Angel', of course, being the English transliteration of the Greek word for messenger...
The Old Testament is pretty ambiguous about angels as heavenly beings. Sometimes they are referred to as "men", sometimes it's hard to tell if they're human, heavenly beings, or the Holy One. We've used the term to refer to Seraphim and Cherubim, which have no real English equivelants. I recall an Old Testament professor saying that seraphim roughly translated into "fiery serpent", and I've always been struck that in most cases the first thing an angel says is, "Don't be afraid", which makes me think they probably don't look like the Hallmark angels or Roma Downey or even Della Reese. Probably not terribly like Raphael's puti or those Precious Moments figurines, either.
In seminary my best friend Clara and I used to joke about how we had our own personal angel whose job it is to write down on a board every time you say, "I'd NEVER ...sing in public, date a divorced man, be seen in a casino, have a child who did that...(your own personal boundary breaker here)" and then to make sure that you do that. I believe we decided my angel's name is Harold. He's not exactly a guardian angel, except he keeps me from getting too proud or self-righteous.
Harold has been busy lately, keeping me very humble. In fact, over the last five years he's kept me so humble that I can hardly stand myself. I am sorely tempted to be afraid.
On the other hand, I've never been much of a believer in guardian angels. Oh, the idea is nice, and I remember learning the song from Hansel and Gretel when I was in cherub choir ("When at night I go to sleep, fourteen angels watch do keep..."), but frankly, I just felt like too much bad stuff happened to too many people for guardian angels to be doing much of anything. That is, I felt that way until last week when my grandson was saved from great harm in an accident and I was able to get out to see him without running myself off the road. It felt like there were guardian angels with him and with me, protecting us when we couldn't do anything to take care of ourselves.
These are the manifestations of grace -- very few people deserve the really bad things that happen to them, but let's face it, few of us truly deserve the really great things that happen to us, either. We didn't earn our families or the times in which we were born. Most of us have experienced the love of parents or of a partner when we didn't deserve it. Few of us deserve peace on earth or the good will of all people. Yet the heavens are swarming with angels, who despite their terrifying appearances (sometimes in terrifying circumstances) bring good news of great joy--we are saved for abundant life by the One who loves us eternally. Don't be afraid.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Finding my way
okay, so I can't figure out how to edit a mistake in the angels post -- it's not working the way it says it does. In the second paragraph it should read that the letter was sent by someone from another state. Sorry for the confusion.
Wrestling with my angels
I got two pieces of mail that really captured my attention today.
One was a handwritten (though machine duplicated) treatise on "The Judgment". It was about 250 pages long, cost over $11 to mail first class to the church from someone in another state. It was partially illegible because of the handwriting, but it was a collection of biblical citations and reamblings on one person's vision/version of the final judgment, end of time, whatever you want to call it. My first reaction was to throw it in the trash. I fished it out, tried to scan it, then threw it out again.
The second was a letter addressed to me personally from someone in another who had written me about a month ago asking for money to help him and his wife buy the house they've rented for years and which now is being sold. The first letter (about 8 pages, typed single space) gave me the whole history of their relationship with the property, the former owners, current owners and why they had to buy it because they couldn't run their business anywhere else. This letter (five pages, single space) chastised me and the 398 other pastors in our region who got the first letter but didn't respond (apparently one person did but declined to send money). Both letters from this person were sent first class mail, which means that he's spent at least $356 on postage, not to mention paper and envelopes as well as the time involved. This letter included all kinds of biblical injunctions about sharing but I didn't see (and admittedly, I scanned, I didn't read carefully) any mention of a congregation to which this person is attached, nor any connection mentioned about a larger faith community/denomination.
Should that matter?
Jesus doesn't tell us to give only to our friends or to people we know. Paul doesn't tell us to give only to believers. And there are some reasons that this second letter has been particularly upsetting to me.
Don't ask me to give if God calls me to do so, then reprimand me when I don't. (God didn't). Don't send out blind letters and expect pastors to drop whatever they're doing and answer you personally (your first letter arrived in the midst of the financial campaign which led into Advent and I'm frantically trying to meet all the obligations for Christmas which includes, but is not limited to, visiting the sick and the shut-in, making sure local refugees have coats for winter, making sure the woman with MS who's raising her orphaned niece and nephews has enough to feed them...)
Contrary to popular opinion, most churches (at least individual congregations) are not rolling in money. Most are struggling to keep the heat and lights on and to do some ministry where they are and to respond to desperate needs in crises. And in denominations like mine there is no money that comes back to the church from the wider organization. We contribute to food pantries, ministries with underserved communities, educational endeavors, homeless shelters, and every penny of money we get for missions goes to missions. There aren't secret bank accounts waiting to buy houses for people.
Is this guy legitimate or is he just, as my kids used to say, "Scamming for bucks"? Certainly there are people who think that churches should function as their personal ATM. They tend to show up at 5 p.m. on Fridays after all the social service agencies have closed for the weekend with a tale of woe that starts out realistic but usually winds up being preposterous. When I read the first letter I remember thinking that he appeared stuck in his thinking -- he had figured out what he wanted and couldn't see that any other option might be possible. But the second letter, the fact that he seems to take the lack of a response personally and is so committed to this absolute plan that he feels compelled to force people to respond -- that's troubling me.
It hurts my spirit. I don't know why and I don't know how I can explain it any better than that --
Any time people ask for money from the church I wrestle with the questions "Is this really what this person needs?" "Is this good stewardship of our money?" "Am I responsible to give to people who I know will use this to feed an addiction and contribute to their illness?" "Is this Jesus in another face?" "Do I just give to everybody who asks until there's nothing left?" I hate saying no and rarely do to someone who comes to our door until I know for certain that a person has been using us, lying to us. I do not answer e-mail or paper mail requests or people who call and leave a message and want me to call them back. If I answered all those I'd have no time left to do the ministry I'm called to do in the church.
But there's something about these letters...a sense that something is terribly off-kilter, terribly wrong and I don't know what it is. There's a sense of sin here and I don't know if it's the letter writer's or mine. Maybe it's just a very raw example of the fallenness of our culture, which leads us to deceipt and envy and anger. Maybe these kinds of contacts are indeed angel songs, warnings from messengers of the Holy.
One was a handwritten (though machine duplicated) treatise on "The Judgment". It was about 250 pages long, cost over $11 to mail first class to the church from someone in another state. It was partially illegible because of the handwriting, but it was a collection of biblical citations and reamblings on one person's vision/version of the final judgment, end of time, whatever you want to call it. My first reaction was to throw it in the trash. I fished it out, tried to scan it, then threw it out again.
The second was a letter addressed to me personally from someone in another who had written me about a month ago asking for money to help him and his wife buy the house they've rented for years and which now is being sold. The first letter (about 8 pages, typed single space) gave me the whole history of their relationship with the property, the former owners, current owners and why they had to buy it because they couldn't run their business anywhere else. This letter (five pages, single space) chastised me and the 398 other pastors in our region who got the first letter but didn't respond (apparently one person did but declined to send money). Both letters from this person were sent first class mail, which means that he's spent at least $356 on postage, not to mention paper and envelopes as well as the time involved. This letter included all kinds of biblical injunctions about sharing but I didn't see (and admittedly, I scanned, I didn't read carefully) any mention of a congregation to which this person is attached, nor any connection mentioned about a larger faith community/denomination.
Should that matter?
Jesus doesn't tell us to give only to our friends or to people we know. Paul doesn't tell us to give only to believers. And there are some reasons that this second letter has been particularly upsetting to me.
Don't ask me to give if God calls me to do so, then reprimand me when I don't. (God didn't). Don't send out blind letters and expect pastors to drop whatever they're doing and answer you personally (your first letter arrived in the midst of the financial campaign which led into Advent and I'm frantically trying to meet all the obligations for Christmas which includes, but is not limited to, visiting the sick and the shut-in, making sure local refugees have coats for winter, making sure the woman with MS who's raising her orphaned niece and nephews has enough to feed them...)
Contrary to popular opinion, most churches (at least individual congregations) are not rolling in money. Most are struggling to keep the heat and lights on and to do some ministry where they are and to respond to desperate needs in crises. And in denominations like mine there is no money that comes back to the church from the wider organization. We contribute to food pantries, ministries with underserved communities, educational endeavors, homeless shelters, and every penny of money we get for missions goes to missions. There aren't secret bank accounts waiting to buy houses for people.
Is this guy legitimate or is he just, as my kids used to say, "Scamming for bucks"? Certainly there are people who think that churches should function as their personal ATM. They tend to show up at 5 p.m. on Fridays after all the social service agencies have closed for the weekend with a tale of woe that starts out realistic but usually winds up being preposterous. When I read the first letter I remember thinking that he appeared stuck in his thinking -- he had figured out what he wanted and couldn't see that any other option might be possible. But the second letter, the fact that he seems to take the lack of a response personally and is so committed to this absolute plan that he feels compelled to force people to respond -- that's troubling me.
It hurts my spirit. I don't know why and I don't know how I can explain it any better than that --
Any time people ask for money from the church I wrestle with the questions "Is this really what this person needs?" "Is this good stewardship of our money?" "Am I responsible to give to people who I know will use this to feed an addiction and contribute to their illness?" "Is this Jesus in another face?" "Do I just give to everybody who asks until there's nothing left?" I hate saying no and rarely do to someone who comes to our door until I know for certain that a person has been using us, lying to us. I do not answer e-mail or paper mail requests or people who call and leave a message and want me to call them back. If I answered all those I'd have no time left to do the ministry I'm called to do in the church.
But there's something about these letters...a sense that something is terribly off-kilter, terribly wrong and I don't know what it is. There's a sense of sin here and I don't know if it's the letter writer's or mine. Maybe it's just a very raw example of the fallenness of our culture, which leads us to deceipt and envy and anger. Maybe these kinds of contacts are indeed angel songs, warnings from messengers of the Holy.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
And all the trumpets sounded for her...
Thanks be to the gremlins who inhabit my ancient Dell laptop, who borrowed, but did not destroy the nursing home post. I am back from that excursion, as always amazed by the joy so many people manage to maintain in less than joyful circumstances. I'm saddened by the people who are visibly failing, either physically or mentally. I'm still terrified of being the woman slumped in a wheelchair, parked in a hallway, or the one who just wanders in and out of the perfectly decorated, completely impersonal "Community Room" her mouth grimacing, saying nothing. I'm also afraid that I will be the completely inappropriate old woman who fights with the orderlies, uses language that would make a sailor blush and takes off her pants in front of the visiting children's choir singing Christmas carols.
It's fear that is the worst part of aging -- the fear that what little control I have (or think I have) will be gone, that there will be no pretence that I ever had it or might ever had it again. [I LOVED the descriptions of life in the nursing home in the book Water for Elephants -- it summed up my worst fears about aging. It is a fear of being infantalized and becoming something less than fully human, even if it's just in the way that people look at me.
And yet, I believe that perfect love casts out fear. What, who can I love to keep this fear from directing my choices and (mis)guiding my relationships? Can I let God's love live in me in such a way in the present that there is no room for the fear of the future? Can I continue to be a work in progress when my life's path is in what looks like, feels like, it seen as regression?
It's fear that is the worst part of aging -- the fear that what little control I have (or think I have) will be gone, that there will be no pretence that I ever had it or might ever had it again. [I LOVED the descriptions of life in the nursing home in the book Water for Elephants -- it summed up my worst fears about aging. It is a fear of being infantalized and becoming something less than fully human, even if it's just in the way that people look at me.
And yet, I believe that perfect love casts out fear. What, who can I love to keep this fear from directing my choices and (mis)guiding my relationships? Can I let God's love live in me in such a way in the present that there is no room for the fear of the future? Can I continue to be a work in progress when my life's path is in what looks like, feels like, it seen as regression?
Aargh!
Just lost an entry and time is too short to recreate now -- the title was "The Hopes and Fears of All the Years" and it's about nursing home visitations -- feel free to comment before I publish!
The hopes and fears of all the years
I'm off to do shut-in visitations. This is a task of ministry that is difficult for me. Not that I don't like the people I visit. Indeed, I usually come to love most of them as we visit over the years. The stories of their lives, of their faith are very moving and they are nearly always happy to see me, which is very affirming to the ego.
The fear part comes as I deal with my own anxiety about the future. I dread not knowing who I am, where I am. I have an even greater terror of being physically alive, but mentally vacant. The worst thing of all to me would be to be physically and mentally alert, but to be unable to respond, so that no one would know if I was "there" or not.
It's always surprising to me how different nursing homes are in different areas of the countries. I've pastored in areas where they were wonderful and in areas where even the homes people thought were "the best" were places I wouldn't leave my dog.
From the outside at least, nursing homes, even the best of them, appear to be set up for the convenience of the staff rather than the comfort of the residents. I remember one home in particular where the layout was confusing and ALL the corridors were the same color. I had trouble finding my friend every time I went there and I thought, "Jeeze, if I were dealing with dementia, I'd never find my room!" I know that there needs to be a level of convenience for the staff so that they can give the best care possible and truly, some of my best friends work in nursing homes. But all things considered, it's not the place I hope to spend my final years.
I'm thinking of following that e-mail that compares nursing home costs with cruise ships...
The fear part comes as I deal with my own anxiety about the future. I dread not knowing who I am, where I am. I have an even greater terror of being physically alive, but mentally vacant. The worst thing of all to me would be to be physically and mentally alert, but to be unable to respond, so that no one would know if I was "there" or not.
It's always surprising to me how different nursing homes are in different areas of the countries. I've pastored in areas where they were wonderful and in areas where even the homes people thought were "the best" were places I wouldn't leave my dog.
From the outside at least, nursing homes, even the best of them, appear to be set up for the convenience of the staff rather than the comfort of the residents. I remember one home in particular where the layout was confusing and ALL the corridors were the same color. I had trouble finding my friend every time I went there and I thought, "Jeeze, if I were dealing with dementia, I'd never find my room!" I know that there needs to be a level of convenience for the staff so that they can give the best care possible and truly, some of my best friends work in nursing homes. But all things considered, it's not the place I hope to spend my final years.
I'm thinking of following that e-mail that compares nursing home costs with cruise ships...
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
The First Word
I've been thinking about doing this for some time - this is a place for bringing together reflections as a pastor, mother, wife, professional woman -- a place for taking stock on my own life's journey to see where I am and to consider where I might go from here. I'm thinking about these posts as conversation openers and a place where people might make connections with their own lives. I don't claim to have the last word on anything; I'm still a work in progress.
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