If we were, in fact, a civilized society, then if a public health threat like, say, a swine flu pandemic came along, it would be mandatory for employers to provide paid sick leave. Guess what? It's not. Seems to me the president ought to be able to include that in any emergency declaration, like declaring martial law or something.
As it turns out, our diagnosis is not civilization, but bottom-line, short-term gains capitalism. Sigh.
But the good folks over at momsrising.org are working on it. You can help them out and learn more here.
P.S. This just in. Judith Warner at the NYT says so too.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
A Haiku to Get You Through
So yes, I have a lot of reading to do this week.
Unfortunately, I am being aided in staying focused by the fact that the internet is out at home, and my tech guy is out of town. I think the modem needs to be replaced, and I'm not going to have time to deal with that till at least Monday.
And, as I just discovered, not only do I not like the idea of blogging at work, my computer here doesn't seem to like Blogger very much.
So it may be a little quiet around here for a while.
But here's a haiku, inspired by last night's reading, for you to hold onto.
Poor Revelation:
A joke with punch line explained
amuses no more.
The point being that Revelation made sense to its original audience, but because we don't have the same familiarity with the references stored in our brains, it has to be explained bit by bit, and like a joke, loses its impact through that process of dissection. Sad, sad, sad. This idea came from the WKJ Commentary by Catherine and Justo Gonzalez.
Unfortunately, I am being aided in staying focused by the fact that the internet is out at home, and my tech guy is out of town. I think the modem needs to be replaced, and I'm not going to have time to deal with that till at least Monday.
And, as I just discovered, not only do I not like the idea of blogging at work, my computer here doesn't seem to like Blogger very much.
So it may be a little quiet around here for a while.
But here's a haiku, inspired by last night's reading, for you to hold onto.
Poor Revelation:
A joke with punch line explained
amuses no more.
The point being that Revelation made sense to its original audience, but because we don't have the same familiarity with the references stored in our brains, it has to be explained bit by bit, and like a joke, loses its impact through that process of dissection. Sad, sad, sad. This idea came from the WKJ Commentary by Catherine and Justo Gonzalez.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Cramming
I haven't been in school for almost 8 years now. I have friends and parishioners who are still in school, and friends who now teach in schools. So I am still sort of aware of the cycles of the semesters. So perhaps this week can be an act of solidarity with all those struggling to finish term papers, whether writing or grading them.
I have to start teaching a five-session class on the Book of Revelation on Sunday. I am nowhere close to ready. And I'm a little terrified.
Why am I doing this, you ask? Hmmmm... that is a very good question. I have no good answer.
It was completely and totally my own fault, um, idea. No one asked me to do it, or even suggested it, exactly. There was a moment when someone was talking about the Left Behind series in disturbing ways, which may have had something to do with it.
I just thought, "ooo, I bet if I taught a class about Revelation it would get people's attention!" And at the time (somewhen in March), May seemed really far away.
But now the first Sunday of May is five days away. (As it turned out, April - my month to prepare - had Easter in it!) I have a vague outline of the five sessions in my head, but I have no content yet. Yesterday, I got three great books. But I haven't even really read the actual Book itself yet. I have a lot of reading to do, eh?
The good news is that it has caught people's attention. I'm even offering the class on Tuesday nights, in addition to Sunday mornings, because supposedly people are interested. We shall see. I'm glad people are interested and excited, but I'm also feeling a lot of pressure to do the class as well as I possibly can, that is, make it interesting and yet give people the information they so desperately need about this book. As Luke Johnson puts it, no other piece of literature has been "so obsessively read with such generally disastrous results."
If mainline Protestantism is guilty of anything (and we are), neglecting the educational needs of our flock is a major one. We have not given them the tools to explain their understanding of the Bible, even to themselves. So why are we surprised that so many folks in our churches are practically literalists, even when they have a vague idea that doesn't make sense? It's the default setting in this country, because nobody's being loud enough about the other options. It's one thing to learn not to be a literalist with the Letter to the Ephesians. Revelation is another thing altogether. But that's the point, I guess.
So. I shall throw myself to the lions. This one goes out to all you final week crammers out there -- I'm right here with you!
I have to start teaching a five-session class on the Book of Revelation on Sunday. I am nowhere close to ready. And I'm a little terrified.
Why am I doing this, you ask? Hmmmm... that is a very good question. I have no good answer.
It was completely and totally my own fault, um, idea. No one asked me to do it, or even suggested it, exactly. There was a moment when someone was talking about the Left Behind series in disturbing ways, which may have had something to do with it.
I just thought, "ooo, I bet if I taught a class about Revelation it would get people's attention!" And at the time (somewhen in March), May seemed really far away.
But now the first Sunday of May is five days away. (As it turned out, April - my month to prepare - had Easter in it!) I have a vague outline of the five sessions in my head, but I have no content yet. Yesterday, I got three great books. But I haven't even really read the actual Book itself yet. I have a lot of reading to do, eh?
The good news is that it has caught people's attention. I'm even offering the class on Tuesday nights, in addition to Sunday mornings, because supposedly people are interested. We shall see. I'm glad people are interested and excited, but I'm also feeling a lot of pressure to do the class as well as I possibly can, that is, make it interesting and yet give people the information they so desperately need about this book. As Luke Johnson puts it, no other piece of literature has been "so obsessively read with such generally disastrous results."
If mainline Protestantism is guilty of anything (and we are), neglecting the educational needs of our flock is a major one. We have not given them the tools to explain their understanding of the Bible, even to themselves. So why are we surprised that so many folks in our churches are practically literalists, even when they have a vague idea that doesn't make sense? It's the default setting in this country, because nobody's being loud enough about the other options. It's one thing to learn not to be a literalist with the Letter to the Ephesians. Revelation is another thing altogether. But that's the point, I guess.
So. I shall throw myself to the lions. This one goes out to all you final week crammers out there -- I'm right here with you!
Tired of Lies
Really, I am. I'm tired of everyone pretending that poor people get most of the welfare in this country. I'm tired of people pretending that somehow we have a "free market" system, when what we really have is a system of certain industries getting subsidized and others not. I'm tired of people talking like civilization, i.e. providing a basic level of security and care for all our citizens, is the same thing as totalitarianism (I won't call it socialism, because that's not what they really mean when they say socialism).
Paul Krugman has a piece today that hopes to prod people into calling our elected leaders to bring some accountability to the world of high-flying banking. But until we start calling them on the lies, nothing much is going to change.
Paul Krugman has a piece today that hopes to prod people into calling our elected leaders to bring some accountability to the world of high-flying banking. But until we start calling them on the lies, nothing much is going to change.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Seeking Punctuation Suggestions
Okay, let's have another contest!
I am searching for the best way to punctuate a way of writing and speaking that I tend to use frequently, when blogging and preaching.
The problem is a sentence where you want to say "The thing is..." or "The truth is..." When you speak it, there is a sort of dramatic pause after the "is". But putting a comma there seems and looks wrong. (Though I've done it before, especially in sermon manuscripts, mostly as a reminder to myself where the sentence is going so I don't miss the pause.)
Putting in nothing seems wrong too, as it doesn't truly reflect what the sentence is doing. Would you use a dash? "The truth is--we're scared." OR "The truth is -- we're scared." (Sorry they don't meld here; I find it annoying too.)
Or a colon? "The truth is: we're scared."
Do you like the comma option? "The truth is, we're scared."
Or what about an ellipsis? "The truth is... we're scared."
I know I just posted a big thing about semi-colons recently, but I'm actually very clear that this is not an occasion for a semi-colon.
So what do you think? What works best? I might be leaning toward the ellipsis. But I'm open to suggestions.
I am searching for the best way to punctuate a way of writing and speaking that I tend to use frequently, when blogging and preaching.
The problem is a sentence where you want to say "The thing is..." or "The truth is..." When you speak it, there is a sort of dramatic pause after the "is". But putting a comma there seems and looks wrong. (Though I've done it before, especially in sermon manuscripts, mostly as a reminder to myself where the sentence is going so I don't miss the pause.)
Putting in nothing seems wrong too, as it doesn't truly reflect what the sentence is doing. Would you use a dash? "The truth is--we're scared." OR "The truth is -- we're scared." (Sorry they don't meld here; I find it annoying too.)
Or a colon? "The truth is: we're scared."
Do you like the comma option? "The truth is, we're scared."
Or what about an ellipsis? "The truth is... we're scared."
I know I just posted a big thing about semi-colons recently, but I'm actually very clear that this is not an occasion for a semi-colon.
So what do you think? What works best? I might be leaning toward the ellipsis. But I'm open to suggestions.
Outside Church
We had church outside today. It was our 6th Annual Outdoor Service for Earth Stewardship Sunday (the churchy version of Earth Day).
The thing I always forget about is the extra auditory stimuli. I prepare myself/us for the distractions of sun, wind, bugs, etc. But I always forget about the sounds we will hear.
Today there were two major things: occasional cars going by and constant bird song. It was amazing. In fact, the bird song was so amazing that it even made me feel good about the occasional car and truck noises (even the loud one during the pastoral prayer) because they were transformed in my mind into mere reminders of others of God's creatures in our neighborhood. Plus, every time a car went by, that meant someone was seeing us worshipping outside. (Except when they were just really loud cars from other streets around the corner.)
But truly, worshipping with bird song accompaniment is a gift. The pollen was thick enough that we were mostly pretty sniffly by the end, so I wouldn't suggest we do this every week. But I'm really glad we do it at least once a year. And I might see if we can have a Blessing of the Animals service outside in the fall. Maybe even the truly pollen-phobic would show up for that. (We'll just have to make sure we avoid race weekend at Talladega, unlike we did this time!)
The thing I always forget about is the extra auditory stimuli. I prepare myself/us for the distractions of sun, wind, bugs, etc. But I always forget about the sounds we will hear.
Today there were two major things: occasional cars going by and constant bird song. It was amazing. In fact, the bird song was so amazing that it even made me feel good about the occasional car and truck noises (even the loud one during the pastoral prayer) because they were transformed in my mind into mere reminders of others of God's creatures in our neighborhood. Plus, every time a car went by, that meant someone was seeing us worshipping outside. (Except when they were just really loud cars from other streets around the corner.)
But truly, worshipping with bird song accompaniment is a gift. The pollen was thick enough that we were mostly pretty sniffly by the end, so I wouldn't suggest we do this every week. But I'm really glad we do it at least once a year. And I might see if we can have a Blessing of the Animals service outside in the fall. Maybe even the truly pollen-phobic would show up for that. (We'll just have to make sure we avoid race weekend at Talladega, unlike we did this time!)
Silence is the Voice of Complicity*
In this piece from Slate, Dahlia Lithwick expounds on our collective guilt in the torture crisis. Or at least our collective loss of innocence.
(*Title is from Audre Lorde.)
(*Title is from Audre Lorde.)
In Which Frank Rich Joins In
This column from Frank Rich is a nice complement to the Krugman piece. If we keep saying these things enough, perhaps public opinion will shift to demanding accountability.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
In Which Paul Krugman Schools Us Once Again
I find that I don't want to have that much to say about torture and what we should be doing about having done it. It's just so painfully wrong and clear that it's hard for me to admit there is anything else that needs to be said.
But Paul Krugman has something to say about it. And you should read it because he's right. It is never helpful to pretend the past doesn't matter and shouldn't have consequences, because it does have consequences whether we mediate them or not.
Of course there should be investigations and convictions. Really, if it were up to me, there would be a Truth & Reconciliation Commission kind of thing. But there probably won't be.
Krugman's piece made me think about this in two new ways. First of all, it is not that different than any other conflict, in which the majority of people just want to move on and try to pretend everything is fine. I've discovered that most people seem to prefer pretending like this to getting to the bottom of things if it involves confrontation, truth-telling, accusations, confessions and other unpleasantries. I have also discovered lately that I am not so much one of those people. Not because I have some superior ability to deal with all that messiness, but because I'm less adept at pretending the messiness that's already there isn't really there. I'm simply more comfortable dealing with crap than I am letting stuff fester. Your preference depends on which thing makes you more uneasy.
So what that means in terms of strategy is that the people who want something to happen have to keep the messiness that already exists constantly in the faces of those who want to "move on" till it becomes clear that not dealing with it is less pleasant than dealing with it. We have to ensure that nothing is swept under any rug, but instead keep it on display. Hopefully, in the case of torture, such a strategy wouldn't take too long, because it will be really unpleasant for all of us to keep it on display.
Lots of people are trying to do this sort of thing, refusing to let it drop. You can help out the National Religious Coalition Against Torture with their petition here.
The other thing Krugman's piece made me realize was from the line that says, "Others, I suspect, would rather not revisit those years because they don’t want to be reminded of their own sins of omission." Because he's right. If there's anything complicated about trying to enforce consequences for torture having happened, it's deciding where to draw the line. Because we are all guilty in some respect for letting things get to that point. So we probably don't just need a Truth and Reconciliation Commission. We need a series of national services of confession and repentance.
But Paul Krugman has something to say about it. And you should read it because he's right. It is never helpful to pretend the past doesn't matter and shouldn't have consequences, because it does have consequences whether we mediate them or not.
Of course there should be investigations and convictions. Really, if it were up to me, there would be a Truth & Reconciliation Commission kind of thing. But there probably won't be.
Krugman's piece made me think about this in two new ways. First of all, it is not that different than any other conflict, in which the majority of people just want to move on and try to pretend everything is fine. I've discovered that most people seem to prefer pretending like this to getting to the bottom of things if it involves confrontation, truth-telling, accusations, confessions and other unpleasantries. I have also discovered lately that I am not so much one of those people. Not because I have some superior ability to deal with all that messiness, but because I'm less adept at pretending the messiness that's already there isn't really there. I'm simply more comfortable dealing with crap than I am letting stuff fester. Your preference depends on which thing makes you more uneasy.
So what that means in terms of strategy is that the people who want something to happen have to keep the messiness that already exists constantly in the faces of those who want to "move on" till it becomes clear that not dealing with it is less pleasant than dealing with it. We have to ensure that nothing is swept under any rug, but instead keep it on display. Hopefully, in the case of torture, such a strategy wouldn't take too long, because it will be really unpleasant for all of us to keep it on display.
Lots of people are trying to do this sort of thing, refusing to let it drop. You can help out the National Religious Coalition Against Torture with their petition here.
The other thing Krugman's piece made me realize was from the line that says, "Others, I suspect, would rather not revisit those years because they don’t want to be reminded of their own sins of omission." Because he's right. If there's anything complicated about trying to enforce consequences for torture having happened, it's deciding where to draw the line. Because we are all guilty in some respect for letting things get to that point. So we probably don't just need a Truth and Reconciliation Commission. We need a series of national services of confession and repentance.
A Lovely Thing
I need to find out more about this woman, but for now, take a look at this lovely, lovely illustrated journal from the NYT. You will enjoy it.
Friday, April 24, 2009
A Question for Other Pastors and Others
I have lately taken to using the word "extra-curriculars" to describe the parts of my ministry that are primarily focused outside my congregation. I have a feeling my congregation thinks that I'm involved in too many extra-curriculars, but then again, they know that at least some of those raise the profile of our congregation which they know is a good thing. It's the ones that don't that they wouldn't mind seeing dropped.
So how many is the right number of extra-curriculars? I would like to invite other pastors to leave a comment listing what you do beyond your congregation and whether it feels like not much, the right amount or too much. Non-pastors, please weigh in about your opinions about what makes sense, keeping in mind that there is a lot of work that wouldn't get done if it weren't for pastors with flexible schedules (and congregations) and retirees.
I am involved in 3 local boards, which qualifies as four local extra-curriculars because I head a committee for one of them, which adds a whole other thing. Actually, I think it might have turned, hopefully temporarily, into five yesterday, as I took on another special responsibility.
I am involve in one major extra-curricular at the regional level, though occasionally additional things come and go. I am involved in 2 extra-curriculars at the national level, one board and an extra committee responsibility for it.
Then there are the 2 additional projects that are fermenting in my brain that are related to my regional extra-curricular. They are simply things I have the capacity to do in that role that I want to do, but that no one has asked me to do.
So I guess that adds up to ten? They all require different amounts of time and space in my brain. It doesn't usually feel like too much, but I'm also very clear that I'm not taking on anything else at this point, because then it would be.
So how many is the right number of extra-curriculars? I would like to invite other pastors to leave a comment listing what you do beyond your congregation and whether it feels like not much, the right amount or too much. Non-pastors, please weigh in about your opinions about what makes sense, keeping in mind that there is a lot of work that wouldn't get done if it weren't for pastors with flexible schedules (and congregations) and retirees.
I am involved in 3 local boards, which qualifies as four local extra-curriculars because I head a committee for one of them, which adds a whole other thing. Actually, I think it might have turned, hopefully temporarily, into five yesterday, as I took on another special responsibility.
I am involve in one major extra-curricular at the regional level, though occasionally additional things come and go. I am involved in 2 extra-curriculars at the national level, one board and an extra committee responsibility for it.
Then there are the 2 additional projects that are fermenting in my brain that are related to my regional extra-curricular. They are simply things I have the capacity to do in that role that I want to do, but that no one has asked me to do.
So I guess that adds up to ten? They all require different amounts of time and space in my brain. It doesn't usually feel like too much, but I'm also very clear that I'm not taking on anything else at this point, because then it would be.
Why Do We Do This?
We're reading "Will the Circle Be UnBroken?" by Studs Terkel in the ecumenical book group that I lead at church. It's a book full of interviews about death and dying.
This week's section had an interview that was very focused on the movement to bring cancer out of the closet. It's hard to remember at this point, but there was a time not so long ago when people didn't talk about cancer because of the stigma attached to it. There was, strangely, a sense that someone people who got cancer got it because of something they did wrong, that it was their own sorry fault.
I have never had cancer, and amazingly, have never experienced anyone in my immediate family having a hard core cancer struggle. But I deal with it a lot at church, and I definitely have the sense that shame is not part of the cancer experience anymore. There is still some sense of fault attached to lung cancer, for people who smoked/smoke, but other than that, we're over that bizarre cultural phenomenon of blaming the victim for cancer. But only because a lot of people got involved in fighting to make that happen.
What I don't get is why it happened in the first place. And why it seems like we do that with every disease. Why is it that as new diseases are first discovered, our first impulse is to blame the victim or the victim's parents? Am I right that people blamed autism on mothers? Certainly, the AIDS epidemic didn't reveal our most compassionate tendencies. We blame ADHD on television. I'm sure some of you can list other examples. Did it happen with polio? MS? CP?
Why is it that our first tendencies are guilty until proven innocent when it comes to disease? I'm guessing it's because such a construct helps us feel like there is something we can do, something we can control that will mean we won't be struck with the same disease. Ah, the pleasant delusions of control! Why do they have to have such a high price?
This week's section had an interview that was very focused on the movement to bring cancer out of the closet. It's hard to remember at this point, but there was a time not so long ago when people didn't talk about cancer because of the stigma attached to it. There was, strangely, a sense that someone people who got cancer got it because of something they did wrong, that it was their own sorry fault.
I have never had cancer, and amazingly, have never experienced anyone in my immediate family having a hard core cancer struggle. But I deal with it a lot at church, and I definitely have the sense that shame is not part of the cancer experience anymore. There is still some sense of fault attached to lung cancer, for people who smoked/smoke, but other than that, we're over that bizarre cultural phenomenon of blaming the victim for cancer. But only because a lot of people got involved in fighting to make that happen.
What I don't get is why it happened in the first place. And why it seems like we do that with every disease. Why is it that as new diseases are first discovered, our first impulse is to blame the victim or the victim's parents? Am I right that people blamed autism on mothers? Certainly, the AIDS epidemic didn't reveal our most compassionate tendencies. We blame ADHD on television. I'm sure some of you can list other examples. Did it happen with polio? MS? CP?
Why is it that our first tendencies are guilty until proven innocent when it comes to disease? I'm guessing it's because such a construct helps us feel like there is something we can do, something we can control that will mean we won't be struck with the same disease. Ah, the pleasant delusions of control! Why do they have to have such a high price?
Bucket List?
So the Five on Friday assignment over at RevGalBlogPals is to write a Bucket List, five things you want to do before you die. The name is from the movie, about two old guys (Morgan Freeman and someone who might be Jack Nicholson) who, I guess, decide to do the things they've always wanted to do before they die.
As I considered whether I wanted to make such a list, I discovered not a small amount of ambivalence. The first two things that occurred to me were (1) going on a cruise (embarrassing, I know, but I think I would love it) and (2) learning to dance flamenco. (3) Learning to fly a plane should probably also be in this category.
And then I realized that the chances of me ever doing these things are pretty slim. Not because I couldn't, but just because I wouldn't. At the moment, at least, my life is too full, to focused on doing what I do, to extract the huge amounts of time and money that would be required for large, indulgent hobbies or trips. And I'm fine with that.
I'm not saying this won't change as I age; it quite possibly will. But at the moment, a Bucket List for me is not really a list about the real me. It's more a list of the person I would be if I had piles of money and no job, and no compulsion to spend either my time or my money on anyone but myself. That's not really who I am. And that's fine with me too. It's a person I don't mind fantasizing about sometimes, but it's not, ultimately, who I end up being, based on the choices I make about what to do with my life.
(I do not want to give the impression that I'm some sort of ascetic saint. I enjoy plenty of small, usually cheap indulgences in my life. Just not a lot of huge ones.)
Can I think of two more? How about (4) having a horse and riding it regularly and (5) designing and building (or rather, having built) my own home? So there's a list, but how does it really relate to me?
So if I admit that this list isn't really about the real me, what list would be? Are there, in fact, goals I have that I do, honestly, hope to achieve? Why do I feel this resistance to writing them down?
(1) I would like to be the pastor of a really great, healthy, active church some day. Or a few of them, in fact. I love the church I serve now, but I wouldn't call it healthy yet, as it's not of a sustainable size and it's too pastor-dependent still. We are very much still learning how to work with God so the church is the primary energy rather than the pastor.
(2) I would like to write a book or even more than one. Not sure what about yet, but I would like to collect some of my work and thoughts and know that others find them helpful.
(3) I think I might like to be a judicatory minister. I put a very large "might" on this one because it's the kind of thing I truly believe is up to God. If that door opens up, great. If it doesn't, that will be okay too, and I won't go to my grave disappointed. I've always felt that it's pointless (for me) to worry about finding the right job, because there's plenty of work to be done.
(4) I would like to be a good and involved aunt. Right now, that is hard because we are too far away from my niece and impending nephew, and they are too small to travel on their own (especially Doodle, the impending nephew -- he doesn't go anywhere without his mama!). I would like to be a little closer some day, so that we can have a more frequent relationship. But again, this is up to God; I am not going to make major life decisions (like where to live) based primarily on this desire.
(5) I would like to be a person who stays in shape for most of my life. Just barely starting to get a handle on this. I read (in my twenties) that the fitness habits you develop in your twenties are the ones that stay with you for the rest of your life. Evidently, I was not impressed, because I developed no fitness habits in my twenties. Maybe you can still do it in your thirties. I'm still walking twice a week, and I recently bought some five(!) pound hand weights so I can grow some arm muscles while watching tv.
There, that list isn't so ridiculous. It's a strange exercise to make a list of things you might like to do but probably never will. It's a different thing entirely to make a list of things you realistically hope you'll do. I wonder if this blog will still exist when I'm 65 so I can check what happened.
As I considered whether I wanted to make such a list, I discovered not a small amount of ambivalence. The first two things that occurred to me were (1) going on a cruise (embarrassing, I know, but I think I would love it) and (2) learning to dance flamenco. (3) Learning to fly a plane should probably also be in this category.
And then I realized that the chances of me ever doing these things are pretty slim. Not because I couldn't, but just because I wouldn't. At the moment, at least, my life is too full, to focused on doing what I do, to extract the huge amounts of time and money that would be required for large, indulgent hobbies or trips. And I'm fine with that.
I'm not saying this won't change as I age; it quite possibly will. But at the moment, a Bucket List for me is not really a list about the real me. It's more a list of the person I would be if I had piles of money and no job, and no compulsion to spend either my time or my money on anyone but myself. That's not really who I am. And that's fine with me too. It's a person I don't mind fantasizing about sometimes, but it's not, ultimately, who I end up being, based on the choices I make about what to do with my life.
(I do not want to give the impression that I'm some sort of ascetic saint. I enjoy plenty of small, usually cheap indulgences in my life. Just not a lot of huge ones.)
Can I think of two more? How about (4) having a horse and riding it regularly and (5) designing and building (or rather, having built) my own home? So there's a list, but how does it really relate to me?
So if I admit that this list isn't really about the real me, what list would be? Are there, in fact, goals I have that I do, honestly, hope to achieve? Why do I feel this resistance to writing them down?
(1) I would like to be the pastor of a really great, healthy, active church some day. Or a few of them, in fact. I love the church I serve now, but I wouldn't call it healthy yet, as it's not of a sustainable size and it's too pastor-dependent still. We are very much still learning how to work with God so the church is the primary energy rather than the pastor.
(2) I would like to write a book or even more than one. Not sure what about yet, but I would like to collect some of my work and thoughts and know that others find them helpful.
(3) I think I might like to be a judicatory minister. I put a very large "might" on this one because it's the kind of thing I truly believe is up to God. If that door opens up, great. If it doesn't, that will be okay too, and I won't go to my grave disappointed. I've always felt that it's pointless (for me) to worry about finding the right job, because there's plenty of work to be done.
(4) I would like to be a good and involved aunt. Right now, that is hard because we are too far away from my niece and impending nephew, and they are too small to travel on their own (especially Doodle, the impending nephew -- he doesn't go anywhere without his mama!). I would like to be a little closer some day, so that we can have a more frequent relationship. But again, this is up to God; I am not going to make major life decisions (like where to live) based primarily on this desire.
(5) I would like to be a person who stays in shape for most of my life. Just barely starting to get a handle on this. I read (in my twenties) that the fitness habits you develop in your twenties are the ones that stay with you for the rest of your life. Evidently, I was not impressed, because I developed no fitness habits in my twenties. Maybe you can still do it in your thirties. I'm still walking twice a week, and I recently bought some five(!) pound hand weights so I can grow some arm muscles while watching tv.
There, that list isn't so ridiculous. It's a strange exercise to make a list of things you might like to do but probably never will. It's a different thing entirely to make a list of things you realistically hope you'll do. I wonder if this blog will still exist when I'm 65 so I can check what happened.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Why are the seasons of friendship so uneven?
In the last year and then the last four months, I have developed two new friendships. It's really very cool. One is with a woman and her family who are totally outside the church. She's not even really into church, so I've given up feeling like I should be encouraging her to come visit. I'm friends with her personally, and we're also whole family friends. It's lovely to have people to do something with.
The other is a clergy woman colleague, who is now my walking buddy. We meet twice a week and walk (and talk) for 45 minutes or so. And it seems like very soon, we will hang out beyond that.
It is kind of amazing to have two different friendships so entirely functional at the same time. By "functional" I mean where we actually make time in our schedules to hang out. It's gotten to the point that one friend asked if we wanted to hang out on Friday, and I'd already made plans to hang out with the other friend. What a wonderful problem to have.
So what sucks? What sucks is that both of these friends are going to be gone from my life in less than seven months. One is going away to grad school and one will be changing jobs. When it rains, it pours, and when it's dry, it's drought. What's up with that?
The other is a clergy woman colleague, who is now my walking buddy. We meet twice a week and walk (and talk) for 45 minutes or so. And it seems like very soon, we will hang out beyond that.
It is kind of amazing to have two different friendships so entirely functional at the same time. By "functional" I mean where we actually make time in our schedules to hang out. It's gotten to the point that one friend asked if we wanted to hang out on Friday, and I'd already made plans to hang out with the other friend. What a wonderful problem to have.
So what sucks? What sucks is that both of these friends are going to be gone from my life in less than seven months. One is going away to grad school and one will be changing jobs. When it rains, it pours, and when it's dry, it's drought. What's up with that?
Some Earth Day Ponderments
So tonight for our monthly post-prayer service Bible study, I invented a new thing. I called it Popcorn Bible Study. I don't think it's probably very original, but the idea was to read a number of short scriptures and briefly share our thoughts after we read each one.
The theme, for obvious reasons, was the relationships between God and us and creation. We are having church outside on Sunday to celebrate, with a guest speaker and everything, so this was really just warm up, but it was fun and interesting.
Some things we noticed...
For some reason, the first time God gives us creation, we are told to be vegetarians (Genesis 1:26-31). Then, after the flood, we are told we can eat animals (Genesis 9:3). What's up with that?
The Psalms are really good at expressing paradox. Psalm 8 manages to give a sense of the incredible wonder and majesty of God and creation, while at the same time pointing out that we have this crazy privileged position in all of that. Psalm 104 has an incredible trust in the orderliness of God's plan for the earth, a sort of "A place for everything and everything in its place" satisfaction. You could find a teaching in there telling us to stay in our places and leave the coney's place for them, and the mountain tops for the goats, etc.
And what does it mean that Jesus told us to love our enemies so that we can be "children of our Father in heaven, who makes the sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous"? It would seem as though the sun represents the good of nature and the rain represents the bad, despite the good qualities of rain. I say this because of the way the order of the good and bad people is switched from the sun example to the rain example. Just seems likely that means something to me.
And further, what does it mean that we have completely distorted the truth of this point? The truth is that in our day and age, the rich are much more likely to benefit from the blessings of nature and the poor are much more likely to be harmed by the complications of nature. See flooding in Katrina, peasants displaced in the Philippines to make way for a golf course, environmental racism and classism, water being hogged by big cities, etc. It's enough to make you wish for a Day of Reckoning, though most of us would probably come out on the losing end of that.
The theme, for obvious reasons, was the relationships between God and us and creation. We are having church outside on Sunday to celebrate, with a guest speaker and everything, so this was really just warm up, but it was fun and interesting.
Some things we noticed...
For some reason, the first time God gives us creation, we are told to be vegetarians (Genesis 1:26-31). Then, after the flood, we are told we can eat animals (Genesis 9:3). What's up with that?
The Psalms are really good at expressing paradox. Psalm 8 manages to give a sense of the incredible wonder and majesty of God and creation, while at the same time pointing out that we have this crazy privileged position in all of that. Psalm 104 has an incredible trust in the orderliness of God's plan for the earth, a sort of "A place for everything and everything in its place" satisfaction. You could find a teaching in there telling us to stay in our places and leave the coney's place for them, and the mountain tops for the goats, etc.
And what does it mean that Jesus told us to love our enemies so that we can be "children of our Father in heaven, who makes the sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous"? It would seem as though the sun represents the good of nature and the rain represents the bad, despite the good qualities of rain. I say this because of the way the order of the good and bad people is switched from the sun example to the rain example. Just seems likely that means something to me.
And further, what does it mean that we have completely distorted the truth of this point? The truth is that in our day and age, the rich are much more likely to benefit from the blessings of nature and the poor are much more likely to be harmed by the complications of nature. See flooding in Katrina, peasants displaced in the Philippines to make way for a golf course, environmental racism and classism, water being hogged by big cities, etc. It's enough to make you wish for a Day of Reckoning, though most of us would probably come out on the losing end of that.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Another Random Thought about Facebook
Okay, so I ended that last post with an asterisk. That's because I was implying that I would need a beach house for all my 467 facebook friends. The truth is that I wouldn't want to hang out at a beach house with all of the people I'm "friends" with on facebook.
And here's why that can be a good thing. I contend that facebook is making me a more tolerant person. Because there are some people that I am friends with on facebook that I have very little in common with. This becomes an issue (in my brain) when we disagree politically. But the thing is, on facebook, because they're my "friends" I don't say snarky things. I don't "tell them how I feel" because there's no point in doing what would just be rude. Especially when they're happy about things that I find disturbing, it is good for my soul to try to just be happy for them because they're happy and release my judgment about the causes.
I am aware that not everyone may be affected in this way by facebook, but I bet a lot of people are. There was a study a while back that Mother Jones summed up as saying facebook and twitter make you immoral and stupid. I can't speak for twitter, but I beg to differ when it comes to facebook.
And here's why that can be a good thing. I contend that facebook is making me a more tolerant person. Because there are some people that I am friends with on facebook that I have very little in common with. This becomes an issue (in my brain) when we disagree politically. But the thing is, on facebook, because they're my "friends" I don't say snarky things. I don't "tell them how I feel" because there's no point in doing what would just be rude. Especially when they're happy about things that I find disturbing, it is good for my soul to try to just be happy for them because they're happy and release my judgment about the causes.
I am aware that not everyone may be affected in this way by facebook, but I bet a lot of people are. There was a study a while back that Mother Jones summed up as saying facebook and twitter make you immoral and stupid. I can't speak for twitter, but I beg to differ when it comes to facebook.
Random Thought about Facebook
So the other day, I hit on this idea about why people like Facebook. It's weird to me that I've never heard anyone say this, because now that I've thought it, it seems totally obvious.
This came up because I mentioned that I was enjoying "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert, and about 8 people commented on it. Except really, they were commenting on each other's comments as much as they were commenting on my original statement.
And it made me think about how cool it was that people from so many different periods of my life have interesting things (like taste in books) in common. And suddenly, I was thinking about that daydream I like to indulge about the big party, at a big beach house or somewhere, where you bring people from all the different parts of your life and everyone hangs out and has a great time.
I doubt that I am the only person who secretly or not-so-secretly harbors the desire for such a gathering. And though it's not billed that way, Facebook is the closest thing to creating such a thing that most of us will ever get. When friends who don't know each other have even a tiny interaction because they're all reacting to one mutual friend's comment, it starts that web to growing, and it feels kind of cool. Now I just have to find a really, really big beach house.*
This came up because I mentioned that I was enjoying "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert, and about 8 people commented on it. Except really, they were commenting on each other's comments as much as they were commenting on my original statement.
And it made me think about how cool it was that people from so many different periods of my life have interesting things (like taste in books) in common. And suddenly, I was thinking about that daydream I like to indulge about the big party, at a big beach house or somewhere, where you bring people from all the different parts of your life and everyone hangs out and has a great time.
I doubt that I am the only person who secretly or not-so-secretly harbors the desire for such a gathering. And though it's not billed that way, Facebook is the closest thing to creating such a thing that most of us will ever get. When friends who don't know each other have even a tiny interaction because they're all reacting to one mutual friend's comment, it starts that web to growing, and it feels kind of cool. Now I just have to find a really, really big beach house.*
Friday, April 17, 2009
Stranded with Whom on a Desert Island?
The other night at Chorale rehearsal, someone mentioned that we have a lot of ministers in the choir. This is sort of true. There are maybe 40 people total on a good day, and three of us are pastors.
The way it was said sort of implied that was a good thing, in case of emergency. It was kind of like how you'd want to have someone who knows how to build traps out of twigs if you're stranded on an island or in the woods. Or a doctor if a building collapsed in some remote place.
But it got me to thinking. What would it be like if some crazy, emergency tragedy happened that isolated the choir for some period of time, in heightened danger? Would the presence of three pastors make a difference? What kind of difference?
Would we shift into our professional roles fairly immediately? Would we band together and talk privately about our concerns about various people in the community and their spiritual health? Would we hold prayer services to help people cope? Would it be a good thing?
Or would three pastors be too many? Would we be territorial? Pastors are usually personalities who like to be leaders; people go into ministry because they like positive attention. Would we share that productively? Would we argue about how to best lead the people and keep their hope up? Knowing that basic needs like food and water would be our most immediate needs, would we even act in our roles, or would we just be more hungry, thirsty people, because this is the situation we've been trained to assist in?
So what about you? Would you rather be stranded on a desert island with one pastor or three? And would it matter which three? Because it sure would to me!
The way it was said sort of implied that was a good thing, in case of emergency. It was kind of like how you'd want to have someone who knows how to build traps out of twigs if you're stranded on an island or in the woods. Or a doctor if a building collapsed in some remote place.
But it got me to thinking. What would it be like if some crazy, emergency tragedy happened that isolated the choir for some period of time, in heightened danger? Would the presence of three pastors make a difference? What kind of difference?
Would we shift into our professional roles fairly immediately? Would we band together and talk privately about our concerns about various people in the community and their spiritual health? Would we hold prayer services to help people cope? Would it be a good thing?
Or would three pastors be too many? Would we be territorial? Pastors are usually personalities who like to be leaders; people go into ministry because they like positive attention. Would we share that productively? Would we argue about how to best lead the people and keep their hope up? Knowing that basic needs like food and water would be our most immediate needs, would we even act in our roles, or would we just be more hungry, thirsty people, because this is the situation we've been trained to assist in?
So what about you? Would you rather be stranded on a desert island with one pastor or three? And would it matter which three? Because it sure would to me!
Guantanamo
No, this blog is not about torture or detention centers. (Are we not clear yet that those are very bad things?)
No, here's the thing that gets me about Guantanamo. Why in the heck does it even exist? How is it that we get to have a military base on a tiny island that belongs to the one country in the world that we have pro-actively not been speaking to for over 50 years?
Can you imagine us allowing that? Can you imagine most countries allowing that? "Sure, we know you'd rather we didn't even exist, and you'll probably at some point try to assassinate our leaders, and you love to lure our citizens away, but here -- have some land to house an outpost of your army!"
That's crazy-talk! It is so weird. I know very little about the Cuban revolution, but I can only assume that the military base was there before the revolution, and it just never got conquered. But most other countries, dealing with most other countries, would have annexed it post-haste. By force, if necessary, but probably just by treaty. The Cubans did win that revolution, after all.
This is the sort of example of American exceptionalism that just makes it seem so crazy that I don't get how people don't find it inappropriate. (Unless it's also an example of Cuban exceptionalism?) I would love to know how many other countries around the world have military bases in so many different countries, and especially in countries they have had no trade or travel or conversation with.
So weird.
No, here's the thing that gets me about Guantanamo. Why in the heck does it even exist? How is it that we get to have a military base on a tiny island that belongs to the one country in the world that we have pro-actively not been speaking to for over 50 years?
Can you imagine us allowing that? Can you imagine most countries allowing that? "Sure, we know you'd rather we didn't even exist, and you'll probably at some point try to assassinate our leaders, and you love to lure our citizens away, but here -- have some land to house an outpost of your army!"
That's crazy-talk! It is so weird. I know very little about the Cuban revolution, but I can only assume that the military base was there before the revolution, and it just never got conquered. But most other countries, dealing with most other countries, would have annexed it post-haste. By force, if necessary, but probably just by treaty. The Cubans did win that revolution, after all.
This is the sort of example of American exceptionalism that just makes it seem so crazy that I don't get how people don't find it inappropriate. (Unless it's also an example of Cuban exceptionalism?) I would love to know how many other countries around the world have military bases in so many different countries, and especially in countries they have had no trade or travel or conversation with.
So weird.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A New Easter Hymn
So lately, I've been wanting to let my congregation sing "Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken" because I love the tune, Austrian Hymn. And I'm pretty sure at least one other person in my congregation has told me they love that tune. And it's the only hymn in our hymnal that uses that tune (which seems a little weird).
But the more I look at it, the more the words bug me, and I can't find any good excuse to overlook them. So I decided I should write my own hymn. This was only about last week, mind you. It seemed, tune-wise, like it should be an Easter hymn, but I sort of figured it was a bit late for that, what with Easter already being upon us. So I thought maybe I'd write a Pentecost hymn.
But this morning, the tune was in my dream, played on a doorbell, and when I woke up, I just dove right in and wrote an Easter hymn anyway.
I am very aware that this is the product of a mind that just woke up, so please help me edit. Make suggestions about word choice; let me know if the verses' styles are too disparate. I will try very hard to be open to your comments. And if you'd like to use it, feel free; just make sure you include my name somewhere in some fine print.
Jesus Christ, our friend and teacher,
crucified upon a cross.
Such a scandal, such a mystery,
God has suffered deepest loss.
In our pain and thick confusion,
do we see that God is there?
Jesus knows our every burden;
Pray we keep our hearts aware.
When the women came to grieve him,
lo, the stone was rolled away.
Tomb was empty, linens folded;
T'was the dawn of Easter Day.
In their hearts a transformation:
grief was slowly turned to joy.
Resurrection love had triumphed;
death's dread powers had been destroyed.
Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior,
present in the breaking bread,
to a world in need of servants,
sends us out and goes ahead.
"Do not fear, for I am with you,"
is the promise evermore.
"You will see me when you offer
care to strangers and feed the poor."
It's still a little rough, so I covet your poetic critique. Thanks.
But the more I look at it, the more the words bug me, and I can't find any good excuse to overlook them. So I decided I should write my own hymn. This was only about last week, mind you. It seemed, tune-wise, like it should be an Easter hymn, but I sort of figured it was a bit late for that, what with Easter already being upon us. So I thought maybe I'd write a Pentecost hymn.
But this morning, the tune was in my dream, played on a doorbell, and when I woke up, I just dove right in and wrote an Easter hymn anyway.
I am very aware that this is the product of a mind that just woke up, so please help me edit. Make suggestions about word choice; let me know if the verses' styles are too disparate. I will try very hard to be open to your comments. And if you'd like to use it, feel free; just make sure you include my name somewhere in some fine print.
Jesus Christ, our friend and teacher,
crucified upon a cross.
Such a scandal, such a mystery,
God has suffered deepest loss.
In our pain and thick confusion,
do we see that God is there?
Jesus knows our every burden;
Pray we keep our hearts aware.
When the women came to grieve him,
lo, the stone was rolled away.
Tomb was empty, linens folded;
T'was the dawn of Easter Day.
In their hearts a transformation:
grief was slowly turned to joy.
Resurrection love had triumphed;
death's dread powers had been destroyed.
Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior,
present in the breaking bread,
to a world in need of servants,
sends us out and goes ahead.
"Do not fear, for I am with you,"
is the promise evermore.
"You will see me when you offer
care to strangers and feed the poor."
It's still a little rough, so I covet your poetic critique. Thanks.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I Can't Take It Any More!
Why won't you people start using semi-colons the way they could be used?!?
I can't tell you how many articles I've read lately (well, actually 2 specifically come to mind) where journalists are using direct quotes from people and instead of using semi-colons to let you know that someone said two sentences very close together, they chose to "connect" the two sentences with a comma.
Except that you can't connect sentences with commas. Isn't that the rule? That is the rule I was taught. I didn't go to journalism school, but why would their rules of punctuation be different from the rest of ours?
The thing about the semi-colon is that it's the perfect punctuation mark for our times. It's the perfect thing to use to transcribe speech, because its primary function is precisely what makes speech different from formal writing. Connecting sentences with a semi-colon gives precisely the sense of mini-pause that happens so often when people are speaking. A full stop and capital-letter-to-start-again are too much in such situations, but a conjunction and a comma are frequently simply not appropriate.
Here's my theory on why people in general, and journalism schools in particular evidently, are not recognizing the semi-colon for what it's truly worth:
When we are taught to write, we are taught to write writing; that is, we are taught to write more formally than the way we speak. In a formal context, the use of the semi-colon is a bit intimidating to some people. So it comes off seeming like an obscure, hard-to-use-correctly form of punctuation. And perhaps it is.
But if you can learn how to use it correctly, you discover that it is the perfect solution for the sorts of less formal punctuation needs that have become so prevalent in our times. Our entire culture is becoming less formal. Writing that reads more like speech is becoming more common. Articles in magazines and newspapers frequently include lengthy quotations from subjects. And the semi-colon is the perfect connector for two closely related sentences. Attaching them together with a comma is called a "comma splice", and it's an error!
But the thing is that we've been convinced that the comma is an easy form of punctuation, one whose use is frequently a matter of opinion; how can you go wrong with a comma? The semi-colon, on the other hand, will attract attention, so you have to be sure you're using it correctly if you're going to use it at all.
The thing is, it's just not really that hard. Two sentences that seem like they should go together, but they're both complete sentences in their own right -- if you want them to be closer than a period and capital letter will imply, connect them with a semi-colon. Problem solved, gracefully, efficiently, and correctly!
But no -- someone, some conspiracy out there that has evidently taken over journalism schools, has decided you should just put a comma there instead. Take this comment from Al Franken quoted in a recent NEW YORK TIMES (for Pete's sake!) article about his delayed arrival in Washington: “As sort of life crises go, this is low on the totem poll. But it is weird, it’s a strange thing.”
That last "sentence"? It totally deserved a semi-colon. Why didn't Adam Nagourney give it one? I have no idea. If anyone out there can explain why the arbiters of punctuation have turned against the lithe beauty of the semi-colon, especially in this time when it could have been coming into its own, please share, so I can lodge a formal complaint. My guess is we're just giving into laziness, and that disgusts me.
I can't tell you how many articles I've read lately (well, actually 2 specifically come to mind) where journalists are using direct quotes from people and instead of using semi-colons to let you know that someone said two sentences very close together, they chose to "connect" the two sentences with a comma.
Except that you can't connect sentences with commas. Isn't that the rule? That is the rule I was taught. I didn't go to journalism school, but why would their rules of punctuation be different from the rest of ours?
The thing about the semi-colon is that it's the perfect punctuation mark for our times. It's the perfect thing to use to transcribe speech, because its primary function is precisely what makes speech different from formal writing. Connecting sentences with a semi-colon gives precisely the sense of mini-pause that happens so often when people are speaking. A full stop and capital-letter-to-start-again are too much in such situations, but a conjunction and a comma are frequently simply not appropriate.
Here's my theory on why people in general, and journalism schools in particular evidently, are not recognizing the semi-colon for what it's truly worth:
When we are taught to write, we are taught to write writing; that is, we are taught to write more formally than the way we speak. In a formal context, the use of the semi-colon is a bit intimidating to some people. So it comes off seeming like an obscure, hard-to-use-correctly form of punctuation. And perhaps it is.
But if you can learn how to use it correctly, you discover that it is the perfect solution for the sorts of less formal punctuation needs that have become so prevalent in our times. Our entire culture is becoming less formal. Writing that reads more like speech is becoming more common. Articles in magazines and newspapers frequently include lengthy quotations from subjects. And the semi-colon is the perfect connector for two closely related sentences. Attaching them together with a comma is called a "comma splice", and it's an error!
But the thing is that we've been convinced that the comma is an easy form of punctuation, one whose use is frequently a matter of opinion; how can you go wrong with a comma? The semi-colon, on the other hand, will attract attention, so you have to be sure you're using it correctly if you're going to use it at all.
The thing is, it's just not really that hard. Two sentences that seem like they should go together, but they're both complete sentences in their own right -- if you want them to be closer than a period and capital letter will imply, connect them with a semi-colon. Problem solved, gracefully, efficiently, and correctly!
But no -- someone, some conspiracy out there that has evidently taken over journalism schools, has decided you should just put a comma there instead. Take this comment from Al Franken quoted in a recent NEW YORK TIMES (for Pete's sake!) article about his delayed arrival in Washington: “As sort of life crises go, this is low on the totem poll. But it is weird, it’s a strange thing.”
That last "sentence"? It totally deserved a semi-colon. Why didn't Adam Nagourney give it one? I have no idea. If anyone out there can explain why the arbiters of punctuation have turned against the lithe beauty of the semi-colon, especially in this time when it could have been coming into its own, please share, so I can lodge a formal complaint. My guess is we're just giving into laziness, and that disgusts me.
One More Thing, and I'll Step Off the Soap Box For Now
Minnesota needs a second senator. Amy Klobuchar is probably already working two jobs, being a woman. And number two isn't going to be Norm Coleman. He needs to stop. He really, really does. And Senator Franken needs to be seated.
Can we quit with the frivolous lawsuits already? (Wait a minute -- "frivolous lawsuits"? I thought that was a Republican catchphrase!)
Can we quit with the frivolous lawsuits already? (Wait a minute -- "frivolous lawsuits"? I thought that was a Republican catchphrase!)
By The Way...
I live in the Heart of Dixie and I am basically a democratic socialist. (Though, unfortunately, not card-carrying. How do you do that?) Just thought Rep. Spencer Bachus might want to know. In case he needs to expand his list...
Very Good Article on Health Care Reform
I am tired of people saying that health care costs so much because of trial lawyers and un-computerized records. Nobody believes that; so when you say it, you're lying, knowingly.
If it were up to me, I would start job-training right now for everyone in the health insurance industry. Because it's got to go. It is the problem. And it is the primary obstacle to reform that will work. It is like a parasite that doesn't just suck the life out of the body, but also destroys the brain's capacity for critical thought.
Anyway, here's a solid article about all that from Slate.
If it were up to me, I would start job-training right now for everyone in the health insurance industry. Because it's got to go. It is the problem. And it is the primary obstacle to reform that will work. It is like a parasite that doesn't just suck the life out of the body, but also destroys the brain's capacity for critical thought.
Anyway, here's a solid article about all that from Slate.
It's Time to Grow Up
Bob Herbert on "The American Way". Can you guess what he's talking about? Yep, that's right, shooting each other. The violence has to stop.
Monday, April 13, 2009
An Interesting, if Completely Irrelevant, Point
Stanley Fish is a pedant. But his approach to the question of whether doctors and pharmacists should be required to provide abortions and/or birth control regardless of their own beliefs is certainly novel.
The annoying part is how it always gets completely over-looked that there are many people who simply do not have other options if one person says no.
P.S. Sorry I've been such a bad blogger lately. I've been planning all sorts of things for you, but today we had to fight the Battle of the Unfolded Laundry.
The annoying part is how it always gets completely over-looked that there are many people who simply do not have other options if one person says no.
P.S. Sorry I've been such a bad blogger lately. I've been planning all sorts of things for you, but today we had to fight the Battle of the Unfolded Laundry.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Contemporary Passion Stories - Why Don't We Tell Them?
Last week, I spent three days at a Catholic retreat center. While I was there, I had the chance to view two different sets of Stations of the Cross. I didn't exactly "pray" them, because, honestly, I don't really know how that works, though I could have figured something out. It was more a curious, so-this-is-what-they-do-what-can-I-notice-about-it kind of thing.
The thing that struck me both times was a little unsettling, which is good, I suppose. As I went through each scene -- the falling, the whipping, the crucifying -- I wondered what this relates to in our day.
And here's the thing. We talk about Jesus' suffering as though it was the Ultimate Suffering. And in one sense, it was/is. But the truth is, there are people in this world, historically and currently, who have suffered much more and for much longer. As I viewed the Stations of the Cross, it made me think of torture victims, of refugees girls raped and disfigured in ways such that they can never be part of their communities again, of political prisoners whisked away and kept in dark, solitary confinement for years. These people do not even have the escape of death. Their suffering is much more extended.
Though I'm not all that clear about what I think about how clearly Jesus understand his suffering to be "part of a plan", that also seems like it would ameliorate some of what was happening. But the suffering of many people around the world is completely pointless, meaningless, merely the results of evil with, often, no redeeming consequences at all.
I feel pretty sacrilegious saying all this. My point is not to diminish Jesus' suffering, and honestly, I don't think the length or depth of the suffering is the point. But it made me uneasy about trying to relate the Passion Story to my congregation, none of whom are refugees or torture victims or detainees. How can we presume to pretend that we can relate at all?
I set these concerns aside last night as I led my Holy Thursday service, which is when we read the Good Friday stuff too. But it's still there in my heart. It makes me feel like the way we try to re-create the events of Holy Week, to experience them, is so cheap. How is it much different than the voyeurism of "The Passion of Christ"?
Wouldn't the more appropriate thing for us to do on Good Friday be to try to visit detainees in the basically hidden-from-view INS prisons, or to meet with re-settled refugees from Congo, and try to convey Christ's compassion as we hear their stories?
Part of the difference is the source of the suffering. Just as I do not want to diminish Jesus' suffering, I also do not want to deny that many people in my congregation have experienced serious suffering also. But for very few of them is that suffering inflicted because of someone else's hatred or evil desires. Abuse victims (of which I have a few) may qualify, but most of the suffering is from ill health or death of loved ones.
What bothers me is the way we talk about Jesus' suffering as if this was the only time other people inflicted such pain onto a fellow human. To go through the story of Good Friday, ignoring the reality of current similar situations, seems blasphemous itself to me. But I think somehow we're afraid that if we draw comparisons, it will sap the Passion Story of its power. On the contrary, if we could do it effectively, in a way that didn't make people defensive and that actually made a difference in people's lives, I think it would be the most powerful use of the story ever.
The thing that struck me both times was a little unsettling, which is good, I suppose. As I went through each scene -- the falling, the whipping, the crucifying -- I wondered what this relates to in our day.
And here's the thing. We talk about Jesus' suffering as though it was the Ultimate Suffering. And in one sense, it was/is. But the truth is, there are people in this world, historically and currently, who have suffered much more and for much longer. As I viewed the Stations of the Cross, it made me think of torture victims, of refugees girls raped and disfigured in ways such that they can never be part of their communities again, of political prisoners whisked away and kept in dark, solitary confinement for years. These people do not even have the escape of death. Their suffering is much more extended.
Though I'm not all that clear about what I think about how clearly Jesus understand his suffering to be "part of a plan", that also seems like it would ameliorate some of what was happening. But the suffering of many people around the world is completely pointless, meaningless, merely the results of evil with, often, no redeeming consequences at all.
I feel pretty sacrilegious saying all this. My point is not to diminish Jesus' suffering, and honestly, I don't think the length or depth of the suffering is the point. But it made me uneasy about trying to relate the Passion Story to my congregation, none of whom are refugees or torture victims or detainees. How can we presume to pretend that we can relate at all?
I set these concerns aside last night as I led my Holy Thursday service, which is when we read the Good Friday stuff too. But it's still there in my heart. It makes me feel like the way we try to re-create the events of Holy Week, to experience them, is so cheap. How is it much different than the voyeurism of "The Passion of Christ"?
Wouldn't the more appropriate thing for us to do on Good Friday be to try to visit detainees in the basically hidden-from-view INS prisons, or to meet with re-settled refugees from Congo, and try to convey Christ's compassion as we hear their stories?
Part of the difference is the source of the suffering. Just as I do not want to diminish Jesus' suffering, I also do not want to deny that many people in my congregation have experienced serious suffering also. But for very few of them is that suffering inflicted because of someone else's hatred or evil desires. Abuse victims (of which I have a few) may qualify, but most of the suffering is from ill health or death of loved ones.
What bothers me is the way we talk about Jesus' suffering as if this was the only time other people inflicted such pain onto a fellow human. To go through the story of Good Friday, ignoring the reality of current similar situations, seems blasphemous itself to me. But I think somehow we're afraid that if we draw comparisons, it will sap the Passion Story of its power. On the contrary, if we could do it effectively, in a way that didn't make people defensive and that actually made a difference in people's lives, I think it would be the most powerful use of the story ever.
MLK Jr Pictures for Good Friday
In case you haven't seen them yet, Life magazine has some pictures up on their website taken in Memphis the day Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot. (Anniversary was last Saturday.) They have never been published before, though it's not clear why.
The commentary from the photographers is pretty interesting. Check it out.
The commentary from the photographers is pretty interesting. Check it out.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Liminality
It's probably risky to blog about the thoughts one has as one is waking up, but it seemed interesting at the time...
This morning as I was waking up, after the snooze button had been hit at least once, and I was falling back into dreams, I had a weird experience.
For just a brief second, it seems I was dreaming about someone (it was a man, but I don't know who) who had grown up as the child of missionaries. The point was that as an adult (he was probably a missionary himself), he was never quite comfortable at "home" (in the States, where, in theory, he's "from") or in the field. Neither was clearly and completely where he belonged. He lived his life in two realms, entirely rooted in neither one.
That was not the weird part. This is in fact a very common phenomenon for children of missionaries. Which is why mission runs in families.
The weird part was that I suddenly realized that my clock radio was, in fact, still talking. I had not actually succeeded in hitting the snooze button hard enough. (Since I sleep with earplugs, it's sometimes hard to tell until the evil buzzer alarm comes on later.) And for a just a moment, I was convinced that I was dreaming about this man living in two different realms because I was, in that very moment, in two different realms, sleep and wakefulness. There were things pulling me in each direction. Something about it seemed terribly profound.
Liminality, I think, it what you call that. You'd think that if we experience it every morning and every night, we'd be more comfortable with it. After all, you can have some pretty deep thoughts when you're there, eh?
This morning as I was waking up, after the snooze button had been hit at least once, and I was falling back into dreams, I had a weird experience.
For just a brief second, it seems I was dreaming about someone (it was a man, but I don't know who) who had grown up as the child of missionaries. The point was that as an adult (he was probably a missionary himself), he was never quite comfortable at "home" (in the States, where, in theory, he's "from") or in the field. Neither was clearly and completely where he belonged. He lived his life in two realms, entirely rooted in neither one.
That was not the weird part. This is in fact a very common phenomenon for children of missionaries. Which is why mission runs in families.
The weird part was that I suddenly realized that my clock radio was, in fact, still talking. I had not actually succeeded in hitting the snooze button hard enough. (Since I sleep with earplugs, it's sometimes hard to tell until the evil buzzer alarm comes on later.) And for a just a moment, I was convinced that I was dreaming about this man living in two different realms because I was, in that very moment, in two different realms, sleep and wakefulness. There were things pulling me in each direction. Something about it seemed terribly profound.
Liminality, I think, it what you call that. You'd think that if we experience it every morning and every night, we'd be more comfortable with it. After all, you can have some pretty deep thoughts when you're there, eh?
Things That Shouldn't Happen
Yesterday morning when I went to get in my car it was covered in frost and pollen. That's just wrong.
A friend told my husband the day before that he'd seen flurries of yellow-green snow, that is, snow mixed with pollen.
Before I moved to the Heart of Dixie, I thought pollen was mostly like germs -- there, but invisible. It's not invisisble here. But it hasn't been mixed with winter precipication till now. What unknown balance of the universe did we screw up to make this happen?
A friend told my husband the day before that he'd seen flurries of yellow-green snow, that is, snow mixed with pollen.
Before I moved to the Heart of Dixie, I thought pollen was mostly like germs -- there, but invisible. It's not invisisble here. But it hasn't been mixed with winter precipication till now. What unknown balance of the universe did we screw up to make this happen?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Ten on Tuesday
1. I feel like I haven't blogged in forever, and I can't figure out why that is. Am I too full or too empty?
2. Last week, I went on retreat and while I was there, I read the passion account in all four gospels, individually. I did this because I realized, on the way down there, that when I put together a Maundy Thursday/Good Friday service, it is mostly an exercise in cutting and pasting each bit of the story from the gospel that covers it "best", whatever that means. So I thought it might be nice to see what they sound like individually.
When you really read the Bible, you notice how weird and amusing it is. I was using my New Interpreter's Study Bible, and I really noticed how weirdly and amusingly different the commentators were too.
3. I have this parishioner who occupies way too much of my brain and attention and heart and time. She pretty much always has, and I don't know what to do about it. Advice please.
4. Someone joined my church tonight, during a small group session. Normally, I would not recommend that, but she's been wanting to join for a while, and our book had us discussing "barriers" to people joining. And her barrier was walking down the aisle in front of everyone. So we just did it, and we'll announce it the Sunday after Easter. (We thought it'd be nice to save a surprise for that Sunday, since Easter will be so full.) Plus, then we decided we'd dedicate her two-year-old and confirm her baptism all at once on Mother's Day. Good stuff.
5. I am doing two baptisms on Sunday, by full immersion. And they're both grown men. Well, actually, one is a pretty short man, but the other one is tall. For whatever weird reason, I've only baptized women until now, and I've never done more than one at a time. Will be exciting. Boy, am I glad for that baptismal lab we had my last semester in seminary!
6. I may have briefly mentioned that I hate penne pasta a couple posts ago. I do. I know that's illogical and unfair, but it bugs me. However, I discovered a way to cook it that I actually enjoyed. We found an ancient (but unopened) jar of pesto in the cupboard the other day. We had some cooked, shredded chicken breast. So I heated up the pesto and the chicken and added it to the penne. But there was a secret ingredient: A big, huge hunk of cream cheese melted into the pesto and chicken before it went on the pasta. Mmm, mmm, good.
7. We had an awesome rehearsal for our April 19th performance of John Rutter's Requiem last night. I think we will be ready. The harpist comes next Monday. But I still think it's hiliarious to sing about granting dead people eternal rest while you're also wishing for light eternal to shine on them always. I don't like sleeping with light shining on me.
8. I finished an awesome book yesterday called "The Agitator's Daughter." The sub-title in "a memoir of four generations of one extraordinary african-american family." It mostly takes place here in the Heart of Dixie, so it was pretty interesting to read. My grandfather finished it while he was visiting, and left it for me to read and pass on. The author is Sheryll Cashin. It made me appreciate my family and hers.
9. I went to a pastors breakfast with my congressman this morning. It was pretty unpleasant, though I wouldn't have called it "heated" as one person did, trying to change the subject. I'm beginning to realize that I have a high tolerance for conflict. But it's really hard for me to understand how people can come to the some of the conclusions they do. I just don't get how reality can be that different for different people. I guess I have a high tolerance because it's so clear to me that they're wrong and I should help them see that. Sigh.
10. I think it flurried outside my office window briefly today. It's April. This is the Heart of Dixie. The season switch must have a short.
2. Last week, I went on retreat and while I was there, I read the passion account in all four gospels, individually. I did this because I realized, on the way down there, that when I put together a Maundy Thursday/Good Friday service, it is mostly an exercise in cutting and pasting each bit of the story from the gospel that covers it "best", whatever that means. So I thought it might be nice to see what they sound like individually.
When you really read the Bible, you notice how weird and amusing it is. I was using my New Interpreter's Study Bible, and I really noticed how weirdly and amusingly different the commentators were too.
3. I have this parishioner who occupies way too much of my brain and attention and heart and time. She pretty much always has, and I don't know what to do about it. Advice please.
4. Someone joined my church tonight, during a small group session. Normally, I would not recommend that, but she's been wanting to join for a while, and our book had us discussing "barriers" to people joining. And her barrier was walking down the aisle in front of everyone. So we just did it, and we'll announce it the Sunday after Easter. (We thought it'd be nice to save a surprise for that Sunday, since Easter will be so full.) Plus, then we decided we'd dedicate her two-year-old and confirm her baptism all at once on Mother's Day. Good stuff.
5. I am doing two baptisms on Sunday, by full immersion. And they're both grown men. Well, actually, one is a pretty short man, but the other one is tall. For whatever weird reason, I've only baptized women until now, and I've never done more than one at a time. Will be exciting. Boy, am I glad for that baptismal lab we had my last semester in seminary!
6. I may have briefly mentioned that I hate penne pasta a couple posts ago. I do. I know that's illogical and unfair, but it bugs me. However, I discovered a way to cook it that I actually enjoyed. We found an ancient (but unopened) jar of pesto in the cupboard the other day. We had some cooked, shredded chicken breast. So I heated up the pesto and the chicken and added it to the penne. But there was a secret ingredient: A big, huge hunk of cream cheese melted into the pesto and chicken before it went on the pasta. Mmm, mmm, good.
7. We had an awesome rehearsal for our April 19th performance of John Rutter's Requiem last night. I think we will be ready. The harpist comes next Monday. But I still think it's hiliarious to sing about granting dead people eternal rest while you're also wishing for light eternal to shine on them always. I don't like sleeping with light shining on me.
8. I finished an awesome book yesterday called "The Agitator's Daughter." The sub-title in "a memoir of four generations of one extraordinary african-american family." It mostly takes place here in the Heart of Dixie, so it was pretty interesting to read. My grandfather finished it while he was visiting, and left it for me to read and pass on. The author is Sheryll Cashin. It made me appreciate my family and hers.
9. I went to a pastors breakfast with my congressman this morning. It was pretty unpleasant, though I wouldn't have called it "heated" as one person did, trying to change the subject. I'm beginning to realize that I have a high tolerance for conflict. But it's really hard for me to understand how people can come to the some of the conclusions they do. I just don't get how reality can be that different for different people. I guess I have a high tolerance because it's so clear to me that they're wrong and I should help them see that. Sigh.
10. I think it flurried outside my office window briefly today. It's April. This is the Heart of Dixie. The season switch must have a short.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Thunder and Lightning: Answer to a Silly Question?
Written Thursday, April 2, 2009
It’s been stormy lately. And I’ve been fine with that. Earlier this evening, there was a little thunder and lightning. And it occurred to me for a moment that thunder and lightning storms are my favorite weather. And then that struck me as ridiculous.
If someone asked you what your favorite weather was, it would sort of mean the kind of weather you would most prefer to have all the time. The natural, sensible response for most people, me included, would be sunny, warm-but-not-hot weather. You know, like the way it always is in Southern California.
But I like thunder and lightning. I get bored with sunny. But unlike sunshine in Southern California, I don’t think there is a place on earth where the weather is always thunder and lightning. That sounds like something out of science fiction. Part of what makes thunder and lightning special is that it’s an only once in a while sort of weather. The unique confluence of climatic conditions that are required to create thunder and lightning simply doesn’t happen all that often. Which is part of why thunder and lightning are so cool.
If I had to pick a weather to spend eternity with, I’d probably go with sunny. But I would miss thunder and lightning. Which brings me back to another conclusion I’ve made before: “favorite” questions are silly. When you don’t have to pick a “best” why would you? We get to have all sorts of weather (those of us who don’t live in California), and for that, I am grateful.
It’s been stormy lately. And I’ve been fine with that. Earlier this evening, there was a little thunder and lightning. And it occurred to me for a moment that thunder and lightning storms are my favorite weather. And then that struck me as ridiculous.
If someone asked you what your favorite weather was, it would sort of mean the kind of weather you would most prefer to have all the time. The natural, sensible response for most people, me included, would be sunny, warm-but-not-hot weather. You know, like the way it always is in Southern California.
But I like thunder and lightning. I get bored with sunny. But unlike sunshine in Southern California, I don’t think there is a place on earth where the weather is always thunder and lightning. That sounds like something out of science fiction. Part of what makes thunder and lightning special is that it’s an only once in a while sort of weather. The unique confluence of climatic conditions that are required to create thunder and lightning simply doesn’t happen all that often. Which is part of why thunder and lightning are so cool.
If I had to pick a weather to spend eternity with, I’d probably go with sunny. But I would miss thunder and lightning. Which brings me back to another conclusion I’ve made before: “favorite” questions are silly. When you don’t have to pick a “best” why would you? We get to have all sorts of weather (those of us who don’t live in California), and for that, I am grateful.
Haikus from a Spring Drive
Red bud budding red
or not red, but magenta
the vigor of spring
The lavender trees
heavy laden with blossoms
Easter miracle
Dogwoods peaking through
springy green budding saplings
Flash of unicorn
Green green yellow green
Leaves bursting forth from dead wood
Life from death again
or not red, but magenta
the vigor of spring
The lavender trees
heavy laden with blossoms
Easter miracle
Dogwoods peaking through
springy green budding saplings
Flash of unicorn
Green green yellow green
Leaves bursting forth from dead wood
Life from death again
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