Ponderous Thoughts
“The fact is that to do anything in the world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can.” --Robert Cushing
On March 12, we will have the opportunity to meet a missionary family we have been supporting. Lynn and Sharon Fogleman are medical missionaries serving in the Red Bird Missionary Conference, in the Appalachian mountains in southern Kentucky. They are assigned to the Red Bird Clinic, which each year provides medical care to thousands of people who would not otherwise be able to afford it.
Eric reminded us yesterday in his sermon of how the US is far wealthier than most other people in the world, but the Red Bird Conference may be an area where the exception proves the rule, where there is great poverty and a lack of public services available. Lynn and Sharon are both doctors working in this area of tremendous need.
In March, they will be on furlough and traveling to some of the churches that have supported them—including Ann Street. On Monday, March 12, at 5:30 pm we will be hosting the Foglemans at a covered dish meal. We will eat together and they will share stories of their work in Kentucky. Please mark your calendars and come hear about this tremendous need and how Ann Street is working to make a difference through the Fogleman family.
Anne
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Chocolate, life, and other random musings
Well, here I am. It's Sunday night and I'm tired, but good has been done here (sorry, channeling the Veggie Tales for a moment) today. Church was good, and this evening I put together a sort of demo setup for next week's worship service...Eric wanted something kind of modern looking, and I have one idea worked out on the stage area, but it's only okay. I was too lazy to go upstairs hunting a table, and I'm going to have to do that. The wicker table's not modern enough, and I used a small folding table raised to it's tallest height and covered with a burgundy cloth and white. I think it's too big, and I know I need to iron them (not the most fun I've ever had). There are a couple of tables I can probably use: some pine desks, a console table upstairs used for refreshments. Part of the problem is space related: it can be kind of tight up on the stage to use a big table. And we have to leave room for all of us to get around up there...but I'll keep working at it.
I wanted to use purple in the setting somewhere, sort of a nod to the season of Lent, even though I know it won't necessarily be meaningful to our target "audience". Burgundy and dark red are the best I could do, at least for right now. Maybe one day this week I can get out and do a little thrift store shopping for more table cloths and lengths of fabric. And I'm interpreting modern as minimal, a bit, so I'm using only one strong color, white as an accent, and looking to create a really tailored look with the linens. Part of the fun is seeing what I can accomplish with safety pins and duct tape.
Okay, so on to chocolate. I have become a serious chocolate snob. Two years ago, I went to Germany to visit my best friend (that's a story for another post) and we went to this wonderful chocolate shop. I didn't buy much, but I got hooked on European chocolate. It's less sweet than what we have here, and usually darker. Since that trip, I have lost my taste for almost anything I can get at the grocery store...none of the candy bars I used to eat are good to me anymore (no great loss, really). So I live for Christmas, and shopping in Virginia Beach and Raleigh, where I can find decent imported chocolate.
I keep chocolate around all the time. I've believed for years that it was good for me, and I'm grateful to the medical establishment for finally coming around to my viewpoint on that. In an effort to simultaneously enjoy two of my favorite things, I have a lidded pottery jar on my desk that's filled with great chocolate. I've got Eric and Joe trained to come and get some whenever they want it. Right now I've got:
Dove Promises--dark, of course, and a staple
Ghirardelli squares--60% cacao, so pretty dark
Black Lindt Lindor truffles (I think I'm down to my last one)--70% cacao and the best thing in my office
Mini Lindt squares--70% and 85% cacao (instant heartburn, but worth it), "intense orange" and "intense mint" (a Christmas gift from a friend who's also addicted)
There's something to be said for really good chocolate. Like really good friends, and really good coffee, it's something that makes me feel a little more me. This fall, I'm planning to go to Europe again, and that means more good chocolate, and some good coffee, and serious hang-out time with Tonya, and that means at least a few days of being a little more me. We'll get a preview in less than a month; Tonya's going to be in Beaufort for a few days. It's never long enough, but her parents are cool enough to share their time with her, and that makes me happy.
I wanted to use purple in the setting somewhere, sort of a nod to the season of Lent, even though I know it won't necessarily be meaningful to our target "audience". Burgundy and dark red are the best I could do, at least for right now. Maybe one day this week I can get out and do a little thrift store shopping for more table cloths and lengths of fabric. And I'm interpreting modern as minimal, a bit, so I'm using only one strong color, white as an accent, and looking to create a really tailored look with the linens. Part of the fun is seeing what I can accomplish with safety pins and duct tape.
Okay, so on to chocolate. I have become a serious chocolate snob. Two years ago, I went to Germany to visit my best friend (that's a story for another post) and we went to this wonderful chocolate shop. I didn't buy much, but I got hooked on European chocolate. It's less sweet than what we have here, and usually darker. Since that trip, I have lost my taste for almost anything I can get at the grocery store...none of the candy bars I used to eat are good to me anymore (no great loss, really). So I live for Christmas, and shopping in Virginia Beach and Raleigh, where I can find decent imported chocolate.
I keep chocolate around all the time. I've believed for years that it was good for me, and I'm grateful to the medical establishment for finally coming around to my viewpoint on that. In an effort to simultaneously enjoy two of my favorite things, I have a lidded pottery jar on my desk that's filled with great chocolate. I've got Eric and Joe trained to come and get some whenever they want it. Right now I've got:
Dove Promises--dark, of course, and a staple
Ghirardelli squares--60% cacao, so pretty dark
Black Lindt Lindor truffles (I think I'm down to my last one)--70% cacao and the best thing in my office
Mini Lindt squares--70% and 85% cacao (instant heartburn, but worth it), "intense orange" and "intense mint" (a Christmas gift from a friend who's also addicted)
There's something to be said for really good chocolate. Like really good friends, and really good coffee, it's something that makes me feel a little more me. This fall, I'm planning to go to Europe again, and that means more good chocolate, and some good coffee, and serious hang-out time with Tonya, and that means at least a few days of being a little more me. We'll get a preview in less than a month; Tonya's going to be in Beaufort for a few days. It's never long enough, but her parents are cool enough to share their time with her, and that makes me happy.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Come As You Are
Well, folks, we're in the short rows now! Ann Street's new Sunday night contemporary worship service will start next Sunday at 7 pm...complete with Five: 19, our worship band, and powerpoint and all. Eric's running the show the first night, so one of tomorrow's tasks is to work on the worship space...he wants something modern and clean looking for the table/altar, and I think I have a plan in mind. I'll try to post some photos tomorrow, and we'll see how it goes.
I'm really excited about it generally; I think if we can really faithfully communicate the gospel and help folks become integrated into the life of the church, we'll have done something amazing and powerful and really worth doing.
I'm going to post our flyer that's been distributed around town, but here's our sort of theme graphic for the worship team:
Thursday, February 22, 2007
New toys and facilitated laziness and wonder mutts
I am having a good day! It's my day off, for one thing, which means that I won't go into the office unless I just can't resist (but I will fight it!). I do have a meeting tonight (2 actually) but Eric's covering one and I'm going to the other to meet with the kids & parents going on the ski trip (I'll be the one in the ski lodge making hot chocolate). And I've set up the new wireless router to go with my new computer, and so now I'm sitting in the living room, watching "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" reruns...yes, that's my secret. Now you know I like vampire stories. They don't even have to be very good. Strange but true.
Cletus the wonder mutt is sitting in the floor waiting to see what's going to happen next. Don't think I've spent much time here talking about the dog. He's rotten, of course, all my pets have been. He's a mutt, of course, I got him from an animal shelter, but we're sure he's got Pekingese in him (if I ever post a picture, you'll see) and also Corgi, plus who knows what else. He's marked like a Peke, buff with a black mask and a long plumy tail, but he's rougher coated like the corgi...and built long and low and lean and fast. He's got this ridiculous short snout...can't even pick up a tennis ball...and who knows where that came from? He has all the vocabulary of a Peke, too, he grunts, snorts, sneezes, yips, yodels, barks, and has 2 distinct growls: one for playing and one for warning. He's territorial (big-time) and has been known to herd anything that will play along in the back yard, from small children to visiting dogs.
He's nuts, I have to admit. When we took him to obedience classes after we got him, he played along...after he'd established that he was the boss of all the other dogs in the class. He sat on command, would come when called, even off the leash, until we went outside...and then he was gone. It took 3 people and another dog to catch him again. So now, he's never outside off the leash, unless he's in the backyard, where we have an invisible fence. Every now and then, he'll make a serious effort to convince us that he's trustworthy, and we'll get careless, and off he goes. Probably bright and manipulative would be more appropriate than nuts, but I think it's all true.
We named him "Paraclete Duke" for a couple of reasons. First, it was a pretentious seminary joke: "Paraclete" is a word used to describe the Holy Spirit in the gospel of John, and it means comforter, advocate, guide, friend, something layered like that. And then there's the Duke part, a nod to where Ben and I met. He was meant to be Ben's dog; I didn't want one...but we brought him home, and he crawled up into our laps and that was the end of that. He may be rotten, but he's a loving little dog, at least to us. He's a world-class lap sitter and loves to give kisses (which we've almost succeeded in convincing him to do on command only). And he's a lot of fun to come home to.
Cletus the wonder mutt is sitting in the floor waiting to see what's going to happen next. Don't think I've spent much time here talking about the dog. He's rotten, of course, all my pets have been. He's a mutt, of course, I got him from an animal shelter, but we're sure he's got Pekingese in him (if I ever post a picture, you'll see) and also Corgi, plus who knows what else. He's marked like a Peke, buff with a black mask and a long plumy tail, but he's rougher coated like the corgi...and built long and low and lean and fast. He's got this ridiculous short snout...can't even pick up a tennis ball...and who knows where that came from? He has all the vocabulary of a Peke, too, he grunts, snorts, sneezes, yips, yodels, barks, and has 2 distinct growls: one for playing and one for warning. He's territorial (big-time) and has been known to herd anything that will play along in the back yard, from small children to visiting dogs.
He's nuts, I have to admit. When we took him to obedience classes after we got him, he played along...after he'd established that he was the boss of all the other dogs in the class. He sat on command, would come when called, even off the leash, until we went outside...and then he was gone. It took 3 people and another dog to catch him again. So now, he's never outside off the leash, unless he's in the backyard, where we have an invisible fence. Every now and then, he'll make a serious effort to convince us that he's trustworthy, and we'll get careless, and off he goes. Probably bright and manipulative would be more appropriate than nuts, but I think it's all true.
We named him "Paraclete Duke" for a couple of reasons. First, it was a pretentious seminary joke: "Paraclete" is a word used to describe the Holy Spirit in the gospel of John, and it means comforter, advocate, guide, friend, something layered like that. And then there's the Duke part, a nod to where Ben and I met. He was meant to be Ben's dog; I didn't want one...but we brought him home, and he crawled up into our laps and that was the end of that. He may be rotten, but he's a loving little dog, at least to us. He's a world-class lap sitter and loves to give kisses (which we've almost succeeded in convincing him to do on command only). And he's a lot of fun to come home to.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Tromping on Toes or Dancing with Joy
This week's newsletter article:
“It’s not a good sermon unless you’ve stepped on some toes.”
Someone, intending to be funny, made this remark to me on Sunday morning before the early service. Now, this is someone who I can count on for a little gentle picking, and let me assure you, I was in no way offended. But I did think about it all through the early worship service, and about what we expect from a sermon.
I don’t ever preach with the intent to “step on toes” or prod people into changing their behavior. That’s not what I believe the gospel is for. Instead I think we are called to live in community with Christ and one another (that kind of love lets us pick on one another a bit from time to time), and to share the good news of Jesus Christ and extend the kingdom of God to all people. It’s hard to introduce people to the love of God if we beat each other up in church…why would anyone want to come back to that?
So instead, let me leave you with the same thought I expressed in my benediction on Sunday: Instead of leaving this place sore and limping from your tortured toes, I hope you leave here dancing, because together we’ve experienced the power and glory of God, and are leaving full of God’s love to share.
Anne
“It’s not a good sermon unless you’ve stepped on some toes.”
Someone, intending to be funny, made this remark to me on Sunday morning before the early service. Now, this is someone who I can count on for a little gentle picking, and let me assure you, I was in no way offended. But I did think about it all through the early worship service, and about what we expect from a sermon.
I don’t ever preach with the intent to “step on toes” or prod people into changing their behavior. That’s not what I believe the gospel is for. Instead I think we are called to live in community with Christ and one another (that kind of love lets us pick on one another a bit from time to time), and to share the good news of Jesus Christ and extend the kingdom of God to all people. It’s hard to introduce people to the love of God if we beat each other up in church…why would anyone want to come back to that?
So instead, let me leave you with the same thought I expressed in my benediction on Sunday: Instead of leaving this place sore and limping from your tortured toes, I hope you leave here dancing, because together we’ve experienced the power and glory of God, and are leaving full of God’s love to share.
Anne
Sunday, February 18, 2007
A week well lived...
What a good day I’ve had! I preached, and well, I think. I was pretty pleased with what I had to say, generally, although I always think I can do better. I always know I can do better.
I ad-libbed, a little, about Daytona and Dale Earnhardt. It’s been six years since Dale died, and NASCAR still remembers. It’s funny what we want to remember…the Intimidator earns more space in people’s lives (from coffee cups to in memoriam decals to t-shirts) than our faith does, sometimes. I don’t mean at all to say that I think we should all have Christian decals on our cars and wear t-shirts with Christian slogans on them (is that a contradiction in terms?). I mean that in the same way someone decides to put on a t-shirt that advertises anything, we should think about what it means to put on Christ.
We watched “Facing the Giants” with the youth group tonight. One of our counselors had the vision to buy the group licensing rights, so we are able to show the movie to groups for the next year. Some other churches in the area also have done this, but we had some young people with us tonight that had seen the movie on Friday at another church. It was such a great story…overwhelming, though. I usually count on “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” for what we call the weekly “cathart”. No, cathart is not a word, at least not that I know of. It’s how Ben and I talk about those events in our lives that help us to bleed off a little emotional pressure.
So on Sunday nights, we have a little weekly ritual. We watch “Extreme Makeover” together and usually get pretty wrapped up the story of whatever family’s getting a new home. By the time the family gets to see their new house, we are so invested in it with them that we are crying, just a little…leaking, I call it. When it’s been a particularly stressful or emotional week, there’re a few more tears. Really bad weeks or lots of stress (in any direction, good or bad) can result in what we call a real cathart: ugly tears, swollen eyes, serious snoring that night from the resulting congestion, and a major release from whatever tension we’ve accumulated.
“Facing the Giants” gave me a little catharsis tonight, but gave some others quite a bit. I don’t think there was an adult in the room who was dry-eyed, and I know I saw some pretty blotchy teen-aged faces. There were lots of audible sniffles.
Now, I have cried at some movies, the occasional Hallmark commercial, and near ‘bout any minimal provocation for years. I used to cry when I was angry and then somewhere along the way I turned sentimental. I can cry at a song that moves me (and still don’t understand which ones and why) and even sometimes praying will make me a little misty. So call me a softy.
In new worship service news, we had a good practice tonight. This week I’ve come to understand a lot more about the group dynamics we have, and I’m going to be working more closely with our keyboard player to determine what kinds of things we can learn quickly to develop our repertoire. I can’t do that; some of the music we’ve looked at is very syncopated and difficult, but it’s easy for me because I’ve just memorized it from singing along with a CD. I don’t know the difference, but I think she can help me put some stuff together. I’ve also ordered some new compilation CDs that I think will give us a little something to work with.
I’m really grateful to be where I am. I was so hesitant to choose this experience (being an associate) and I’ve just felt from the beginning that here is a place I can work, and thrive, and grow, and help others grow. I was so afraid that I’d be working with some authoritarian senior pastor and I’d really be struggling with someone else’s expectations of me, but that hasn’t proven to be the case at all. I couldn’t ask for anyone better to work with than Eric; he’s been extremely gracious in letting me lead in some areas, and in treating our senior pastor/associate pastor relationship as a partnership and not a hierarchy. I feared I’d feel constrained, stifled, and scrutinized by a senior pastor. Instead I feel like my experiences and skills and gifts matter where I am now, and I am in a position to use them in new and more satisfying ways here. I know most of that has to do with being in a larger church, with more resources than those I have served in the past. And a lot of it has to do with not being the only pastor…I can compartmentalize a bit more, and really focus on what I’m working on, and know that I am not the only one on whom the responsibility for being the pastor rests…I’m part of a team, and we do really good work together.
I ad-libbed, a little, about Daytona and Dale Earnhardt. It’s been six years since Dale died, and NASCAR still remembers. It’s funny what we want to remember…the Intimidator earns more space in people’s lives (from coffee cups to in memoriam decals to t-shirts) than our faith does, sometimes. I don’t mean at all to say that I think we should all have Christian decals on our cars and wear t-shirts with Christian slogans on them (is that a contradiction in terms?). I mean that in the same way someone decides to put on a t-shirt that advertises anything, we should think about what it means to put on Christ.
We watched “Facing the Giants” with the youth group tonight. One of our counselors had the vision to buy the group licensing rights, so we are able to show the movie to groups for the next year. Some other churches in the area also have done this, but we had some young people with us tonight that had seen the movie on Friday at another church. It was such a great story…overwhelming, though. I usually count on “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” for what we call the weekly “cathart”. No, cathart is not a word, at least not that I know of. It’s how Ben and I talk about those events in our lives that help us to bleed off a little emotional pressure.
So on Sunday nights, we have a little weekly ritual. We watch “Extreme Makeover” together and usually get pretty wrapped up the story of whatever family’s getting a new home. By the time the family gets to see their new house, we are so invested in it with them that we are crying, just a little…leaking, I call it. When it’s been a particularly stressful or emotional week, there’re a few more tears. Really bad weeks or lots of stress (in any direction, good or bad) can result in what we call a real cathart: ugly tears, swollen eyes, serious snoring that night from the resulting congestion, and a major release from whatever tension we’ve accumulated.
“Facing the Giants” gave me a little catharsis tonight, but gave some others quite a bit. I don’t think there was an adult in the room who was dry-eyed, and I know I saw some pretty blotchy teen-aged faces. There were lots of audible sniffles.
Now, I have cried at some movies, the occasional Hallmark commercial, and near ‘bout any minimal provocation for years. I used to cry when I was angry and then somewhere along the way I turned sentimental. I can cry at a song that moves me (and still don’t understand which ones and why) and even sometimes praying will make me a little misty. So call me a softy.
In new worship service news, we had a good practice tonight. This week I’ve come to understand a lot more about the group dynamics we have, and I’m going to be working more closely with our keyboard player to determine what kinds of things we can learn quickly to develop our repertoire. I can’t do that; some of the music we’ve looked at is very syncopated and difficult, but it’s easy for me because I’ve just memorized it from singing along with a CD. I don’t know the difference, but I think she can help me put some stuff together. I’ve also ordered some new compilation CDs that I think will give us a little something to work with.
I’m really grateful to be where I am. I was so hesitant to choose this experience (being an associate) and I’ve just felt from the beginning that here is a place I can work, and thrive, and grow, and help others grow. I was so afraid that I’d be working with some authoritarian senior pastor and I’d really be struggling with someone else’s expectations of me, but that hasn’t proven to be the case at all. I couldn’t ask for anyone better to work with than Eric; he’s been extremely gracious in letting me lead in some areas, and in treating our senior pastor/associate pastor relationship as a partnership and not a hierarchy. I feared I’d feel constrained, stifled, and scrutinized by a senior pastor. Instead I feel like my experiences and skills and gifts matter where I am now, and I am in a position to use them in new and more satisfying ways here. I know most of that has to do with being in a larger church, with more resources than those I have served in the past. And a lot of it has to do with not being the only pastor…I can compartmentalize a bit more, and really focus on what I’m working on, and know that I am not the only one on whom the responsibility for being the pastor rests…I’m part of a team, and we do really good work together.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Standing Stones and Living Water
This week's sermon on the Transfiguration texts
Exodus 34 and Luke 9
A few weeks ago, I wrote my article in the Chimes about this new way of communicating I’ve been trying, called a blog, or weblog. A blog is basically an online journal, a place where I can write about how I’m feeling or what’s going on in my life, where I can post photos of the plant in my office to show how much it’s grown or share some of my favorite quotes, a recipe or a funny thought. Because it’s on the internet, anyone who is interested in the same things I write about can search me out and find me…can read my journal and even comment on what I say in it. I’ve been keeping this journal for about 6 weeks, and in that time I’ve written about our new worship service, a movement looking at the past and future of the church called “emergent”, what it means to me to be a pastor, and even about my grandmother and why I like to crochet.
On Valentine’s Day I wrote on the blog that I had not been taking good care of myself and that I’d become too busy—doing all manner of important work, but not caring for myself in the process. I reaffirmed my commitment to use the blog as a kind of spiritual discipline, a check-up about my life and priorities and health. It wasn’t even exactly what I meant to say, but it was open and honest and maybe even a little raw. I never expected to hear a response, but I got one Friday morning—from someone who identifies himself as “John Wesley.”
Now this is not just someone whose name happens to be the same as the founder of our Methodist denomination. No, this is an individual who has created a persona based on our Mr. Wesley. His blog posts are dated early in the 18th century, and as near as I can figure, he is doing two things: reposting some of John Wesley’s journal entries (270 years later) and also reflecting on our modern world from John Wesley’s perspective. In my case, he exhorted me to take care of my physical and mental health so that I might better serve God--a thought very much consistent with John Wesley's teaching.
John Wesley is an institution, literally, for United Methodists. We name children and churches after him, we celebrated the 300th anniversary of his birth recently, we quote his words and try to live out his principles every day. It would be easy to make a monument of Mr. Wesley, some fixed image, carved in stone and frozen in time…to make of him an idol instead of living out the faith and disciplined life to which he calls us. It would be a simple thing to entomb his vision and teaching and mission into some fixed structure that we could visit, and photograph, and leave behind, but instead we people called Methodist are charged to daily practice what Mr. Wesley taught us, serving God and others in our present time out of the wisdom and inspiration given us so long ago, to keep his vision and his faith alive in us.
The people of the Exodus, the slaves to Egypt set free by God under the leadership of Moses, were looking for a way out from their wandering. They complained about pretty much everything: we have no homes here, at least in Egypt we had shelter. We have no food here, at least in Egypt we had plenty to eat. We don’t know how to live here, at least in Egypt Pharaoh’s expectations and punishments were clear; work or die. Moses asked God for help to transform these people that had been freed from bondage, and didn’t know what it meant to be free.
Do you remember this one? First, Moses went up the mountain amid the cloud of God and God’s voice like thunder, and came down with the word of God on stone tablets, only to find that a golden calf had been made in his absence, a substitute God that was easier to understand and less demanding than the one who’d set them free. That little statue was less threatening than this God of plagues and Passover angels, of wilderness wandering and manna. The calf could be seen and touched, its behavior was predictable (it just sat there), it made no demands that could make anyone uncomfortable…and it offered no hope, no help, no salvation. Moses destroyed the calf and again climbed the mountain and met God there, to receive again the instructions that would make a people and a nation out of the rabble he’d led out of captivity. In the process, Moses’ face was transformed, transfigured, by the glory of God in their meetings.
In our gospel lesson, we meet Moses again, with Elijah, again on a mountain in the presence of God. This time it’s Jesus who has gone up on the mountain to pray, with three of the disciples, and Moses and Elijah appear beside him. Jesus’ countenance and clothing are changed, God speaks, and the world changes…and Peter was there. Oh, Peter.
Peter meant well. He always does. He doesn’t think too much about what he’s about; he gets hold of a piece of knowledge and it changes him…for better or worse. In today’s gospel lesson, Peter has another of these epiphanies, these flashes of knowledge and understanding, these transforming moments: when Moses and Elijah appeared at the side of Jesus, something amazing was happening, and he didn’t want to forget it.
We don’t know exactly what Peter thought was happening there on that mountaintop. Some say he thought that Moses and Elijah’s appearance placed Jesus at the same level as these great men of the faith, whom tradition says did not die like mere mortals, but ascended bodily to heaven due to their great righteousness. Others say Peter saw their appearance as kind of a super Sukkot or festival of booths, a reminder of God’s care for his people during the Exodus, and so he suggested erecting tents or tabernacles, temporary shelters to honor that feast of wilderness wandering and saving grace. Maybe he just wanted everyone to be comfortable, and hoped that providing accommodations would make everyone stay a little longer, so he could see Jesus, whom he knew to be the Messiah, in the presence of these icons of the Law and the prophets.
I don’t know for sure, but I think Peter may have had something else in mind. I think Peter was overwhelmed and excited by the appearance of Moses and Elijah, by the changes he saw in Jesus as his clothes shone white and his face glowed with the glory of God. I think Peter, impulsive, occasionally brilliant, often thick-headed Peter knew that God was doing something incredible and world-changing right there on that mountaintop…and he wanted a way to remember it, to invite others to come and see the place where it happened, to visit it again and again to ponder its meaning. I think Peter may have wanted to freeze that moment in time, to preserve and protect it, so that others could see what he had seen. I think Peter may have succumbed to the very human temptation to build a monument to this extraordinary God-event, to mark the spot where it happened.
We’ll never know what Peter really meant to do, because God intervened in the form of a voice from Heaven, telling us who Jesus really is: this is the beloved son of God, pleasing to God. We know this story as the transfiguration, the transformation, and we celebrate on this, the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany. Eric reminded us weeks ago, at the beginning of this season after Christmas, of what an epiphany is: a revelation, a sudden knowing, what I like to call an “a-ha” moment. Peter’s epiphany, his “a-ha” moment, was interrupted by the voice…and I believe that for the Church, this interruption was a very good thing.
I think Peter wanted to erect tents to create a place where he and the disciples could enjoy, remember and revisit the transformation of Jesus Christ and the visit from Moses and Elijah. He wanted to create a memorial, a monument, to the great work of God he had seen in that day and place and time. He wanted to share his experience with others, and it was a kind of tradition among the Jewish people that when they had had these kinds of God-experience, they would leave behind a monument, a pillar or standing stone, to mark the place where God had been among them. It was a natural thought for Peter, but also a wrong one.
The problem with erecting monuments to great moments in history is that they are too easy to walk away from. We go to Washington DC and are so familiar with the sight of the Washington Monument that we barely even notice it. How many of us remember the words from the Jefferson Memorial or the FDR Memorial? I remember walking around, reading the inscriptions and feeling awed by the sense of history…but I can’t tell you what I read, or exactly what I saw, except for one thing: my mother remembered reading about FDR’s Scotty dog Fala, and pointed out to us one place where Fala was memorialized there in stone with everything else.
We erect monuments with the best of intentions: that we may not forget the lessons of the past, to remember those who performed great works on our behalf, to honor and share our strong feelings about a person, a place, and event. We mean well, just as Peter did. But all too often our efforts to create a permanent reminder of some important truth succeed only in creating not a shrine but a tomb, where the good we have tried to remember become dry and lifeless…something to visit on a school trip, and then walk away from. And sometimes, like the wandering exiles in the desert, our efforts reduce great events, God-moments, transfigurations into manageable, tame golden calves that are easier for us to wrap our minds around than this God who does such strange and wonderful things, who demands our lives and gives back eternity.
Our temptation is to do exactly what Peter suggested: to take a moment when God is miraculously present among us, when some great thing has been done, when we have witnessed the power and glory of God, and to create a permanent, fixed memorial: somewhere where we can go to remember when God did something here. But instead the power and glory of God that we sometimes get hold of here in this place calls us not to create a dead, dry, lifeless monument to our faith, but to live our faith, to grow it, to accept the challenge and change that God calls us to and to keep it alive in us, not leave it behind safely entombed on a mountaintop where it wont’ call us to be uncomfortable, to change, to love with the powerful and terrible love of God.
It happens, folks, in every place where people sense God moving: we then fear that the only way God can move is that exact way, and so we have to duplicate it. It is said that the seven last words of the church are “we’ve never done it that way before”—that we can only find God working in the same predictable comfortable ways we always known. But when we do that, we erect a monument to what God has done…and distance ourselves from what God is doing. In the same way, when we latch onto every new movement, every success story, and try to duplicate it in this setting, we are enshrining someone else’s experience without learning from it what God has for us, here, where we are.
And when we make of our success a monument, we fail to understand what God gives us life, and breath, and success in ministry for. What the church is, is not a building. What the church is, is not stained glass or an historic sanctuary. What the church is, is not a pipe organ or great music program (sorry, Kandice and Joe). What the church is, is not programs and events and classes and mission projects, bulletins and meetings and services. What the church is, is a people of God, living together with the calling to keep the work of God alive in this place. What the church is, is a group of Christians who keep alive in our hearts and actions what it means to see Jesus transfigured on the mountaintop…who live out God’s glory and power in this world, even as we know that we are truly in the world, but not of it, and working to bring heaven into reality here and now for all people.
When an event becomes a defining moment for any people, the obvious and natural tendency is to do exactly what Peter suggests, exactly what you or I might do: to create a monument to that event, with the best of intentions. We desire not to forget the impact of that event on our lives. We mean to be inspired to continue in the changes that event makes in us. We intend to create a space where others can share our moment, to experience it as we have. But all too often we create a tomb, where past glories are enshrined and we can get a little distance from God’s power and might. When Christians enshrine God’s power to change lives and hearts in conversion, for example, we make a little god of the question: “when were you saved? Can you tell me the details?” And then no one without the “right” answer has the “right” experience…we make God in our image instead of being made over in God’s image.
Our lives as Christians, as people of faith, as God-followers who have been changed, transformed, transfigured by the power of God leave us with one way to live: as though the love and grace of God were a spring of living water, coursing through us, with the power to wear down the standing stones we have erected to our own successes and to confine our own epiphanies. And then what the church is, is living water, washing the goodness of heaven and the compassion of Christ into a world that has more experience with hard stone than flowing life. What the church is, is the people of God bound only by God’s love and a desire to live their faith. What the church is, dear friends, is us: alive in faith, in ministry, and in Christ. Thanks be to God.
Exodus 34 and Luke 9
A few weeks ago, I wrote my article in the Chimes about this new way of communicating I’ve been trying, called a blog, or weblog. A blog is basically an online journal, a place where I can write about how I’m feeling or what’s going on in my life, where I can post photos of the plant in my office to show how much it’s grown or share some of my favorite quotes, a recipe or a funny thought. Because it’s on the internet, anyone who is interested in the same things I write about can search me out and find me…can read my journal and even comment on what I say in it. I’ve been keeping this journal for about 6 weeks, and in that time I’ve written about our new worship service, a movement looking at the past and future of the church called “emergent”, what it means to me to be a pastor, and even about my grandmother and why I like to crochet.
On Valentine’s Day I wrote on the blog that I had not been taking good care of myself and that I’d become too busy—doing all manner of important work, but not caring for myself in the process. I reaffirmed my commitment to use the blog as a kind of spiritual discipline, a check-up about my life and priorities and health. It wasn’t even exactly what I meant to say, but it was open and honest and maybe even a little raw. I never expected to hear a response, but I got one Friday morning—from someone who identifies himself as “John Wesley.”
Now this is not just someone whose name happens to be the same as the founder of our Methodist denomination. No, this is an individual who has created a persona based on our Mr. Wesley. His blog posts are dated early in the 18th century, and as near as I can figure, he is doing two things: reposting some of John Wesley’s journal entries (270 years later) and also reflecting on our modern world from John Wesley’s perspective. In my case, he exhorted me to take care of my physical and mental health so that I might better serve God--a thought very much consistent with John Wesley's teaching.
John Wesley is an institution, literally, for United Methodists. We name children and churches after him, we celebrated the 300th anniversary of his birth recently, we quote his words and try to live out his principles every day. It would be easy to make a monument of Mr. Wesley, some fixed image, carved in stone and frozen in time…to make of him an idol instead of living out the faith and disciplined life to which he calls us. It would be a simple thing to entomb his vision and teaching and mission into some fixed structure that we could visit, and photograph, and leave behind, but instead we people called Methodist are charged to daily practice what Mr. Wesley taught us, serving God and others in our present time out of the wisdom and inspiration given us so long ago, to keep his vision and his faith alive in us.
The people of the Exodus, the slaves to Egypt set free by God under the leadership of Moses, were looking for a way out from their wandering. They complained about pretty much everything: we have no homes here, at least in Egypt we had shelter. We have no food here, at least in Egypt we had plenty to eat. We don’t know how to live here, at least in Egypt Pharaoh’s expectations and punishments were clear; work or die. Moses asked God for help to transform these people that had been freed from bondage, and didn’t know what it meant to be free.
Do you remember this one? First, Moses went up the mountain amid the cloud of God and God’s voice like thunder, and came down with the word of God on stone tablets, only to find that a golden calf had been made in his absence, a substitute God that was easier to understand and less demanding than the one who’d set them free. That little statue was less threatening than this God of plagues and Passover angels, of wilderness wandering and manna. The calf could be seen and touched, its behavior was predictable (it just sat there), it made no demands that could make anyone uncomfortable…and it offered no hope, no help, no salvation. Moses destroyed the calf and again climbed the mountain and met God there, to receive again the instructions that would make a people and a nation out of the rabble he’d led out of captivity. In the process, Moses’ face was transformed, transfigured, by the glory of God in their meetings.
In our gospel lesson, we meet Moses again, with Elijah, again on a mountain in the presence of God. This time it’s Jesus who has gone up on the mountain to pray, with three of the disciples, and Moses and Elijah appear beside him. Jesus’ countenance and clothing are changed, God speaks, and the world changes…and Peter was there. Oh, Peter.
Peter meant well. He always does. He doesn’t think too much about what he’s about; he gets hold of a piece of knowledge and it changes him…for better or worse. In today’s gospel lesson, Peter has another of these epiphanies, these flashes of knowledge and understanding, these transforming moments: when Moses and Elijah appeared at the side of Jesus, something amazing was happening, and he didn’t want to forget it.
We don’t know exactly what Peter thought was happening there on that mountaintop. Some say he thought that Moses and Elijah’s appearance placed Jesus at the same level as these great men of the faith, whom tradition says did not die like mere mortals, but ascended bodily to heaven due to their great righteousness. Others say Peter saw their appearance as kind of a super Sukkot or festival of booths, a reminder of God’s care for his people during the Exodus, and so he suggested erecting tents or tabernacles, temporary shelters to honor that feast of wilderness wandering and saving grace. Maybe he just wanted everyone to be comfortable, and hoped that providing accommodations would make everyone stay a little longer, so he could see Jesus, whom he knew to be the Messiah, in the presence of these icons of the Law and the prophets.
I don’t know for sure, but I think Peter may have had something else in mind. I think Peter was overwhelmed and excited by the appearance of Moses and Elijah, by the changes he saw in Jesus as his clothes shone white and his face glowed with the glory of God. I think Peter, impulsive, occasionally brilliant, often thick-headed Peter knew that God was doing something incredible and world-changing right there on that mountaintop…and he wanted a way to remember it, to invite others to come and see the place where it happened, to visit it again and again to ponder its meaning. I think Peter may have wanted to freeze that moment in time, to preserve and protect it, so that others could see what he had seen. I think Peter may have succumbed to the very human temptation to build a monument to this extraordinary God-event, to mark the spot where it happened.
We’ll never know what Peter really meant to do, because God intervened in the form of a voice from Heaven, telling us who Jesus really is: this is the beloved son of God, pleasing to God. We know this story as the transfiguration, the transformation, and we celebrate on this, the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany. Eric reminded us weeks ago, at the beginning of this season after Christmas, of what an epiphany is: a revelation, a sudden knowing, what I like to call an “a-ha” moment. Peter’s epiphany, his “a-ha” moment, was interrupted by the voice…and I believe that for the Church, this interruption was a very good thing.
I think Peter wanted to erect tents to create a place where he and the disciples could enjoy, remember and revisit the transformation of Jesus Christ and the visit from Moses and Elijah. He wanted to create a memorial, a monument, to the great work of God he had seen in that day and place and time. He wanted to share his experience with others, and it was a kind of tradition among the Jewish people that when they had had these kinds of God-experience, they would leave behind a monument, a pillar or standing stone, to mark the place where God had been among them. It was a natural thought for Peter, but also a wrong one.
The problem with erecting monuments to great moments in history is that they are too easy to walk away from. We go to Washington DC and are so familiar with the sight of the Washington Monument that we barely even notice it. How many of us remember the words from the Jefferson Memorial or the FDR Memorial? I remember walking around, reading the inscriptions and feeling awed by the sense of history…but I can’t tell you what I read, or exactly what I saw, except for one thing: my mother remembered reading about FDR’s Scotty dog Fala, and pointed out to us one place where Fala was memorialized there in stone with everything else.
We erect monuments with the best of intentions: that we may not forget the lessons of the past, to remember those who performed great works on our behalf, to honor and share our strong feelings about a person, a place, and event. We mean well, just as Peter did. But all too often our efforts to create a permanent reminder of some important truth succeed only in creating not a shrine but a tomb, where the good we have tried to remember become dry and lifeless…something to visit on a school trip, and then walk away from. And sometimes, like the wandering exiles in the desert, our efforts reduce great events, God-moments, transfigurations into manageable, tame golden calves that are easier for us to wrap our minds around than this God who does such strange and wonderful things, who demands our lives and gives back eternity.
Our temptation is to do exactly what Peter suggested: to take a moment when God is miraculously present among us, when some great thing has been done, when we have witnessed the power and glory of God, and to create a permanent, fixed memorial: somewhere where we can go to remember when God did something here. But instead the power and glory of God that we sometimes get hold of here in this place calls us not to create a dead, dry, lifeless monument to our faith, but to live our faith, to grow it, to accept the challenge and change that God calls us to and to keep it alive in us, not leave it behind safely entombed on a mountaintop where it wont’ call us to be uncomfortable, to change, to love with the powerful and terrible love of God.
It happens, folks, in every place where people sense God moving: we then fear that the only way God can move is that exact way, and so we have to duplicate it. It is said that the seven last words of the church are “we’ve never done it that way before”—that we can only find God working in the same predictable comfortable ways we always known. But when we do that, we erect a monument to what God has done…and distance ourselves from what God is doing. In the same way, when we latch onto every new movement, every success story, and try to duplicate it in this setting, we are enshrining someone else’s experience without learning from it what God has for us, here, where we are.
And when we make of our success a monument, we fail to understand what God gives us life, and breath, and success in ministry for. What the church is, is not a building. What the church is, is not stained glass or an historic sanctuary. What the church is, is not a pipe organ or great music program (sorry, Kandice and Joe). What the church is, is not programs and events and classes and mission projects, bulletins and meetings and services. What the church is, is a people of God, living together with the calling to keep the work of God alive in this place. What the church is, is a group of Christians who keep alive in our hearts and actions what it means to see Jesus transfigured on the mountaintop…who live out God’s glory and power in this world, even as we know that we are truly in the world, but not of it, and working to bring heaven into reality here and now for all people.
When an event becomes a defining moment for any people, the obvious and natural tendency is to do exactly what Peter suggests, exactly what you or I might do: to create a monument to that event, with the best of intentions. We desire not to forget the impact of that event on our lives. We mean to be inspired to continue in the changes that event makes in us. We intend to create a space where others can share our moment, to experience it as we have. But all too often we create a tomb, where past glories are enshrined and we can get a little distance from God’s power and might. When Christians enshrine God’s power to change lives and hearts in conversion, for example, we make a little god of the question: “when were you saved? Can you tell me the details?” And then no one without the “right” answer has the “right” experience…we make God in our image instead of being made over in God’s image.
Our lives as Christians, as people of faith, as God-followers who have been changed, transformed, transfigured by the power of God leave us with one way to live: as though the love and grace of God were a spring of living water, coursing through us, with the power to wear down the standing stones we have erected to our own successes and to confine our own epiphanies. And then what the church is, is living water, washing the goodness of heaven and the compassion of Christ into a world that has more experience with hard stone than flowing life. What the church is, is the people of God bound only by God’s love and a desire to live their faith. What the church is, dear friends, is us: alive in faith, in ministry, and in Christ. Thanks be to God.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Rare company
I have managed to attract some pretty impressive attention to my little blog: look at the post entitled "Making Time" from Valentine's Day. I've got a comment from none other than John Wesley! In the words of that other great saint, the Church Lady, "Isn't that special!"
Thursday, February 15, 2007
New toys and old friends
O boy O boy O boy! I have my new computer. I'm testing my touch-typing skills as I play with it here in the car. We picked it up tonight in LaGrange, which was an experience in itself. I have always made a practice of cleanly leaving everywhere I have ever served, so that it could never be said of me that I got in the way of the new pastor.
It was easy to leave the Salem-Harris Chapel charge; we all always knew that I'd only be there 2 years, until I graduated from Duke. Leaving Trinity was easy, because they made it easy, but I have continued to keep in touch a little here and there with a couple of people. Zion and LaGrange have been a little more difficult for us. We had good, close friends in both churches, and there's a rule (of thumb, at least) that we stay away for at least a year and don't go back without permission from the new pastor. I miss our friends, and it's hard to maintain that friendship when we are unable to or uncomfortable with "intruding" into what is no longer our church, but theirs.
I think this is the hardest part for me of what we do: we work hard to become family, an active part of the church and community, a meaningful part of people's lives, and then we have to say good-bye in a way that feels pretty final. One tradition I will miss this year from Zion is the annual Junior Livestock Show at the county fairgrounds. Zion was a farming church, and as many as half of the participants in any one event came from our church. The youngest kids would start out showing hogs, then goats, and then the more ambitious might show calves. They took such pride in knowing their animals, caring for them, learning about them, grooming and showing them. And let's face it: a corral full of pigs and 5 year olds is just funny. But as much as I love those kids, they aren't mine anymore. I can't go this year. In fact, I can't go at all. I can't go because even if their pastor doesn't mind, they're not "my" kids anymore. They are hers. And I will not do anything that could possibly interfere with that relationship.
That's one cost of what we do: we love people, become a part of their lives, and then have to say good-bye. What I'm learning from this last move is how to maintain some relationships that are mine, not the church's, not the next pastor's. I don't think I've really trusted myself to do that before, and I worry that I might not do it well. But we need to have "normal" relationships and friendships, to keep some of these close relationships we work so hard to form.
It's hard work: when I get to see my scrapbooking buddy from Zion or our friends from LaGrange, I don't ask how things are going in the church for fear I might be tempted to say how I used to or would do something different: my job is to support the new pastor, not create conflict. And I can't go to some of the things I used to really enjoy for the same reason...the easiest thing is to stay away. I'm learning that it's not the best solution. I have Kim (my partner in scrapbooking) to thank for my addition to photography and cropping. Our LaGrange friends helped me get this computer for a better price than I could have managed on my own. And when I need someone to talk to about me, especially in this first year in a new place, it's nice to know there's someone out there who knows me, who knows where I've been, to talk to. And crop with. And eat good Mexican food with.
I guess I'm growing up a little. Even though it's harder to keep these friends than let them go, I want to do the work, to keep the connections, to remember that the world is larger than the little box I'm tempted to create for myself. It's a little like blogging, I guess: I'm finally spiritually growing into someone who can share myself with others, and not be quite so self-protective as I've been in the past. I'm learning to keep some friendships, and to pray for those churches I must leave, and not to "meddle" with them. Okay, so maybe it sounds like I have a peculiar sense of how all this ought to work. Maybe I do. But this is me, who I am, and who I want to be: a really good pastor, and one who doesn't leave problems behind, but always works for the good of the church. I'm learning that it's really less about what I do and more about what I submit to God to do. And that, I think, is what it's all about: trusting God to handle it, more than myself. Tough lesson for someone as self-sufficient as I tend to be.
on another note:
Sign in a tire shop in Kinston tonight: Careful! Holy Ghost Fire is burning here.
Shouldn't the EPA be looking at that as a source of pollution? Tires burn dirty. And what about OSHA? Isn't fire in a tire shop a workplace hazard? And the ACLU....
It was easy to leave the Salem-Harris Chapel charge; we all always knew that I'd only be there 2 years, until I graduated from Duke. Leaving Trinity was easy, because they made it easy, but I have continued to keep in touch a little here and there with a couple of people. Zion and LaGrange have been a little more difficult for us. We had good, close friends in both churches, and there's a rule (of thumb, at least) that we stay away for at least a year and don't go back without permission from the new pastor. I miss our friends, and it's hard to maintain that friendship when we are unable to or uncomfortable with "intruding" into what is no longer our church, but theirs.
I think this is the hardest part for me of what we do: we work hard to become family, an active part of the church and community, a meaningful part of people's lives, and then we have to say good-bye in a way that feels pretty final. One tradition I will miss this year from Zion is the annual Junior Livestock Show at the county fairgrounds. Zion was a farming church, and as many as half of the participants in any one event came from our church. The youngest kids would start out showing hogs, then goats, and then the more ambitious might show calves. They took such pride in knowing their animals, caring for them, learning about them, grooming and showing them. And let's face it: a corral full of pigs and 5 year olds is just funny. But as much as I love those kids, they aren't mine anymore. I can't go this year. In fact, I can't go at all. I can't go because even if their pastor doesn't mind, they're not "my" kids anymore. They are hers. And I will not do anything that could possibly interfere with that relationship.
That's one cost of what we do: we love people, become a part of their lives, and then have to say good-bye. What I'm learning from this last move is how to maintain some relationships that are mine, not the church's, not the next pastor's. I don't think I've really trusted myself to do that before, and I worry that I might not do it well. But we need to have "normal" relationships and friendships, to keep some of these close relationships we work so hard to form.
It's hard work: when I get to see my scrapbooking buddy from Zion or our friends from LaGrange, I don't ask how things are going in the church for fear I might be tempted to say how I used to or would do something different: my job is to support the new pastor, not create conflict. And I can't go to some of the things I used to really enjoy for the same reason...the easiest thing is to stay away. I'm learning that it's not the best solution. I have Kim (my partner in scrapbooking) to thank for my addition to photography and cropping. Our LaGrange friends helped me get this computer for a better price than I could have managed on my own. And when I need someone to talk to about me, especially in this first year in a new place, it's nice to know there's someone out there who knows me, who knows where I've been, to talk to. And crop with. And eat good Mexican food with.
I guess I'm growing up a little. Even though it's harder to keep these friends than let them go, I want to do the work, to keep the connections, to remember that the world is larger than the little box I'm tempted to create for myself. It's a little like blogging, I guess: I'm finally spiritually growing into someone who can share myself with others, and not be quite so self-protective as I've been in the past. I'm learning to keep some friendships, and to pray for those churches I must leave, and not to "meddle" with them. Okay, so maybe it sounds like I have a peculiar sense of how all this ought to work. Maybe I do. But this is me, who I am, and who I want to be: a really good pastor, and one who doesn't leave problems behind, but always works for the good of the church. I'm learning that it's really less about what I do and more about what I submit to God to do. And that, I think, is what it's all about: trusting God to handle it, more than myself. Tough lesson for someone as self-sufficient as I tend to be.
on another note:
Sign in a tire shop in Kinston tonight: Careful! Holy Ghost Fire is burning here.
Shouldn't the EPA be looking at that as a source of pollution? Tires burn dirty. And what about OSHA? Isn't fire in a tire shop a workplace hazard? And the ACLU....
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Making time...
I'm so busy being busy that I've become very impressed with myself.
I think it's time to s-l-o-w d-o-w-n just a bit.
There's a great deal going on around this place, and I have legitimately been very preoccupied, but I've managed to forget two of my main reasons for keeping this blog: to journal as a spiritual discipline, and to let folks get to know me a bit. So I apologize, mostly to myself, but also to anyone who reads this. I will try to do better. Honest, I will!
The thing is, in being so busy about "my" work that takes up so much of "my" time, I think I've lost touch a bit with the One for whom I work and who gifts me with time.
So here's some of what's going on in my head and life right now:
It's Valentine's Day, and I've always had mixed emotions about this particular holiday. When I was a teenager, life just about ended if we were dating someone on Valentine's Day. If there were no flowers, cards, or candy, our sense of self-worth just plummeted. And of course, I could have an endless opportunity here to rant about commercialism and the exploitation of what should be a feel-good-for-all kind of day. But today during Chapel Talk with the preschool kids, I remembered the joy of Valentine's when I was a child, when for no real good reason except a calendar date, we all were nice to one another and surprised each other with little gifts. What fun! And that, boys and girls (or so I said to the children) reminds us of the love of God, who loves us all the time. So I'm viewing the hearts-and-flowers-ness of today as an opportunity to remind myself of God's love for me, and to be kinder to others because God loves them too.
I'm feeling very anxious about the new service. I have wonderful folks from the church donating items we can use in our worship design, there's a wonderful pair of ladies making our worship banner, the ads are in the local papers and posters and PSAs went out yesterday, I spent the morning preparing the first week's PowerPoint presentation, I'm not preaching or leading the service until it's a few weeks old (so Eric's in the hot seat there), and if we can get a reasonable number of songs together for the worship team we'll be doing well. They have a name, now: Five:19, after Ephesians 5:19.
I do love what I do, and who I am. But I am planning today to slow things down a bit. I've been too busy to give the time I need to this week's sermon, for example, because I have made the new service my first priority. And I'm going on a date with my husband tonight, if he can get home at a reasonable hour...maybe we can't get out for dinner, but to be sure there's a dessert out there somewhere with our names on it. We both need to be less busy elsewhere and spend a little time together when we don't think about work, bills, chores, or even our furry kids.
I think it's time to s-l-o-w d-o-w-n just a bit.
There's a great deal going on around this place, and I have legitimately been very preoccupied, but I've managed to forget two of my main reasons for keeping this blog: to journal as a spiritual discipline, and to let folks get to know me a bit. So I apologize, mostly to myself, but also to anyone who reads this. I will try to do better. Honest, I will!
The thing is, in being so busy about "my" work that takes up so much of "my" time, I think I've lost touch a bit with the One for whom I work and who gifts me with time.
So here's some of what's going on in my head and life right now:
It's Valentine's Day, and I've always had mixed emotions about this particular holiday. When I was a teenager, life just about ended if we were dating someone on Valentine's Day. If there were no flowers, cards, or candy, our sense of self-worth just plummeted. And of course, I could have an endless opportunity here to rant about commercialism and the exploitation of what should be a feel-good-for-all kind of day. But today during Chapel Talk with the preschool kids, I remembered the joy of Valentine's when I was a child, when for no real good reason except a calendar date, we all were nice to one another and surprised each other with little gifts. What fun! And that, boys and girls (or so I said to the children) reminds us of the love of God, who loves us all the time. So I'm viewing the hearts-and-flowers-ness of today as an opportunity to remind myself of God's love for me, and to be kinder to others because God loves them too.
I'm feeling very anxious about the new service. I have wonderful folks from the church donating items we can use in our worship design, there's a wonderful pair of ladies making our worship banner, the ads are in the local papers and posters and PSAs went out yesterday, I spent the morning preparing the first week's PowerPoint presentation, I'm not preaching or leading the service until it's a few weeks old (so Eric's in the hot seat there), and if we can get a reasonable number of songs together for the worship team we'll be doing well. They have a name, now: Five:19, after Ephesians 5:19.
I do love what I do, and who I am. But I am planning today to slow things down a bit. I've been too busy to give the time I need to this week's sermon, for example, because I have made the new service my first priority. And I'm going on a date with my husband tonight, if he can get home at a reasonable hour...maybe we can't get out for dinner, but to be sure there's a dessert out there somewhere with our names on it. We both need to be less busy elsewhere and spend a little time together when we don't think about work, bills, chores, or even our furry kids.
Monday, February 12, 2007
That explains a lot...
I'm fighting a cold. No wonder I've been feeling fuzzy-headed and tired. Not only am I working harder than I ever have (and loving it more, I'm not complaining, exactly) but some rotten little virus thinks it can get me down. No way, I'm tougher than it is...although in fairness, I have to admit that I did sleep until 10 this morning, thanks to a too-late does of Benadryl.
Look what I've been growing in my office:
Look what I've been growing in my office:
This was a Christmas gift from a church member...finally a plant that likes me!
Friday, February 9, 2007
Too long...
Whew! It's been way too long since I've taken time to write. More's the pity, I'm not sure what I even want to write about.
Planning for the new service continues to move forward. Our planning team has had ads in the local papers and will continue until the service actually starts. I'm working today on fliers and posters to distribute throughout the community, and on music for the worship team. They have a name: Five: 19 (from Ephesians 5:19, "...sing...to the Lord with praise in your hearts." Now if we could really move ahead on learning some songs, we'd be in great shape.
Another triumph for the week is that we've done some planning of themes for the weeks ahead. One person on the planning team seems to have some great ideas about worship design, and I'm excited to see what we come up with.
Planning for the new service continues to move forward. Our planning team has had ads in the local papers and will continue until the service actually starts. I'm working today on fliers and posters to distribute throughout the community, and on music for the worship team. They have a name: Five: 19 (from Ephesians 5:19, "...sing...to the Lord with praise in your hearts." Now if we could really move ahead on learning some songs, we'd be in great shape.
Another triumph for the week is that we've done some planning of themes for the weeks ahead. One person on the planning team seems to have some great ideas about worship design, and I'm excited to see what we come up with.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Newsletter, again
Ponderous Thoughts
"If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything." --attributed to St. Francis of Assisi
I have to say I don't really think that St. Francis was the originator of the above statement. I've heard it credited to any number of people. Truth be told, it doesn't much matter who said it; it makes some pretty good sense. If we don't have something in our lives we are passionate about, something that's important enough to us that it affects how we think and make decisions, then we can become direction-less, floundering, letting other people and events guide our lives. In the Body of Christ, we are meant to act together to understand the will of God for us all, to act for the good of all, and to keep in mind those whom Christ lived and died to save (that is, pretty much everyone).
Our church keeps others in mind a great deal, through large projects and small ones. This month, we'll have another opportunity: The Relay for Life is an annual event to raise both money for research and awareness about cancer. The core of the event is a "marathon" walk in May, where teams of people commit to walk for 20 hours, with sponsors making donations to the American Cancer Society. There are numbers of fundraisers, whose variety is only limited by the imagination of those supporting the Relay: purple bows for mailboxes, luminaries to honor and remember loved ones, even a scrapbooker's Crop for a Cure, sponsored by Ann Street Members.
All of us have seen loved ones suffer from cancer. My uncle Bill Darwin died 3 years ago in May from cancer, and since then I have participated in the Relay for Life in his memory, and that of my maternal grandparents. I buy luminaries to honor my aunt and cousins and the hospice workers who were Bill's caregivers. There will be a purple ribbon in front of my house to show my support. I will look for sponsors, and I will walk, with Rhonda and the other members of the Ann Street team, and pray that more effective treatments for this awful disease may be found.
We can all help. If you aren't able to join the team and walk, help us raise funds, support the team with food and drinks at the Relay itself, and pray for our success and for a cure. Call Rhonda and see how you can help, or join us at the next Team Meeting. Finding a cure for cancer is something we can all stand for.
[Note: Anyone can donate to the ACS to help...I'll attach a link shortly]
"If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything." --attributed to St. Francis of Assisi
I have to say I don't really think that St. Francis was the originator of the above statement. I've heard it credited to any number of people. Truth be told, it doesn't much matter who said it; it makes some pretty good sense. If we don't have something in our lives we are passionate about, something that's important enough to us that it affects how we think and make decisions, then we can become direction-less, floundering, letting other people and events guide our lives. In the Body of Christ, we are meant to act together to understand the will of God for us all, to act for the good of all, and to keep in mind those whom Christ lived and died to save (that is, pretty much everyone).
Our church keeps others in mind a great deal, through large projects and small ones. This month, we'll have another opportunity: The Relay for Life is an annual event to raise both money for research and awareness about cancer. The core of the event is a "marathon" walk in May, where teams of people commit to walk for 20 hours, with sponsors making donations to the American Cancer Society. There are numbers of fundraisers, whose variety is only limited by the imagination of those supporting the Relay: purple bows for mailboxes, luminaries to honor and remember loved ones, even a scrapbooker's Crop for a Cure, sponsored by Ann Street Members.
All of us have seen loved ones suffer from cancer. My uncle Bill Darwin died 3 years ago in May from cancer, and since then I have participated in the Relay for Life in his memory, and that of my maternal grandparents. I buy luminaries to honor my aunt and cousins and the hospice workers who were Bill's caregivers. There will be a purple ribbon in front of my house to show my support. I will look for sponsors, and I will walk, with Rhonda and the other members of the Ann Street team, and pray that more effective treatments for this awful disease may be found.
We can all help. If you aren't able to join the team and walk, help us raise funds, support the team with food and drinks at the Relay itself, and pray for our success and for a cure. Call Rhonda and see how you can help, or join us at the next Team Meeting. Finding a cure for cancer is something we can all stand for.
[Note: Anyone can donate to the ACS to help...I'll attach a link shortly]
Super Bowl
Well, it's over, and Dungee's Indianapolis Colts won, in a great game. I feel a little sorry for the Bears, because I think they were overmatched...but it was still a good game, and about time.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
It's a good day...
I saw snow today, on the ground, in little accumulated piles. It's been a couple of years since I've seen more than a flurry. It made me so happy...I love snow, and cooler weather. I know not everyone does, but I really do. I love wearing sweaters and watching tv at night with a blanket (and frequently, a cat) draped across my legs. I love making huge pots of homemade soup and fresh bread (even canned biscuits work) and deciding that the weather's just too bad to go outside.
I know most people like warmer weather. Not me. I was the kid at summer camp who couldn't sleep outside. Being hot at night made me feel sick. I love the beach and the water, but I like them both most when the breeze is blowing, and the air is cool.
Of course, I love a good storm, too. This year's hurricane season was deeply disappointing to me, not because I wanted there to by any damage, but because there's something soothing to me in the fury of wind and waves. When I'm safe inside, and I know that those I love are all right, I can really enjoy lashing wind and rain.
Okay, so I'm weird. I knew this.
I know most people like warmer weather. Not me. I was the kid at summer camp who couldn't sleep outside. Being hot at night made me feel sick. I love the beach and the water, but I like them both most when the breeze is blowing, and the air is cool.
Of course, I love a good storm, too. This year's hurricane season was deeply disappointing to me, not because I wanted there to by any damage, but because there's something soothing to me in the fury of wind and waves. When I'm safe inside, and I know that those I love are all right, I can really enjoy lashing wind and rain.
Okay, so I'm weird. I knew this.
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