I felt it and heard it; someone else saw it

Sunday morning the bad thing happened again. I stood up to sing the second hymn at the 11 am service and I both heard and felt something make a little "pop" in my back. One of my parishioners told me today she saw my face when it happened.
It wasn't too bad on Sunday afternoon, and so I hoped it would get better. Monday it wasn't so bad, but today it's been pretty awful, so this afternoon I went to the doctor's office. Now I have a new pain med (I'm not sure it's working) and some steriods, which will screw up the metformin regimen.
Rats. This was not my plan.

Not very interesting

Today so far has not been a very interesting day. My Chimes article was dull but necessary; I've set the calendar now for our Advent study of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. It's not worth reprinting though.
And I'm not feeling great today. I stood up to sing the 2nd hymn in our 11am worship service yesterday morning and both felt and heard a scary little snap. Since then, I've been experiencing increasing amounts of pain. I am in the office, but I was late...it was probably 10:30 by the time I got in here.
I'll be interesting tomorrow, maybe. Today's just not my day.

Thoughts about Blogging

I started blogging in January 2007, so I can hardly consider myself an expert, and I'm not one to worry about who is reading my blog. At first, it was sort of a novel way to keep a journal, which I've never been good at doing for longer than whatever crisis I was journaling about lasted. This time, though, I've layered on some other experiences and kinds of meaning (to me at least), that have made it a much more successful attempt at journal-keeping than in the past.

I intentionally named it Telling Stories and Learning Faith, hoping to emphasize both my desire to become a better storyteller and narrative theologian and also my sense that while I may be going on to perfection, I'm nowhere near there yet. I meant it to be a place to post whatever writing I do, and perhaps encourage me to do more, and initially to be a forum where I could express myself honestly and openly, without having to censor myself too much. That focus quickly shifted as my senior pastor and I thought about how the blog might let me be more transparent to our congregation, and I began not only to publish my weekly newsletter articles in the blog but also to censor myself a little more often and be a little more moderate in how I express my frustrations. As a very open person, that's occasionally difficult for me, but down the line, I found other arenas for that type of expression as well.

In the first couple of months, I felt all alone in the blogosphere. I would occasionally get email or verbal feedback from a parishioner about something I had written and very rarely a comment from someone I didn't know who had stumbled on to my blog. I learned to use the "next blog" button at the top of the Blogger page to surf through randomly selected blogs, and discovered that I really am not interested in much of the content out there. As a free blog provider, Blogger hosts many blogs with commercial and "adult" content I'm not interested in. But one day, I stumbled on to the RevGalBlogPals site...I've honestly forgotten if I was chasing a link from a comment someone left me, or blogsurfing through random blogs, or possibly someone had mentioned the webring to me.

At RevGalBlogPals, I found content for and by clergywomen, many of whom had experiences in ministry similar to mine, and others whose lives and settings were completely different. My connection with RGBP is two-fold: I'm now a member of the webring, so more people may stumble onto my blog through another RGBP member, and also there are a variety of weekly and monthly features through which we interact on the blog.The Friday Five, a "get-to-know-you" weekly event, is my favorite weekly web ritual. Each week a RGBP member posts 5 questions for visitors to answer on their own sites, and then refer to their post in the comments on RGBP. I have grown to look forward to the exercise both as a means of stimulating me to write something each week and as a way to connect with peers I might never meet in person. Through the Friday Five and reading others' responses, I have developed a list of blogs I check on a regular basis. Among them are The Best Dog Ever (yep, purportedly written by a dog), Catz and Best of (yep, by a cat--there's an informal RevGalPetPal network, too), Abbey of the Arts (and a bi-weekly poetry challenge I have added to my blog/writing discipline), and freshly ground and freshly brewed, although there are many others.

In addition to the RBGP Friday Five, I check in on Tuesdays for Lectionary Leanings as the RevGals discuss the week's lectionary texts, on Wednesdays for the Wednesday Festival, where site visitors are encouraged to visit blogs having particularly interesting content, from a great recipe to a prayer concern to a project, and on Thursdays for the advice column, Ask the Matriarchs, where we can all join in to share our experiences and counsel when one is facing a difficult situation. I have also been invited to share in a joint blog kept for and by other UM clergywomen looking for a sounding board and a sense of connection.

I did not anticipate finding a sense of community in any way when I began blogging. It started as a selfish exercise: I wanted a place that would be my own for reflecting on what was happening in my life and for writing a bit, so that one day I might be able to figure out what I want to write (I feel that as a sense of calling, not as strong as my call to pastor, but certainly strong and persistent). It became, however, a place to make connections: a fellow blogger from Tennessee offered me company and a seat at his Emergent cohort meeting when I was in TN visiting my sick mother-in-law. Another blogger who is currently in Iraq with the military has stumbled upon the RevGalBlogPals, and finds himself asking questions as he reads our posts: questions about faith, about the Bible, about grace and Jesus Christ. I never anticipated that I could feel a sense of relationship, at many different levels, as I sat in my office typing on a keyboard. It's been a surprise, a welcome one, and a gift as well.

crossposted on Any Way You Slice It

A Pumpkin/Apple Friday Five

It's Singing Owl's turn at the Friday Five:
All Hallows Eve (Halloween) is near. As a child, Halloween was one of my favorite holidays. We didn’t yet worry about razor blades in apples or popcorn balls or some of the other concerns people have with Halloween these days. Halloween was a chance to be mildly scared, and better yet, to dress up and pretend to be something we really weren’t. Let’s talk about that a bit, but then let’s add in some food ideas for this year. Where I live the leaves are falling, the temperature is chilly and pumpkins are for sale everywhere, along with many kids of apples. What's more, the "Holiday Season" will soon be upon us. ACK! I could use a new idea for dessert. So, here we go…
1. How did you celebrate this time of year when you were a child?
My sister and I trick-or-treated when we were children, until we turned 12 (local ordinances restricted the great candy hunt to children 12 and under). We carved pumpkins and roasted pumpkin seeds for a couple more years.
2. Do you and/or your family “celebrate” Halloween? Why or why not? And if you do, has it changed from what you used to do?
My mother still gives out candy, I think. Ben is not fond of the holiday (a throwback from his Pentecostal raising, maybe), so although I have no problem giving candy or little treats (Wendy's Frosty gift certs are my favorite), we don't do anything at my house. We close it up and go to the movies if we're not working. My niece, Jamie the Exceptional, will be dressed up as a chicken...she's so cute!
2. Candy apples: Do you prefer red cinnamon or caramel covered? Or something else?
Don't care for either one. Ben loves caramel, especially the ones we got at the Wythe-Will candy store in Williamsburg. They don't dip them in caramel; they sort of smooth it on in multiple layers with a spoon. I think the last one must have had 1/2 inch of caramel on it. Chocolate for me...We used to have a neighbor that gave out full-size $100,000 bars, and we loved them. (Now they are 100 Grand bars).
3. Pumpkins: Do you make Jack O’ Lanterns? Any ideas of what else to do with them?
At a church bazaar several years ago, I bought a set of wooden cutouts & metal stakes...when assembled with a good-sized pumpkin, it becomes turkey. Unfortunately, I've lost them. I'm fond of just a couple of pumpkins sitting on a bale of hay or pine straw in the yard as decorations.
4. Do you decorate your home for fall or Halloween? If so, what do you do? Bonus points for pictures.
Not since I lost the turkey stakes in #3, unless it's the aforementioned hay bale display.
5. Do you like pretending to be something different? Does a costume bring our an alternate personality?
I have all the personality I can stand right now...I'm not much on costumes. Don't mind seeing other folks dress up, but it's not for me.
Bonus: Share your favorite recipe for an autumn food, particularly apple or pumpkin ones.
Mmm...I have a great pumpkin cheesecake recipe, with sour cream topping and a seasoned graham cracker crust...I'll have to find it and post it.

Finally, here it is:
Pumpkin Cheese Pie (no, really, it's cheesecake)
2 8oz packages of cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 large eggs
2 tablespoons flour
1 16oz can pumpkin
2 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice
1 teaspoon vanilla
graham cracker crust to fit 10" springform pan
1 1/2 cups sour cream
4 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla or maple flavoring

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. For filling, beat cream cheese, 1 1/2 cups sugar, eggs, and flour until very creamy. Stir in pumpkin, pie spice, and vanilla. Mix until smooth and pour into well-greased, crust-lined springform pan. Bake for 1 1/2 hours or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean.
For sour cream topping (a must, and you will want to lick the bowl. Go ahead. I do.):
Mix sour cream, 4 tablespoons sugar, and flavoring and pour over cheese pie while pie is still hot. Chill for at least 4 hours before serving.

It's Poetry Party Time!

Here's the image, from Abbey of the Art's Poetry Party, part 6:
Do you see me?
Black char, dry scales,
I am burned and scarred
but peer beneath my wounded skin...
new growth, renewed life
I am growing, healthy, alive

Fire burns,
sometimes it destroys,
sometimes it purifies:
the crucible for me,
never the pyre.

Like a phoenix,
I rise from the ashes
of shattered dreams
and unspoken expectations
alive and made new
I am born again.

Paradise: the plural of Paradox?

We have a visitor in the community for a few weeks, who comes into town to visit her mother, who is unable to attend worship with us anymore. She faithfully sits in her mother's church and listens to every sermon and every hymn and lets me know after the service how awful some of the hymns are: songs about blood and gore, Jesus' "precious bleeding side". She also critiques the sermons, which by some twist of fate and lectionary have centered on Luke each time she's been here. She doesn't agree with or believe a lot of what we do, but she's here anyway...something draws her here.
That's a part of the essential paradox that is our faith. The Old Testament calls us to fulfill the law; Jesus says the Law is not as important as having a relationship with him. Our culture calls us to put ourselves first, because no one else will care for us like we will; our faith calls us to live for others, and put ourselves last. Many of Jesus' parables and the stories of his encounters during his ministry, and the stories of the early church in Acts, tell us about paradoxes: the disobedient leper who comes back to Jesus rather than go to the Temple is the most faithful, the stone that the builders reject becomes the cornerstone of our faith, we must be born again...it seems like a huge part of my preaching and teaching is centered around unpacking the reality that we can't learn or earn our way into the Kingdom. And when I look back on what I've preached and taught, in the midst of all the paradoxes, I find consistency: God's desire for us, that we might be in relationship with God in Christ through the Spirit, and also with each other. So maybe Paradise is the plural, the sum, of all these paradoxes...the Kingdom of God, in all its paradoxical, eternal, now-and-not-yet, present and eschatological glory.

A thought from Mother Theresa, who embodied paradox (much like John Wesley) in living out her faith, even when she didn't feel it:

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered; forgive them
anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; be
kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true
enemies; succeed anyway.
People may cheat you; be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; build
anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; be happy
anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; do good
anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; give the
world the best you've got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God; it is never
between you and them anyway.

(cross-posted at Any Way You Slice It)

No newsletter today

You didn't want to read it anyway.
And I owe myself a poem; today's Christine's Poetry Party.
But I have homework to do.

Culinary Friday Five

If you were a food, what would you be?

A dark chocolate truffle, with cinnamon and chipotle peppers in the center. Warm and welcoming, with a little bite. And good for you, too, of course.

What is one of the most memorable meals you ever had? And where?

Last year, my sister and her husband went out with Ben and me to a local tapas restaurant. Aqua's head chef is a church member, and his food is amazing. We shared many small plates of fabulous food, and for dessert had a huge creme brulee. We also all got along, which is sometimes iffy for my sister and me.
And the second most memorable meal was one Ben's mom fixed for my birthday. Ben and I were engaged, and he wanted to do something special, so he got a woman from one of his churches to make my favorite cake (Dutch recipe fudge cake with cream cheese frosting) and his mom made his favorite meal: chicken with mushroom gravy (I don't eat mushrooms), rice, canned green peas (I don't eat those either), and congealed salad (I don't know why anyone eats that). We had a good time anyway.

What is your favorite comfort food from childhood?

It's a toss-up: mashed potatoes with cheddar cheese on top, or chocolate chip cookies. Pity they don't go together!

When going to a church potluck, what one recipe from your kitchen is sure to be a hit?

Fudge pie, no question. It has more cocoa powder than flour, lots of butter and eggs, and is basically sin on a fork. It's the only thing I've ever eaten that was so chocolate I actually wanted some whipped cream to lighten it up a little.

What’s the strangest thing you ever willingly ate?

Paste, I guess...I don't remember anything else, unless you count that truffle I mentioned in the first question. I have some weird food issues: vegetables shouldn't be sweet (sweet potatoes--yuck!), and I don't like surprises in my food, so that ruins a lot of casserole-type things for me. But I'm not really that picky. I eat most food (just not mushrooms, peas, Jello, sweet potatoes, or cooked carrots).
Late edit: when I was in high school, I took a course in Coastal Ecology. We used to dissect stuff (often fish we'd caught that afternoon) and then cook and eat them. My first calamari was in that class.
Late late edit. Pig brains, scrambled in eggs. I used to love this when I was a child, until the first time I helped my grandmother make it. Somehow I never thought it was actually brains...but sure enough, we dumped the little brain right into the skillet and stirred it around in the eggs. No more brains and eggs for me.

Bonus question: What’s your favorite drink to order when looking forward to a great meal?

Water. Maybe coffee with dessert. Don't want anything to interfere with the flavors!

Random thoughts on relationships

I've been watching the movie, "About a Boy", which I find oddly compelling despite the fact that Hugh Grant has occasionally behaved like an absolute idiot. My personal favorite: throwing a package of baked beans at a photographer. What statement might he have been trying to make? Clearly he didn't want to have any kind of positive relationship with the photographer.
That, of course, is irrelevant.
The movie is about making connections. Hugh Grant's character (Will) is a shallow 38 year old who comes to realize that "no man is an island," despite his desire to avoid complicating his life by allowing other people to become a significant part of it. Marcus is a 12 year old whose single mother is profoundly depressed, who realizes that two people are not enough in a family; he muses about half-way through the movie that families need more people, so that if one falls apart, "you've got backup."
So here's my transcript of the end of the movie. Will is at home, apparently hosting Christmas lunch for a crowd. The voiceovers are really the most important bit:

Will (voiceover): By the following Christmas, things were back to normal. Every man is an island. I stand by that. But, clearly, some men are part of island chains. Below the surface of the ocean they are actually connected.
...
Marcus (voiceover): I used to think two wasn't enough. Now there were loads of people, and that was great, mostly.
...
Will (voiceover): I'd created a monster. Or maybe he'd created me.

Marcus (voiceover): I don't know what Will was so upset about. All I meant was, I don't think couples are the future. You need more than that. You need backup. Will and I both have backup now. It's like that thing he told me John Bon Jovi said: No man is an island.

All cuteness aside, I think Will and Marcus discovered what I think of as the first gift of postmodernism: families are what we make of them. And when our "blood" families turn out to be inadequate or let us down (and they all do, it's our humanness coming out), we have the other family we make: the friends and acquaintances with whom we are in relationship, who come through when we need them.
Today for me it was a woman in line behind me in the grocery store. The express line was empty, the sign was lit, but the register was unattended. We waited a moment, and then she said, "I wonder where the cashier is."
I replied, "I don't know, but I'm tired and hungry and really crabby. I wish whoever it is would show up."
She walked around the end of the counter and looked over at the manager station, and then back at me. "Don't worry, she'll be here. I gave her the eye."
Of course, ultimately we had to move to another line, but we had bonded in that moment. Just a small bit of solidarity. I don't know her name and I probably never will, but she possessed the humor and grace I didn't have in that moment, and her generosity took the pressure off of me. I don't know what I felt pressured about, but I did, and her shared frustration and ability to smile at it gave me the chance to laugh a little myself.
No person is an island. Sometimes we just need backup.

(cross-posted at Any Way You Slice It)

Newsletter for this week

Ponderous Thoughts

“We tell stories because we are created by God, and God is a Storyteller.”
--Leonard Sweet, Out of the Question and Into the Mystery

We are shaped by the stories we hear and tell. From the family mythology we grow up with to the day to day happenings we just want to share with a friend, stories have a big role in making us who we are. Whether truthful or “tall tale”, they give us a sense of what we value, how we should be have, what is important to us.
Ann Street has its share of stories that make us who we are. In the Heritage Room, you can see the list of pastors who have served Ann Street, and the few who are buried in the cemetery just outside. Mrs. Alice Windley remembers when the grassy area outside the Eure Building was set aside to build a new sanctuary, in the event fire or some other disaster were to destroy the current one; now we see that that patch of land is too small for all the wonderful folks who worship here each week.
We are still sorting out whether there was ever a slave gallery at our present location, but we can also look down the road and see Purvis Chapel, where our congregation once worshiped, and where another congregation worships today. There used to be a church on every corner of the Burying Ground, but now one stands empty.
Our stories can be beautiful, funny, nostalgic, or painful, and sometimes all at once, as we share what we’ve been through, and how God has been with us through it all. This is how we share our faith: not with tracts, or bringing a friend to church (but don’t stop inviting them!) but because we share the stories that tell about our lives, and about God in our lives, through the good, bad, and everything that’s in between. So tell your story!

His New Best Friend

Text: Luke 17:11-19
Today’s story seems like what we used to call a no-brainer. If my job in this pulpit is to help you understand what the Bible says, today’s sermon should be a pretty easy job. In fact, we ought to be able to just pack it up and go home early. 10 lepers were healed by Jesus, 9 went to the temple to give thanks to God, and the one good leper returned to give thanks to Jesus for his healing. We should all be thankful to Jesus for all the good he does in our lives, and be good to others because Jesus was good to others, right?
Amen.
Let’s go home early.
What’s the hymn?
Well, no, wait a minute. I’m not sure that we’re being faithful to Jesus or the Bible if that’s all we get out of this story. I certainly think gratitude is an important part of our Christian character, and there is a call to gratitude in this story. But I think also that there is something more, something deeper, somewhere else for us to go.
I guess there’s no early dismissal for Ann Street today.
Jesus and the disciples have been sort of roaming through the Middle Eastern countryside, such as it was, along the border of Judea and Samaria, talking about repentance, forgiveness, and the great lengths we must go to in order to forgive sinners who repent. These are not easy conversations; he told them their faith was not so big as a mustard seed, that virtue does not come from simply obeying commandments, that the worst punishments fall on the sinners who provoke others to sin with them. This doesn’t sound like the most fun the disciples had ever had with Jesus. It sounds, in fact, a bit like a lecture. They’re heading for Jerusalem, and Jesus knew what was coming…perhaps there’s a sense of urgency there: if he’s ever going to get through to them, now’s the time.
As they were walking, they came upon a group of lepers, victims of disfiguring skin conditions, who were forced to tear their clothes as if in mourning and cry out “unclean, unclean” to people nearby, so that they would know to avoid contact with them. People with leprosy were not permitted to live with their families, to attend worship at the Temple, or to buy food in the marketplace. They were outcasts in every sense of the word: cast out of their homes, out of their worship, out of their community, out of everything that is welcoming and comforting, and into the meager comfort of being around others who have also been cast out. What a desperate way to live!
But these lepers were not totally ignorant of what went on in the polite company they were not permitted to keep. Somehow, they had learned about Jesus, and so when they saw him, the ten lepers did not cry out, “Unclean, unclean,” but instead, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”
Have mercy.
I wonder what mercy might have looked like to these poor lepers. A kind word? Some not-too-stale bread, or a bit of cheese left over from lunch? To be recognized as human beings instead of carriers of disease and social pariahs? I don’t know what they were asking for, but I know what they got. Jesus told them to go to the Temple and show themselves to the priests—and so they went, and were made clean, restored to health, fit for polite company again, once the priests had declared them cured.
This should have been enough. Ten lepers met Jesus on the road, ten lepers headed for the Temple, as they were required by the law to do, and one leper, a Samaritan, did not make it all the way to the Temple. When he saw that he was healed, the Samaritan man praised God with a loud voice, ran back to Jesus, and fell at his feet to thank him. If we were going to make this an easy story, we could stop here. We could say that only this one leper, a Samaritan, an outcast for his country, no less than for his illness, was able to recognize Jesus for who he was, and so returned to thank him. We could even say that this is a sign of Jesus’ teaching and healing surpassing even the work of the Temple priests, and so the leper doesn’t really have to go back to the Temple. We could say, “well, isn’t Jesus great, and shouldn’t we all have an attitude of gratitude like that poor Samaritan.”
We could say all that, and stop right here.
But Jesus calls us to more. To more understanding. To more relationship. To more love, and a kind of being made well that goes beyond the cure of a disease, all the way to the salvation of one who is apart from God. And so we can’t quite stop here, because Christ has more for us.
We know that Samaritans in themselves were considered unclean because they were foreigners, and although they shared the Torah with the Jews and worshipped the same God, they did it in different places. But the Temple was a place where just about anyone who believed could come and worship God: there was an outer courtyard, where animals for sacrifice were sold. There was a courtyard for Gentiles (foreigners…hmmm) where they could worship God, a courtyard for women, and even one beyond which no one but the priest could go on the designated day. Sounds like a lot of rules, and there were, but there was also a place for anyone who loved God. And if a leper was required to go to the Temple to see the priest to determined if he’d been healed, then even the sick and outcast had a place at the Temple. While it’s certainly fair to say that a Samaritan would have been no righteous Jew’s preferred company, it’s not fair to say that they were entirely unwelcome at the Temple.
This means that we can’t make any excuses for the one healed leper who turned back to give thanks to Jesus. It was the priest’s job to enforce the laws; therefore, it was the priest’s job to either say that someone was ill with leprosy and was unclean, or to examine them and say that whatever illness they had was past and they could return to their homes, families, livelihood, and worship as a fully-restored member of the community again.
To a very real extent, the power the priests held as the guardians of the law went beyond right and wrong: they held the power of belonging. They could determine who was clean and who was unclean, who was a member of the community and who wasn’t, who could walk freely and who had to tear their clothes in shame and grief, and shout, “Unclean, unclean” to everyone who passed by. The priests could tell you if you were a good person, or if you were unfit to socialize with others—this is a lot of power for people to have!
When the tenth leper, that Samaritan man, turned back from the Temple, leaving his nine companions behind and running back to Jesus, he was making a profound statement about who Jesus was to him: not just the restorer to polite company, but the restorer of life itself. That’s what the Bible says: we translate it as, “Your faith has made you well,” but what it really means is, “Your faith has made you whole.” We might even say that Jesus became his new best friend.
Leprosy was a kind of living death; it separated people from their faith communities, from participating in the rituals that made them feel close to God, from living with their families and spending time with their friends, from making a living and bringing an offering to the Temple with everyone else. Having a disease identified as leprosy meant that the leper was no longer a full member of society. Leprosy made him an outcast. It took his life, and left him with shame and sickness, with no comfort except that of other people as sick and ashamed as he was. Lepers might have been excused for thinking that death might be preferable to their suffering.
What Jesus did for all ten lepers was to bring about their restoration, make them whole again, give them new life from the living death of their disease and isolation. This was his gift to all of them, not just to the one who turned back. The nine who went on to the Temple were doing exactly what they were supposed to do. Did they have faith? They seem to have; they had confidence that Jesus could do something for them. They called out to him for mercy; perhaps they got a little more than they expected, but they knew what to do about it: the law required that they go to the Temple, present themselves to the priests for examination, and so they did.
While we tend to make an example of the tenth leper, he’s the one that didn’t do what he was meant to; he was not obedient to the law. Instead, he turned in his tracks, left the nine to go on to the Temple, and went back to give thanks to Jesus. Don’t misunderstand me, I believe he got to the Temple at some point; if he didn’t go in Jerusalem, he went to his priests at home in Samaria, because that was the way that his family, friends, and community would know that’s he’d been restored, healed, made whole. But first, he went back to Jesus in gratitude for what Jesus had given him, which was more than just giving him his life back.
All the lepers received the same gift. Their healing wasn’t contingent on their remembering to thank Jesus, but their acceptance into their homes and lives was contingent on their trip to the Temple to see the priests. What the Samaritan did, then, points to something else he thinks he’s gotten out of his healing: some contact, some connection, some different relationship with God through the mercy Jesus showed him. When he fell at Jesus’ feet to thank him, he, unlike the other nine lepers, seems to have some sense that here were the feet of his Savior, here were the feet of one who had done something great, here were the feet of his new best friend.
I think that the Samaritan man that day had an encounter with God in Jesus that changed his outlook from death to life, that turned his life around, that made things right again, and I think that somehow this Samaritan man was more aware of this new life than the others. Maybe because he knew that in Jerusalem, even if he were not a leper he would not be received as a friend, as an equal, as a member of the community. Perhaps that’s why he turned back to Jesus: because Jesus was a friend to him, not just a healer. In Jesus he was able to find a life-changing relationship with God, something that simple obedience would not have given him. I think he finds that Jesus is his new best friend.
Now if you spend much time with me, you’ll find that’s a phrase I tend to throw around. Kathy and Pat brought me back house dressing from the Cheese Shop in Williamsburg, and I went home and told Ben that they were my new best friends. I “spoke” online this week with someone who helped me with a project: now she’s my new best friend. My new best friend is usually the last one who helped me out with something, or shared something great with me, or that I had a really good talk with. I use the term easily: I have lots of “new best friends.”
The other nine lepers may have had lots of friends in Jerusalem, lots of people who would welcome them, family, business acquaintances, friends, even best friends. The Samaritan was farther from home, seemed to feel perhaps more alienated than the rest of them, and certainly saw Jesus a little differently than they did: he found a new best friend in this Jew from Galilee who responded with grace to his plea, “have mercy.” And this Jew from Galilee who brings life from death is waiting to make us whole, too, to hear our cries of “have mercy,” and to welcome us as his new best friends.
Amen.

Post 200: The B-I-B-L-E Friday Five

Yay! My 200th post. If you go back to the earliest ones, you'll see I never thought I'd get this far!

From Mother Laura at RevGalBlogPals:
I have been thinking a lot about the Bible recently, and how we encounter it as God's Word--or don't--in our lives, prayer, and ministry.
So, in that spirit, I offer my first Friday Five. I'm looking forward to hearing everyone's experience and reflection on these B-I-B-L-E questions:

1. What is your earliest memory of encountering a biblical text?

This is a tough one. We didn't go to church much before I was about 10 or 11, except during the summers when we went to church and VBS. I remember our Christmas Eve ritual, which was to sit around the tree and have a family reading of the Nativity story from my old Young Reader's Bible. I think I still have it somewhere.

2. What is your favorite biblical translation, and why? (You might have a few for different purposes).

I like the Message for everyday reading and devotions, and I use it sometimes with my youth group and our evening contemporary worship service. I like the accessibility of this modern language paraphrase. For study, preaching, etc., I'm most fond of the NIV and NRSV; I'm most familiar with them and perhaps that's why. I do also sometimes like the King James, mainly for certain texts that are sort of imprinted in my memory in KJV.

3. What is your favorite book of the Bible? Your favorite verse/passage?

Colossians, hands down. Don't know why, exactly, but I've always felt it to be "mine" in a deeper way than the rest of the Bible. I love Philippians, too, especially the first part of the 4th chapter.

4. Which book of the Bible do you consider, in Luther's famous words about James, to be "an epistle of straw?" Which verse(s) make you want to scream?

1 Timothy 2:11-15, of course, and also for a less obvious reason. If I'm to be saved through child-bearing, then am I condemned since I can't? What a load of misogynistic crap. Even trying to understand it in it's historical context makes me mad. Paul, despite himself, frequently sent greetings to women who had churches in their homes or lead local churches in other ways. But this author claiming Pauline tradition does not...even 2 Timothy recognizes women in the church in the last chapter.

5. Inclusive language in biblical translation and liturgical proclamation: for, against, or neutral?

For, to the extent that it makes sense in context. As our language shifts, using the masculine tense when we mean both male and female is becoming less normative. It's appropriate to me to clarify these relationships with inclusive language sometimes. Against, when it is unnecessary to understanding a text or contributes to confusion. I find it unsatisfying to address God as she or it; I think of the Father and Son as male (go figure) and the Spirit as an it. This makes sense and is comfortable for me. I am most comfortable simply avoiding the pronouns when dealing with God. What's wrong with calling God "God", anyway?

Bonus: Back to the Psalms--which one best speaks the prayer of your heart?

Psalm 139, which used to hang in my office. I have 2 walls of bookcases now, and I miss it.

7 Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

8 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, [a] you are there.

9 If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

10 even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

11 If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"

12 even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

Glad I've got one of each!

Apparently, a dog in a Maine city saved his owners from a fire...which has been blamed on the family cat.

On the one hand, I'm glad I've got one of each. On the other hand, who leaves fire where cats can get into it? I've smelled more than my share of singed tail-fur from felines fascinated by candle flame...no more unsupervised burning at my house.
BTW, no one was significantly hurt, although Princess the cat did get a little singed.

Hope is a thing with feathers poetry party

It's time for another Invitation to Poetry from Christine at Abbey of the Arts.

Here's the image:

Hope, they say, is a thing with feathers
a joyous leap in flight
powerful wingbeats that find purchase in thin air

Hope, I've heard, is an elusive dream
too slippery to count on
teasing, taunting, rarified, surreal

Hope, I say, is the earnest expectation
that the God who works the everyday miracles
of birds in flight
can work them in us, too

Hope, God tells us, is believing
that grace abounds
that mercy flows
that birds fly
and so can we.

No blog for you!

I'm out of town for a day or two, going with Ben for his 1 year follow-up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. I have internet access, but I don't know how much time I'll have to blog. Will blog the good news when it's all over.

Help

For my DMin project this fall, I'm looking for websites/blogs/online churches etc. who are doing postmodern ministry. Any suggestions? Please post them in the comments here.

Thankfulness Friday 5

This one's a quick one: Name 5 things you're thankful for.
In no particular order:

1. The WonderMutt. He is the incarnated love of God in our house most of the times. Other times he's just plain rotten, but at least he makes us smile.
2. My family. They may annoy me sometimes, but they also taught me how to live and love, and they're always there when I need them. And then of course, there's Jamie the Exceptional. Enough said!
3. My eyesight. As it gets worse, and especially now that I'm back in school, I appreciate it more and more. I am more afraid of losing my vision than I am of needles, and that's saying something!
4. Enough, and then some. I am thankful that I have enough, and most often, more than enough. My life may not be perfect, but it's pretty stinkin' good almost all the time.
5. The holy quiet around those places that call to my soul: the crashing waves, a gentle breeze through mountain coves...sound that by itself sings peace to me.

[Addendum: Several people have commented to me about "enough', so I thought I'd share this email story that runs around: I Wish You Enough

At an airport I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her plane's departure and standing near the door, he said to his daughter, "I love you, I wish you enough."


She said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy." They kissed good-bye and she left.

He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?" "Yes, I have," I replied.

Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me. So I knew what this man was experiencing.

"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?" I asked.

"I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, her next trip back will be for my funeral, " he said.

"When you were saying good-bye I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?"

He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone." He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more.

"When we said 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with enough good things to sustain them," he continued and then turning toward me he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.

"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright. I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more. I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive. I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger. I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting. I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess. I wish enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Good-bye."

He then began to sob and walked away.

Officially published

I have both blogged and written in the church newsletter that I wanted to write...well, I can finally consider myself a published author, or will be able to in a few months.
Several months ago Relevant Magazine online published an article I had written. It was sort of a catharsis, and written in large measure as a response to someone whose life experiences were somewhat similar to mine. I was frustrated because I could see that this person was making some of the same mistakes I had made, and really frustrated because I could not share my experience in a way that made any change in the person's attitude or behavior. They just wouldn't hear it. It was an intensely personal and honest piece of writing, and I was glad I did it, but it is not a piece I would publish here. And no, I'm not going to post it here, or link to it.
Anyway, I never thought anything of it. I was glad it had been accepted, but it wasn't in "print" (I'm an old-fashioned gal that way). Until yesterday, when I was rummaging through the email box and found an email from an editor from a print magazine. She wanted the article, and wanted to pay me for it. So yay! When it comes out, I will be a published author.
Now I just have to keep writing.

Meditation on Fall

There is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Despite the calendar, it’s not quite fall yet in Beaufort. Most leaves are still green (or greenish; although we’ve had rain recently, it’s been a dry summer) and still tenaciously clinging to trees. Teachers and students have returned to schools, which is a key sign of the fall. And, blessedly, the fall brings with it cooler temperatures and lower humidity, like God’s gift to us who have survived the summer.
Today’s weather is beautiful. The sun does lend a special luster to the sky, and the breeze calls me outside, to walk along the waterfront and enjoy the cool air. Fall’s a special time of year to me; I love the crispness in the air in the early mornings, and the slight bite to it late at night at the fall moves on to winter. And I love to see my favorite sign of fall: that silly dog that lives at my house, stretched out in the backyard, nose to the wind and tail ruffling along behind.
Fall has always seemed like a restorative time to me. Instead of dying leaves, I find in the fall the seeds of renewal, so that after gathering our strength in the winter months, we may burst into full flower in the spring. The seasonal changes are like a gift from God: a week or two of stunning color, a blaze of glory, and then the rest…the Sabbath of the year. This fall, may we all find rest, restoration, renewal as the season changes.