it comes to worship tastes. We had a phone conference today and have worked out how we’ll deal with things. It’s good to know we have each other’s back in this…

I wish there was a First Parish Project for us “old ‘uns.” FPP is a wonderful program endowed by the Lilly fund and other organizations for pastors in their first church (please note, I tried to insert the proper html here for a direct link and Blogger wouldn't let me; the URL is http://www.hintoncenter.org/pdf/first_parish_project.pdf#search=%22first%20parish%20project%22
). I think we have one or two revgalblogpals who are participating. My worship-planning friend also participated (in the past), and he was singing its praises to me. Collegiality, mutual support, continuing education, etc. Well, shoot. I’m not in my first parish, really—it’s the second church I’ve served—but the first was only for a year. However, I’m way too old…upper age limit is 35, and I’m not even close anymore (Can’t open hailing frequencies, Cap’n!). Surely I’m not the only first “real parish” pastor over 40 out there? Does anyone know of such a program?

But, I have to add, he was envious of my community here on revgalblogpals. The concept of a community that shares values, interests, goals, hopes, dreams, fears, silliness and recipes while it transcends geographic boundaries intrigued him. He says he’s not that technologically savvy, but if I can do it, I think he can too. I have talked to more than one person recently who has that same reaction—“wow, what a neat concept! That’s what the Internet was supposed to be about!” Well, not quite, but that’s another lecture. However, RevGalBlogPals is a Good Thing, and I bless the day I found all of you!