One Wild and Precious Life

Sermon for Lent 1 & Thoughts on Lent

Ash Wednesday is over, ashes duly administered and received (2 services) -- next year we'll likely try "Ashes to Go" (Google it -- there are hundreds of articles) -- but not a drive-through, though our church has a lovely circle drive that would be perfect for it!  I'm forming a worship planning committee that might help me decide where would be a good location to distribute early-morning ashes -- I wonder if McDonalds would let me stand at the drive-through?

For those of you not familiar with Lent, it's the 40 days (excluding Sundays -- those are days off!) preceding Easter.  It has traditionally been a time of fasting, penitence, and self-examination in preparation for Holy Week (the week prior to Easter, when the Last Supper, Jesus' trial, and his crucifixion took place).  When I was a kid growing up in the Episcopal Church, my Lenten practices were giving up candy and (when I remembered) stuffing coins into a "mite box" that was placed on a big cross on Easter Sunday morning and the money given to charity.  I've always found that observing Lent makes the glory of Easter and the Resurrection even more -- well, more glorious!  And sometimes some of the Lenten "new habits" actually stick.

Sometimes I've fasted during the day on Fridays, and this was always a pretty amazing experience, spiritually speaking.  Because of my abstinence and eating program, I've not tampered with my diet these last 2 years.

This year my Lent is packed, with a parish study of contemporary Islam as lived out in the US as well as my own study on the Rule of Benedict.  I'm using Jane Tomaine's book called St. Benedict's Toolbox (mine's on Kindle), as well as a couple of others: Esther DeWaal's Seeking God: The Way of St. Benedict, and the Rule of Benedict itself.  The study is in conjunction with a religious community for which I am a Companion:  The Worker Sisters & Brothers of the Holy Spirit.  We are actually spending the whole year on this study, and Jane Tomaine will be featured at our retreat in April in St. Louis.

I'm really excited about this study (I know, I know, it won't set everyone's heart on fire), especially since a lot of our Episcopal Book of Common Prayer and our own particular approach to spirituality and spiritual formation are based on Benedictine monasticism.

Here are my sermons for both Ash Wednesday and Sunday:

Download Ash Wednesday B, February 22, 2012

Download Lent 1B, February 26, 2012

I hope you are all thinking about Lenten practices, whether giving something up or taking something on!  I'm avoiding what I should be giving up (television and the computer) by taking on something very virtuous (see above).

Life is Amazing Sometimes!

My friend Fran is participating in the "A Virgin a Day" meme, and today she posted a picture of Artemis of the Ephesians.  Now Fran saw the ancient statue in Turkey (where Ephesus is located), but I saw this one in Naples:

I like to think of her as the "missing link" between paganism and Christianity in Italy.  Can you see how a culture who worshipped this figure above (her hands, feet, and face were replaced in bronze in the late Nineteenth Century, so I'm not sure if they were originally black), could easily adopt and adapt to a figure like the one following?

Actually the Lady above is in Einsiedeln, Switzerland -- but in the foothills of the Alps, the countries kind of run together, with no cultural boundaries at all.  It's "mountain culture," rather than identifiably Swiss or French or German or Italian.  Or how about this one, below?  She is across the border and in the Alpine foothills on the other side, in Oropa, Italy:

 

It seems to me that these dark, feminine figures have more in common than they are different.  On the Artemis figure, her headdress, arms, and skirt are lined with figures of humans and animals -- how radically different is that from those black Virgins, carrying the Christ Child?  At the very least, these black madonnas must have seemed like familiar figures to a goddess-worshipping Italian culture.

And speaking of my friend Fran, here's another amazing thing that has happened this week.  In her post a week or so ago, she mentioned my blog.  Well, someone who was reading her blog just happens to live in my town!  Out of the blue I got an email from this person, and we had lunch, and now I have a new friend!  I have a "Mary friend" right here in this town.  We're both passionate about the Virgin Mary (mine in the guise of my beloved black madonna, of course) -- and we have lots and lots and lots of other things in common!  I wish you could have seen us at lunch, talking about a million miles an hour, with so much to share.  So thanks to a friend way out west, I have a new friend here on the Cumberland Plateau!  What fun!  More than fun -- there's delight and joy in finding a new person to share with, in this bible-belt community where they mostly only pay attention to the Virgin Mary at Christmas, then they put her away for another year.  Thanks, Fran.

One of the best things about friends is what we share with one another, and how we grow and are inspired by knowing one another.  I would not have this new friend Donna if it weren't for my friend Fran.  And now I have someone to share Mary with, but also spirituality, and art-making, and life here in this part of the world.  Can you tell I'm thrilled?  Thanks, Fran!  Thanks, Donna, for following up and writing to me, and thanks to the both of you for bringing me again into blogland for a visit and inspiration.

One Wild and Precious Life

Today I'm writing from my back porch.  It's hot, but I'm tolerating the heat very well.  What you won't see in this picture is the fan that's blowing on me, in addition to a nice breeze.

I didn't know you could have a fan on a porch, till I overheard a conversation between some southern friends of mine.  Then I realized that you can have a fan anywhere you have an electrical outlet!  And in the evenings, it can help blow the bugs away.  Last night was just dreamy out here, I've got to tell you.

So it's beautiful out here.  Part of my job as a parish priest is reading and writing, pondering the mysteries of the universe.  It's a great job!  And it's the part of the job that can be done just as well on the back porch as anywhere else -- maybe better on the back porch!

Weight loss update:  63 pounds gone.  I feel terrific.  Most of the time I even think I look terrific!  I have more energy, more time, and I'm "showing up" more emotionally.  I really feel present to my life and other people in a way that I haven't in a long, long time.  And there are other changes that have come about since I'm not eating and drinking addictively.  For instance, I find myself cleaning things up.  One day I walked into my garage and thought, "Oh, this is a mess."  Before I knew it, it was cleaned up, the back of my car was full of cardboard for the recycling center, and I was sweeping grass clippings and spider webs out the door.  The same crazy thing happened in my potting shed -- let there be order!  The pile of old magazines in my closet has shrunk considerably.  What is this, anyway?

My mind is clearer.  I'm reading things that I've read in previous years, but it feels as though I'm reading them for the first time.  I'm writing more.  And I'm having lots of Big Ideas and Wonderings.  And one of my wonderings is about the whole reason for this blog.  Is there any real reason to continue it?  Yeah, I've met some great folks who read, and whose blogs I read regularly.  But I seem to spend less and less time reading blogs, and certainly not much time writing.  But I do feel that the adventure of my life is worth sharing.  I'm learning so much, realizing so much, and it's not as though I'm discovering anything new, but I do occasionally find resources worth sharing, and it would be great to have a few people to share all these thoughts and discoveries with.

So -- one wild and precious life.  One.  As far as anyone knows for sure, it's the only one we get.  The only time around.  I won't pass this way again, won't have this summer day, won't have this moment of seeing roses blooming and basil wilting, won't feel this same breeze.  Wild.  This isn't anybody else's life.  It's mine.  It can't be stuffed into someone else's conception of what it should be.  For that matter, it can't even be stuffed into my own preconceptions.  In some senses I am the driver of this life, but I also have the necessary luxury of just sitting back and watching what happens sometimes.  So it's God's design and mine, nobody else's.  I can't be tamed to fit someone else's standards.  Precious.  That hardly needs any expansion or explanation at all.  I feel as though every day is a miracle.  I look in the mirror and I'm amazed.  I watch and listen and feel my own heart, how it has expanded in love, and I'm surprised, delighted, and oh, so grateful.  Yes, this life is precious, and my prayer is that you who read these words realize the preciousness, the miracle of your own life.  Go in peace, friend, go in peace.

Goats

Okay, my friend Fran posted this You-Tube of goats on her blog.  It was so darned cute that I couldn't resist sharing it with you.  I also put it on ny facebook, but I can't get a picture to share with you.  It's very cute, though -- go watch it.  I have parishioners who raise goats, and she describes one stage of "kid-hood" as deet-dee-deet-dee-deedley-deet."  That's what these babies are doing.  If you watch this video, you'll also see links to lots and lots more of them.  What fun!

My friend Fran also is immersed in lots of art-making.  She is a trained facilitator for Soul Collage, and makes really fine pieces herself.  I miss doing that, and may drag out my own collage book and work on a page.  This is, of course, a way to avoid what I really need to be doing, which is gathering, wrapping, and mailing Christmas gifts, finding who's left gift-less on my list, and making plans to purchase and send those gifts, post-haste.  I'm terrible about gifts, and mostly get them out before Epiphany.  Some years, if things are busy at church, I admit I don't get them out at all.  That's especially egregious as my friends and family are so very good about making sure that I have gifts to open on Christmas morning, since my holidays are spent mostly alone.  There's nothing nicer than coming in after Midnight Mass and opening a gift or two before bed.  Then I rewrite my sermon for the morning as I listen to carols, and fall into bed, only to get up Christmas morning for another service.

My Buddhist book group was cancelled today because an ice storm is expected.  We're studying Pema Chodron's Start Where You Are, one chapter per month -- and the chapters are really short!  But I'm finding that the month really gives me time to make the material part of who I am, part of my own thought process.

I find much of what Chodron says to be helpful in my dealings with other people, and in my parish work.  For a long time I've felt as though there's great overlap between Christian spiritual or wisdom teaching and Buddhist teaching.  This was first brought home to me when reading Thich Nhat Hanh.  Marcus Borg also refers to it in Reading the Bible Again for the First Time.  There are lots of conservative Episcopalians who would find my saying this horrifying, but it's true -- anyone can see it, if they take the time to do a little reading and study.

It has been so cold here that I've been drinking lots of hot tea -- decaf chai, whole milk, no sugar.  I make it in my coffee maker -- just run hot water through into the pot where the tea bags await.  A pot can last me a day or even two sometimes.  I use 8 bags for 10 cups of hot water, and just leave the bags in till the tea is all gone.  It doesn't get bitter or too strong.  Or maybe my taste buds are just failing me!

Everyone stay safe and warm, and pray that no harm or damage come to us up here on the Plateau, if the ice storm really hits.

Black Madonna & The Garden

Last Saturday I had the privilege of doing an Advent Quiet Day at Grace Church, Chattanooga.  For those of you who aren't familiar with Quiet Days, they are fairly traditional in the Episcopal Church, especially during Advent and Lent, the liturgical seasons of self-examination and preparation.  My friend, who is the priest in charge at Grace, asked me to do something about the black madonna for them.  Typically the day consists of two presentations of perhaps 45 minutes each, and some quiet time for prayer, meditation, journaling.  It's a time to take the material of the presentations and internalize it, make it your own.  I was very excited to do this presentation, but didn't know what to expect, as I had offered the same presentation to my own parish last year and zero (yes, zero) people showed up for it.  But this is a much bigger and more diverse parish than my own; in addition, I was privileged to get some additional publicity in the form of National Episcopal Church coverage, so as I said -- who knew how many people might come?

I'll admit, the day didn't start well.  I thought I knew my traveling time pretty well, having been off the Plateau and down to Chattanooga several times; in addition, I had directions from the diocese.  Unfortunately, my travel took a bit longer than I'd planned, and I got on the connecting interstate going the wrong direction.  I was nearly a half-hour late (having planned to be 45 minutes early), and of course I arrived flustered.

But then it all settled down nicely.  I talked about my madonnas as artifact and Christian icon.  I talked about how Mary is actually the perfect companion for Advent, as she certainly knew the truest sense of "preparation," and how my own story connected with the darker aspects of Advent preparation.  I, like Mary, knew how it felt to be young, pregnant, and unmarried: I know the shame, the doubt, how it feels to tell parents and one's intended of the untimely pregnancy.  I spoke of Advent being a time when we move into darkness, then out of the darkness toward the light of the Incarnation of Christ.  I showed my artifacts, talked a bit about my pilgrimage last year in search of the Italian black madonnas.  I answered questions, then we took a short break and sat in silent, centering prayer for a time.

After lunch I talked a bit about what some believe are the pagan origins of the black madonna, about the similarity to Isis and Horus, to Artemis, about how the Madonna might have appeared to the Italian culture that had been worshipping women in the form of goddesses for millennia.  I told them my theory that Christianity was much easier for this pagan culture to accept when it appeared in the form of a female holding a child, and how some of the Italian legends and festivals for Mary held elements that resembled pagan legends.  I told more of my personal story, about how grief and dark places are such old, familiar friends to me, how I've trod the dark paths of grief many times, and how I feel called to be with people in their darkest times here at my own parish.  You can imagine that in a parish of retirees, I have many occasions to walk beside them in times of illness, disability, and grief.

This is the black madonna at Oropa, the first one I saw in Italy.  Isn't she striking?

I had 13 participants, and it was really wonderful to be with people who understood my points, who were interested, who asked questions, who weren't mystified when I talked about Carl Jung, his feminine principle, the shadow, the sacred feminine, the dark feminine.

And I was delighted when they asked me to return to conduct their Lenten retreat, an overnight at a nearby retreat center.  I'm happily planning and preparing for that now, as well -- am thinking of focusing on the biblical Wisdom tradition and writings.

The weather has really shifted today.  It went from a mild 50 degrees F, with a little sunshine, to overcast and rainy and cooler.  Tonight and tomorrow it's supposed to snow.

Earlier, I worked outside in the yard a bit.  This is an "after" shot of the sidewalk, which was buried in leaves and overrun with nasty bamboo grass and wild rose thorns.

Yeah, keep in mind, this is the "after" shot!  Imagine what it must have been before.  You can see this overgrown bed (who planted this bamboo grass here in the first place?  It sure wasn't me!) will occupy me for hours, as I spent an hour here, clearing this walk, cutting that nasty wild rose, and raking a bit.  Every mild winter day will afford me the chance to get outside into the invigorating fresh air, as can be seen from this:

and this:

and this:

and this:

Well, that's about half of what needs to be pruned and trimmed, weeded and tidied.  Want to come help?  My flower beds are suffering from years of neglect now; every year I swear I'll do better, and every year things get away from me almost before I know what's happening.

The good thing about this part of the country is that we get plenty of days that are 45-50 degrees and sunny in the winter; that's when it will feel good to get outside and bend and stretch and breathe fresh air (and leaf mold from all the dead things).  Despite appearances, I like to get my hands in among growing things, and it has been entirely too long since I've done that.

Tomorrow is the Third Sunday in Advent. I'm not quite sure where this year, much less this short season, has gone already.  I've begun my Christmas decorating, which feels as though it will be low key this year.  Here's the tree, partially decorated:

The ornaments are red ones that I had in the house (I used them up through Valentine's Day in various bowls).  I haven't brought the rest in from the garage yet -- I get really tired of schlepping stuff back and forth.

Finally, before I head off to finish my sermon:  I've begun a program called Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous (FA).  It's modeled very closely on Alcoholics Anonymous, not just some generic "Twelve-Step Program."  One of the books we study is the "Big Book" from AA.  It's a pretty rigorous food program for the first 90 days -- no flour, no sugar, call sponsor daily to report food plan for the coming day.  As I read the materials daily, I find that so many of the things these books say "fit" for me, and my heart sinks.  I do not like admitting that I have an addictive disorder or personality.  I'd much rather this was all just "bad eating habits" that I could change at will.  But I've been carrying this weight for nearly 20 years now, and trying to "change bad habits" hasn't really worked.  Though the focus of the program is not weight loss, per se, but becoming abstinent and working a program of recovery, I do, of course, want to lose weight, as well.  This is my eighth day, and I can tell I'm losing.  My knees and hips are already thanking me, and I expect they'll continue to do so.  But equally important, I'm becoming more and more aware of habits and characteristics and coping mechanisms that need to be addressed and changed.  I think I've got a long road ahead of me, but if it gets hard, I remind myself that it's really one day at a time, and maybe I can make it through just this one day.  I'll let you know how it goes.  I'm really trying to let God do this for and with me, but it's hard to let go the reins.

Hope you all are taking some time just to be in Advent.  Be alert.  Watch for signs of what God's doing.  Get your heart ready for the feast of love that Christmas is really intended to be.

Oops!  I forgot the promised link to last Sunday's sermon (thanks again, Fran, for encouraging me to do this!):  Download Advent 2A, December 5, 2010 . I will post tomorrow's when it's finished -- tomorrow!

St. Andrew's Day

Well, that was a rude awakening.  Sigh.  I had a whole lovely post written, and it simply disappeared because of some fancy key-work I did.  I wish this Typepad dashboard had one of those little "undo" arrows like MS Word does.  I could have saved myself a half-hour or so.

Well, rather than rewrite everything about St. Andrew, I'll just send you to the Wikipedia link . Enough to say that today's his day, and he's the patron saint of Scotland, brother of St. Peter, and first Bishop of Byzantium.

Here on the Cumberland Plateau, it's a gloomy, rainy day, and I've had the lights on all day.  I've been cozied up at home, having no appointments to pull me outside.  One of the great things about being a parish priest is the flexibility of my schedule.  I can read and prepare for bible study, for two book groups (one a Sunday group, another a non-parish group), start my sermon, and at the same time be warm and dry, and put on a big pot of turkey-vegetable-rice soup.  Yum, yum.

Days like today, I realize that the 3 years of study for a THIRD master's degree, the intimidating student debt, the grief that I experience from time to time are all worth it.

As I cooked my soup, I could gaze out my kitchen door at this:

I wish I had taken this picture a week ago, when more leaves were on it; but I don't believe the colors were as brilliant then.  Every time I see it, I'm grateful for the warmth of it.

As I was browsing my pictures, I also saw these, and they added another spot of sunshine to my day.  They were taken last month, right after I planted them:

And now look at the contrast here, between October, when the mums were definitely dominant in this window box with mums and pansies:

And this, taken today, albeit with pansies a little sodden:

The mums got frostbitten, and the pansies are flourishing!

I also found this closeup of my Advent table wreath, which shows off the purple privet berries nicely:

So if you're having a gloomy weather day, my prayer for you is that you find a spot of blazing color to brighten things up, or that you let my own spots of sunshine do the trick for you.

I've been thinking a lot about gratitude, which you can probably tell, if you read my sermons in the Sunday posting.  It seems that when I make a practice of literally "counting my blessings" (at least 5 a day), then the world just goes better in every way.  I don't know why that is, except I'm more aware of the abundant grace in my life; I also believe that positive energy attracts more positive energy, and that's what gratutude generates.  I'm making a practice of writing down 5 blessings or gratitudes every day.  Try it!

A Sermon, and the Rest of My Sunday

So this is the first time (well, this year at least -- I think I might have done it once before in nearly 150 posts) that I've posted a sermon.  I wish I had posted my Thanksgiving sermon with the previous post, but I didn't.  So today I'm posting links to two.  I seem to be obsessed with gratitude this week -- there are worse things to be obsessed with!

Download Thanksgiving Day C, November 25, 2010

Download Advent 1A, November 28, 2010

There they are!  Now you can read them if you choose, or not if you don't!

Speaking of gratitude, what a great day it has been!  Church was great.  We switch to Rite I in Advent (also Lent -- traditional, nearly Elizabethan language, a more penitential tone), and we do a lighting of the Advent candle(s) (only 1 today  of course) during the service.

Since it's the last Sunday of the month, I've begun to do anointing and laying on of hands for healing after the service.  This is really pretty popular.  Today, the third month I've done this, I had maybe 10 people, all of whom were anointed for themselves, a couple of whom also asked prayers for others.  I've got to say that this is one of the most fulfilling sacraments that I do as a priest (anointing is a sacrament in the catholic (small c) tradition).  I think God marked and called me as a healer even when I didn't know it, back when I was a therapist.  Now I do know it's not me who's the healer, really -- but I get to be the vessel through which God heals -- or at least reminds people of God's healing will for them.  I've always treasured our Wednesday service of Eucharist and Healing -- but this recent addition on Sunday is Also very precious and life-giving to me.

I love this Advent book group!  I love Marcus Borg (don't tell)!  His chapter on the prophets blew me away.  Part of what I love is his story of his own experience, how the various meanings and interpretations of the prophetic writings became layered and nuaanced for him.  It leads me to reflect on my own religious experience, and the layers and depth and nuance that is still a living part of my faith journey.  I took Old Testament in seminary with one of the primo Old Testament scholars in the world (specializing in the prophets, incidentally), and his parting message to us is that Scripture, while timeless, must be re-interpreted for each generation of Christians, so it remains fresh and relevant, rather than a dusty old book up on the top shelf in the library.  Borg's comments on the Exodus stories only reinforced what we learned and experienced with  the Kerygma study our group just did.  It's so amazing that this stuff lives and applies now just as much as it did then.

And then I came home, put my turkey carcass in the soup pot with carrots, onions, and celery (and some water, of course), and just simmered it all afternoon.  I've turned it off to cool; I'll put it in the fridge tonight, and tomorrow I'll skim off the fat, and also skim out all the bones and veggie scraps, feeding pieces of gristle and skin to my kids (the dogs, of course).  Then I can heat it all again, add some fresh veggies, spices, and some Minnesota-grown wild rice that someone gave me, and cut up a few chunks of the turkey meat (a good use for white meat -- is it clear I prefer the dark meat for sandwiches?), and have a lovely soup.  Yum, yum, my mouth is already watering.

After the carcass went on to cook, I took a big, deep sleep on the sofa, with BBC America droning away.  I don't know what was on while I slept, but as I awoke, I got to see another show about penguins.  I love penguins.  Those deep sleeps are a little harder to wake from, but so very good and restful and satisfying.

Oh, and before that, I spent considerable time watching C-Span.  I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, because I'm sure most folks think C-Span is very boring or nerdy.  But I watched a panel from Emory University discuss raising the tone and quality of public discourse, and a couple of book discussions.  I find this even more compelling than "Sleepless in Seattle."  What's wrong with me, that I'd prefer watching  P.J. O'Rourke, with whom I don't even agree (but he is kind of cute), to Tom Hanks & Meg Ryan?  It just seems to feel really good to get my brain cells tickled once in a while.

Then this evening I watched TV for a while (some network dreck for my "junk food" quota, then a couple of amazing PBS shows, one called "Christmas in Yellowstone" that was awesome).  I did some reading and journaling, and now talking to all of you.

Overall, I couldn't really ask for a better Sunday.  Yay!  I hope to talk to you all more than I have till now.

'Tis Advent

Comin' on Christmas now.  This is the eve of the First Sunday of Advent, and in the Church, as is our Jewish heritage, we may begin to celebrate the day on the eve of the prior day.

This is my Advent wreath this year.  I have a simple brass ring that I generally place in a tray or bowl and decorate to suit.  This year I have the ring set on a platter with a raised lip, and filled with a base layer of privet, then holly from my holly tree on top.  The purple berries around the edges are also privet.  I may have to change everything out in a week or two, depending on how everything holds up in the house-- but I sure like the look of it now.

This year I'm using liturgical purple, rather than blue.  Blue is the Sarum (English) use, which has come into favor in the Episcopal Church in recent years, because it emphasizes our particularly English heritage.  Some years I like blue, but this year it's purple.  I've got to learn to stage my pictures better, removing binoculars and birdwatching books!

Here's my Christmas wreath, decorated simply for Advent for the next 4 weeks.  In this picture, that ribbon looks as blue as anything -- but it's not!  That ribbon is a deep purple.  It must be the light, just before twilight.  On our Advent wreath at church, which is a big, beautiful, horizontal brass one, we have some interesting elements added: cinnamon, straw, boxwood, orange peel, holly, and maybe a couple of other things.  They all have symbolic significance, and we have a parishioner who puts them on every year, along with pretty purple bows.  I really appreciate Dorothy doing that so beautifully each year; it adds depth and meaning to our Advent season.  This year I may make my own little bundles and add them to my door wreath; if I do, I promise to take pictures and explain all the symbols.

As for the wreath, come Christmas I'll decorate it more festively -- with a bright ribbon, or holly, or perhaps with the sweet little garland I bought last year with tiny mittens hanging from it.

I hope you all had a lovely Thanksgiving celebration.  I ordered a wonderful organic, free-range turkey (yes, expensive, but truly worth it).  I was alone for the day, and so decided to make only the foods I like:  turkey, cranberry-orange-walnut relish, rolls, cream cheese dip for veggie sticks, stuffing (truly stuffed inside the turkey, to absorb all the lovely juices), gravy and this year, a pumpkin pie.  It was all perfectly delicious, but for the first time I realized how perfectly excessive it was.  Keep in mind this is a girl who survived (and thrived!) most of the summer on cereal for breakfast and a big late-afternoon salad.  Yes, I've been feasting for 3 days now, and will continue to do so when I make the soup from the carcass.  But no one individual really needs (or wants, truth be told) that much food.  It's almost sickening, even as I continue to stuff myself.  A friend, also alone, bought herself two turkey thighs, one potato, and some veggies.  I'll do that at Christmas, probably -- substituting stuffing for potato.  I froze nearly half of what I made (turkey, relish, and stuffing) this month -- maybe I'll just thaw and heat next month.

In a weird way, it feels good to notice and be disgusted by the excessiveness.  I think it's the first time I've been aware of it.

For a Sunday Advent class, we're reading and discussing Marcus Borg's Reading the Bible Again for the First Time.  It's available used for as low as $1.51 in paperback.  Amazing.  I like this book so far.  Maybe I didn't tell you the story of my new philosophy of adult Christian education in this parish.  It's a little long, but kind of funny.  One of my strengths as a priest is as a passionate teacher of things spiritual and theological.  When I came to this parish, my understanding was that they longed for someone who would educate them.  I was thrilled.  Except for the Wednesday bible study, which is growng steadily, I get a very low turnout (3-6) for my adult ed offerings.  I've been steadily frustrated and crushed by this, having spent long hours designing and preparing courses and materials.  One day I realized that I was led by the search committee, and especially by those individuals who visited me in Buffalo, to believe this parish was longing for education.  And two of the three who visited me (and with whom I had hours of extended conversations at the time) were in fact people who were avid for education -- but they did not reflect the overall demographic of the parish!  And they are both gone now, having moved away to be closer to their adult children.

Initially I was angry at the lack of response to my hard work.  Then (also in anger, I think) I just stopped offering anything but the bible study, which I love, and the participants also love.  Recently I realized that I love to teach, and also to learn in a community of learners.  I love book groups.  So I decided to offer exactly the sorts of things I enjoy doing, and then to enjoy whatever the turnout, because I'm doing something I love.  Last "term" I did a course called "Bible 101," poorly attended, but I had fun.  This "term," for Advent (that's where I began this post), we're doing the book discussion, over a casserole lunch.  Last week was our first week, and 3 people attended -- but we ate together and discussed together, and what fun we had!  So we'll spend 3 more weeks on this (including next week), be free for Advent 4, when we'll decorate the church for Christmas, and have fun along the way.  I haven't read this book, but like Marcus Borg, and so far am enjoying it immensely, even when I disagree with him (which isn't often).

So okay, there it is.  This is the first time I've transferred an image from the web to my blog, so it's a new learning for me.

That's about it this week.  I'm waiting for the coming of Christ.  I'm waiting for the final coming, as well.  I'm trying to figure out why those of us who believe it, are so nervous about it.  Maybe it's our guilty conscience.

My friend Fran, who inspires me regularly, has suggested that I publish a link to my sermons, and I think I will do that.  I did it one time, I think, but why not every week -- that way I'll be sure to get at least one post each week, won't I?  My sermon for tomorrow is finished, but I always do one last once-over on Sunday morning, so I'll post it tomorrow.  I have a list of folks who receive it each week by email, but if you're reading this blog, my guess is that you'd prefer a link from here.

Be well, my blog friends.  I've got lots of reading to do for tomorrow, so I'll be about that now.  I hope you all can set yourselves apart from the pre-Christmas season of frantic-ness, and just take time to reflect on "the reason for the season," whether that is a Christian reason, or simply the joy of giving, of family and loving relationships, of gratitude spilling over into generosity, or whatever it may be for you.  Don't let the culture drive you, but rather take the time to let the season feed your soul.

So Grateful

I'm not making an extensive post tonight, even though I think I should create works of art every day, like some of my blog friends.  But I'm blown away.  I preached about my daughter yesterday, about how a tragedy can sometimes turn into great gifts.  The response of my parishioners has been overwhelmingly touching.  Your comments here have been manna from heaven for a hungry heart.  I'm slowly, slowly learning that opening my heart means that others will touch me in meaningful ways, and that has happened.  This introvert, this one who was a solemn, lonely, isolated little girl, and who grew into a sometimes rather isolated woman, is learning to open her heart.  God is helping to teach me this; you all are also teaching me that it feels better to have an open heart than not to have one.

This is another example of how the tragedy of losing Eleanor has become a great gift.  My heart feels touched by your responses -- all of you.  I am replenished.  Today was an amazing day, with parishioners reaching out to me, with some of you reaching out to me.  I've experienced God's love through all of you, and I feel better able to face those other uncertainties that life is always bound to hold.

My goodness.  My gracious.  Thanks to the loving, good, and gracious God.  And thanks to Eleanor again.  And maybe more than that, thanks be to all of you.  ALL of you.

And Now, a Pause....

It's that time of the year again.  It caught me by surprise.  Most of our autumn beauty is past, though in Knoxville, down off the Plateau, it's still lovely.  I'm finishing up this church season of Ordinary Time, and making preparations for Advent, which begins on the 28th, the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  We'll be purple at church for a while then, and "preparatory" -- making ready for the birth of God's dream among us, and the final coming, when God wins, once and for all, and goodness and mercy will reign forever.

I've been enjoying another week of mild weather -- the nights are cold, as they should be in the mountains in November, but the days are a warm embrace of sunshine.

But I've been out of sorts.  I'm gaining weight again.  My will to be active, eat right, abstain from alcohol, read and write daily, do yoga -- all the things that keep me feeling really good, has lagged.  The will just isn't there.  And I've been beating myself up severely.  Scold, scold, scold.  Many mental finger-shakes.  Finally a colleague said to me, "What would happen if you moved from a position of disappointment and discouragement with yourself, to a position of curiosity?"  Well, that got my attention!

So I asked myself:  what is going on here?  I asked "why," which is sometimes helpful, sometimes not.  This time, it was.  I realized that I am in a time of transition.  My beloved Bishop (who is my boss -- not the parish where I minister, but the Bishop, is the one that I work for directly) is retiring, and we're about to elect another.  I don't know any of the candidates, and must go forward on trust -- that people I know and love have screened these candidates.  And of course, now I must also do my homework, and find out all I can about the nominees.  But losing my +Charlie is a great blow -- he has nurtured and encouraged me as a priest in the eight years since I've been here.  He knows my parish, and the growth we've experienced since I came here.  A newcomer won't know any of this -- we'll just be that little parish out on the edge of things.

I've also begun the very slow process of seeking another call.  Leaving this parish.  I'm in no hurry; I'm very happy here.  But I have many years yet until I officially retire from the active priesthood, and I will serve at least one more parish in that time.  So I've very gently and tentatively put my toes into the waters of looking around -- and that is a scary process of stepping into the unknown.  There are times here when I feel as though (after 8 years!) my ministry has just begun, just taken up steam.  But the decision to begin the journey into the unknown is always scary.

So with those conclusions, I felt a little better.  Of course I feel a little unsettled; my comfortable and enjoyable routines are naturally being shaken up a bit.

And then I watched Oprah on Thursday.  I watched Marie Osmond, 8 months after the suicide of her 18-month-old son.  She looks good.  She looks better. 

http://static.oprah.com/images/tows/201011/20101109-marie-osmond-4-300x205.jpg

When I say better, I mean more real.  I can look at her face now and see what she's living.  I can see who she is as a person right now.

I've followed Donny & Marie since my daughter was a fan, back in the 1970s and 80s.  I didn't really become a fan, but their faces "registered" with me as cultural icons of a sort.  My daughter had some sort of "head" that she got from her father and stepmother -- a "styling head," that was Marie, I think.  There was a knob with which you could make hair longer or shorter, and a set of "makeup" paints to apply to the face.  I don't recall her using it, and it was always a little macabre to me, this disembodied "Marie head."  I thought the two of them, Donny & Marie, far too happy, far too "pretty," and I thought their teeth were way too big and straight.  I didn't know Marie eventually had 8 kids.  And I certainly didn't know that her son committed suicide by jumping from his apartment window.  Oh, my.  I watched her weep on Thursday.  Eight months is nothing, when grieving the death of a child.  It hurts more at eight months than it did at 8 days -- a lot more.  The shock and denial have broken open into a deep pool of loss, a pool so deep you fear you might never surface again.  It shows on her face.  I love her for that.

I watched her rub her hand over the cover of a scrapbook her son made.  I know that gesture.  It's as though you might feel a bit of the person who owned it.  I watched her say, quietly, "My Baby."  I wept.  And I learned.  I realized, through the truth in her face, her gestures, her words, that I've been there.  I'm still there, sometimes.

And I realized that tomorrow is Eleanor's birthday.  Tomorrow, 42 years ago, I gave birth to my own walking miracle.

Isn't that little bald baby cute?  Yep, 42 years ago I was giving birth, and then 27 years ago, when she was 14 years old,  I was turning loose, I was grieving, I was stroking her things and saying, "My Baby."  She was struck down by a car and killed in the springtime, but forever in the autumn I'll remember her birth.

And my "disorder," my "upset," all became clear to me.  Yes, there is instability in my life right now.  There's a lot I don't know.  But tomorrow is her birthday.  Okay; no wonder.  I guess the rest of my life her birthday and death day will be not-so-great days for me, at least days when I give myself permission to be not-so-great.  It was a great relief to realize this, actually.  Now I can be sad, I can be lenient with myself, I can stop beating myself up and just be sad.  My darling child.

This is how she looked the fall before she died.  Not a "finished product," not the polished and beautiful image she might be at 25 or 30.  She was a kid, with too-long bangs and a blemish on her chin.  But look at that hair, look at those features, and especially at the life in those eyes.  She hated this picture; didn't even show me the proofs when the school pictures were taken.  After she died, I wrote to the company and they sent me these.

  Within weeks after she died, I dreamed of her.  This is how she looked.  We met on this beach and hugged, and I said to her, "So you're not dead, after all!"  And she nodded, and I awoke knowing she was okay.  I believe it.  I know it.  It's a huge comfort to me.  Someday, I'll see her again.

So OK.  I don't mean this to be a downer, but a source of hope and joy.  I came to understand myself better, and feel compassion for myself.  I came to honor and remember my baby.  After tomorrow, things will feel much better again, and I can adjust to the other uncertainties in my life.  I'm grateful for this person who enriched my life, who gave me so much.  Thank you, God.  Thank you, Eleanor.  Happy Birthday.