It has been grey and gloomy and the news simply makes me want to howl with despair.
If ever there were an Advent that made me want to repent in dust and ashes it is this year. And if ever there a time that would convince us that we need a Savior, it is now. The ugliness of racial distrust and oppression laid bare and naked before the world. Melting polar ice-caps. A federal budget that seems to spit on the powerless and those most in need of a common-wealth while permitting those who can most afford a loss to gamble with other people's lives and that gives away ancient sacred lands from those who have already had most of what they possessed taken from them by lies and violence. A torture report that makes me ashamed of what has been perpetrated in my name. Children massacred in their school. A constant stream of those needing help coming to the door, an increase of folks standing with signs at major intersections -- "Single Mother", "Army Vet", "Handicapped", Need Food. Are some of them con artists? Undoubtedly. Would they have more money if they gave up smoking? Of course.
But I'm not as judgmental about that as I used to be. Who among us has not had a day, a week, a month where we didn't want to escape? Who has not had the urge to hide in a bottle, a cheesecake, a TV or video game marathon, a casino, some pills, someone else's bed? Choose your pain reliever, whatever will help you cope, help you forget. We're all guilty. And if I've been guilty, with my relatively easy, privileged life, how can I fault someone else who has not had the benefit of easier times, who has been struggling so long they don't remember anything but struggle?
Advent is supposed to be a time of hope. But hope hardly seems possible this year. I keep hearing the Apostle Paul crying, "Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?" For what can I hope, but that God would tear down the heavens and come down and clean up this mess we've made. Then I remember that God did "come down" -- not with God-like power and majesty, not with thunder bolts and the powers of The Force, but like us. Just like us, starting as a baby and everything.
This is supposed to make me feel better? This is supposed to bring me joy? That God decided to be as limited and powerless as me?
And yet, yes, I think that that IS the point of Christmas. It's a reminder that human beings are enough. That this life, this body is good enough to hold the Holy One. That our institutions (which we love -- that's why we keep creating them!) will become larger than life and will become monstrous and idolatrous if we put all our trust in them. They're like those gremlins that turn nasty when you feed them at the wrong time or get them wet. They're helpful and pleasant as long as we let them be our helpers, not our masters. Whether it's government or church or the pto, it can become deadly very easily and very quickly.
But human beings...human beings who are committed to each other open a door to healing and wholeness (which is the definition of salvation). Human beings who understand that until all of us gets there, none of us have arrived can change the world. God became one of us and said, "You can do this."
I am not saying that we are God. At least, I'm certainly not. I'm not saying that we are perfect. God knows I'm a walking bundle of mistakes and brokenness (that's sin). But God was in Jesus, showing us what is possible when we address the world without fear, when we act consistently out of love, even for those who hate us.
Jesus didn't have to deal with the news of the world outside of Palestine. We are bombarded with bad news from Pakistan and Australia and Sierra Leone and everywhere else and the temptation is to look at those closest to us and to say, "I can't deal with it! Go away!" But God comes near to us so that we may move closer to God and to move closer to God we must SEE each other, we must LISTEN to each other and we must be for each other. We can only do that locally. We can only do that when we bring the institutions to heel; to claim our power with conviction.
Write to your congressional representative and your senator, your city council and your state house. Go out and be present with people who are abandoned and alone. Give what you can where you can. Don't let fear be the engine that drives your life. To me the most glorious passage of all the Christmas readings are not angels or shepherds or magi. It's John's gospel: The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it...comprehend it...overwhelm it. That is our hope and our prayer and our joy.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Small Things Matter
Earlier this year, in an article in The Christian Century (January 8, 2014, Vol. 131, No. 1), Peter Storey , the former president of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa and of the South African Council of Churches pays tribute to Nelson Mandela. In he notes that "Mandela was a master of grand and small acts of inclusion." He talks about Madela's genius for ubuntu, being aware that one's life is bound up with the lives of all other beings, including our opponents.
I believe that there is a terminal dearth of this concept in our culture. So many are willfully ignorant about the effect of their lifestyle on the health of the earth, and of how pollution and water scarcity harm and shorten the lives of millions around the world. It seems so insignificant, the disposable water bottle, the light left on all night, the joyride on a Sunday afternoon. We can afford it; where's the harm?
Is it really so much trouble to separate recyclable items from the rest of our trash? Do we really need to have inedible items triple wrapped when we buy them?
I heard some comment on the recent report on global warming, a politician who declared it is pointless for us to lessen our carbon footprint unless China and India do the same. That's one of the dumbest things I've ever heard. It makes a difference. It all makes a difference. Maybe it doesn't prevent a global catastrophe, but it could at least delay it for a few years, a decade, a generation. And a lot could happen in that time. With any luck our children will be smarter about such things than we are. And they will not hesitate to live with the understanding that we all live together or we will all die together.
I believe that there is a terminal dearth of this concept in our culture. So many are willfully ignorant about the effect of their lifestyle on the health of the earth, and of how pollution and water scarcity harm and shorten the lives of millions around the world. It seems so insignificant, the disposable water bottle, the light left on all night, the joyride on a Sunday afternoon. We can afford it; where's the harm?
Is it really so much trouble to separate recyclable items from the rest of our trash? Do we really need to have inedible items triple wrapped when we buy them?
I heard some comment on the recent report on global warming, a politician who declared it is pointless for us to lessen our carbon footprint unless China and India do the same. That's one of the dumbest things I've ever heard. It makes a difference. It all makes a difference. Maybe it doesn't prevent a global catastrophe, but it could at least delay it for a few years, a decade, a generation. And a lot could happen in that time. With any luck our children will be smarter about such things than we are. And they will not hesitate to live with the understanding that we all live together or we will all die together.
Milestones
Apparently I am no longer "a woman of a certain age."
You know the term, it's what the French use for any woman between the ages of, oh, 29 and 55. It's basically "middle aged." I know that technically I no longer fall within those parameters, but I thought I was passing.
Then last year my hairdresser started calling me "Sweetie." I let it go. Well, mostly. I did complain to my husband about it, but I didn't make much of it.
Then bag boys started calling me "Miss". Now, when they first start calling you "M'am" it's a kick in the teeth. That's how you know you've become "une femme d'une certaine age." But when they start calling you"Miss" again -- you're old. They call old ladies "Miss."
On our vacation, we stopped for dinner at Friendly's. I pointed out to my husband that he qualified for the Senior's deal -- I do not. I reminded him of it when the waiter took our order. The waiter turned to me and said, "Do you want me to put yours in as a Senior order, too?"
"NO!" I sputtered. But the damage had been done.
Yesterday I ordered coffee at a well known chain and the server gave me the senior discount without asking. Today the cashier at the office supply store called me "Honey."
Let me come clean. I have what might reasonably be called a "matronly" figure. But I have a fairly youthful, non-grey haircut, and I keep my clothing reasonably modern, though not ridiculously young.
How did I become a Senior Citizen? I'm still about 25 in my mind! I know I have wrinkles, but I'm healthy and active, the only pills I take are vitamins. I'm a grandmother, but I'm still working full time in a fairly demanding job. I can still rock and roll.
There was a time when people were anxious to reach the status of being an elder -- when their life experience was valued. I feel like my generation forfeited that when we declared you couldn't trust anyone over 30 (even though I was barely in my teens when it happened) and we can't now demand the respect that we denied our elders. Maybe an unconscious understanding of that is why so many of my peers are trying desperately to remain young. I'm not trying to remain young. I just don't want to be old.
One of my grandmothers died when she was my age. The other was "dying", though it took her nearly another 30 years to do it. I've got so much to do, how can I ever do it all in the next 30 years? I don't even know if I can complete my unfinished projects in that amount of time!
So now I'm wondering-- do I pass gracefully, serenely into the final stage of my life or go kicking and screaming all the way?
You know the term, it's what the French use for any woman between the ages of, oh, 29 and 55. It's basically "middle aged." I know that technically I no longer fall within those parameters, but I thought I was passing.
Then last year my hairdresser started calling me "Sweetie." I let it go. Well, mostly. I did complain to my husband about it, but I didn't make much of it.
Then bag boys started calling me "Miss". Now, when they first start calling you "M'am" it's a kick in the teeth. That's how you know you've become "une femme d'une certaine age." But when they start calling you"Miss" again -- you're old. They call old ladies "Miss."
On our vacation, we stopped for dinner at Friendly's. I pointed out to my husband that he qualified for the Senior's deal -- I do not. I reminded him of it when the waiter took our order. The waiter turned to me and said, "Do you want me to put yours in as a Senior order, too?"
"NO!" I sputtered. But the damage had been done.
Yesterday I ordered coffee at a well known chain and the server gave me the senior discount without asking. Today the cashier at the office supply store called me "Honey."
Let me come clean. I have what might reasonably be called a "matronly" figure. But I have a fairly youthful, non-grey haircut, and I keep my clothing reasonably modern, though not ridiculously young.
How did I become a Senior Citizen? I'm still about 25 in my mind! I know I have wrinkles, but I'm healthy and active, the only pills I take are vitamins. I'm a grandmother, but I'm still working full time in a fairly demanding job. I can still rock and roll.
There was a time when people were anxious to reach the status of being an elder -- when their life experience was valued. I feel like my generation forfeited that when we declared you couldn't trust anyone over 30 (even though I was barely in my teens when it happened) and we can't now demand the respect that we denied our elders. Maybe an unconscious understanding of that is why so many of my peers are trying desperately to remain young. I'm not trying to remain young. I just don't want to be old.
One of my grandmothers died when she was my age. The other was "dying", though it took her nearly another 30 years to do it. I've got so much to do, how can I ever do it all in the next 30 years? I don't even know if I can complete my unfinished projects in that amount of time!
So now I'm wondering-- do I pass gracefully, serenely into the final stage of my life or go kicking and screaming all the way?
Sunday, May 4, 2014
The view out the window
Today I saw cherry blossom petals caught on a spider web.
They shook in the wind, on a nearly invisible thread, like prayer flags
lifting hopes and yearnings to heaven,
ornamented by dew drops that glistened like prisms.
They shook in the wind, on a nearly invisible thread, like prayer flags
lifting hopes and yearnings to heaven,
ornamented by dew drops that glistened like prisms.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
An Invitation You'd Like to Refuse
So, I'm struggling with some unintended humility on Ash Wednesday.
For the first time, the three English speaking congregations of my denomination in my town held a joint Ash Wednesday service. The congregation serving as the host church has had an interim pastor (that's a long-term substitute, for those of you who are not church savvy) for the last two years -- actually two of them who have been doing sort of a tag-team stint since the previous pastor died. Neither of these men believes that women should be pastors -- which is rather inconvenient since the pastor of the third church and I are both women.
When the committee decided to do the service there was some discussion about who would put it together. I volunteered to do it. One of the men (who previously had been unable to participate) decided he could do it. The tradition of our joint worships has been that one congregation hosts and their pastor puts together the service, then another pastor preaches, the third leads in the pastoral prayer.
As of yesterday, when I had had no contact about what I was supposed to do for this service, so I sent out an e-mail to the committee, asking them for information so I could be prepared. I got a note back from a layperson that the organizer was doing the whole thing himself.
I was sorely tempted not to go. But I think the co-operation between the churches is important, so I decided I would check my ego and look at it as an opportunity to just be a worshiper. The service was...well, not like what I would have put together. During the service he referred to the other (male) interim pastor and himself as "we pastors", ignoring the other female pastor and me, both of whom were sitting there, very visible in a small crowd.
I struggled again with whether or not I wanted to go up for ashes from this man. The whole thing offended me -- but I had to take into account that this could simply be my own pride talking. Again, I put my ego aside and went forward. Actually, I don't think he knew who I was, even after working together (admittedly on a somewhat limited basis) after two years.
Fortunately I had a very legitimate reason to skip the social time. But I'm still wrestling with all this. I'm ticked off, but I'm not sure if I have the right to be. I'm so tired of having to justify my ministry. This is not my first trip to the rodeo. I've been doing this for 33 years. And it's bad enough when you're dealing with "outsiders". When it's people within your own denomination...
Is it wrong to stand up for yourself when you know that you're also standing up for other people? for what you truly believe is right? How do I distinguish between my own pride and my sense of justice? Was I guilty of pride about my own humility?
And leading into Lent -- maybe those are the questions that I need to wrestle with this Lenten season. Sigh. And I thought I had dealt with the humility issue already. I hate having to relearn a lesson. May your Lenten journey bring you illumination and joy.
For the first time, the three English speaking congregations of my denomination in my town held a joint Ash Wednesday service. The congregation serving as the host church has had an interim pastor (that's a long-term substitute, for those of you who are not church savvy) for the last two years -- actually two of them who have been doing sort of a tag-team stint since the previous pastor died. Neither of these men believes that women should be pastors -- which is rather inconvenient since the pastor of the third church and I are both women.
When the committee decided to do the service there was some discussion about who would put it together. I volunteered to do it. One of the men (who previously had been unable to participate) decided he could do it. The tradition of our joint worships has been that one congregation hosts and their pastor puts together the service, then another pastor preaches, the third leads in the pastoral prayer.
As of yesterday, when I had had no contact about what I was supposed to do for this service, so I sent out an e-mail to the committee, asking them for information so I could be prepared. I got a note back from a layperson that the organizer was doing the whole thing himself.
I was sorely tempted not to go. But I think the co-operation between the churches is important, so I decided I would check my ego and look at it as an opportunity to just be a worshiper. The service was...well, not like what I would have put together. During the service he referred to the other (male) interim pastor and himself as "we pastors", ignoring the other female pastor and me, both of whom were sitting there, very visible in a small crowd.
I struggled again with whether or not I wanted to go up for ashes from this man. The whole thing offended me -- but I had to take into account that this could simply be my own pride talking. Again, I put my ego aside and went forward. Actually, I don't think he knew who I was, even after working together (admittedly on a somewhat limited basis) after two years.
Fortunately I had a very legitimate reason to skip the social time. But I'm still wrestling with all this. I'm ticked off, but I'm not sure if I have the right to be. I'm so tired of having to justify my ministry. This is not my first trip to the rodeo. I've been doing this for 33 years. And it's bad enough when you're dealing with "outsiders". When it's people within your own denomination...
Is it wrong to stand up for yourself when you know that you're also standing up for other people? for what you truly believe is right? How do I distinguish between my own pride and my sense of justice? Was I guilty of pride about my own humility?
And leading into Lent -- maybe those are the questions that I need to wrestle with this Lenten season. Sigh. And I thought I had dealt with the humility issue already. I hate having to relearn a lesson. May your Lenten journey bring you illumination and joy.
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