Wonderings about Wanderings

taking over

2011-11-13T14:09:00.000-08:00

I was with a small congregation in rural Kentucky today. On the way down I passed an unincorporated town whose motto was "preserving the past to protect the future". That could mean any number of things in the south. It is safe to assume the town is not progressive.

The congregation was wonderfully friendly and hospitable, though a few members were clearly concerned about this young woman who appeared before them. They were not used to having a female in the pulpit, let alone one with cute shoes! Afterwards, one gentleman said to me, "Fifteen years ago [someone] told me that women were going to take over the church. Now you've proven him right." Hmmm! Should I be more concerned about it having been 15 years since he has thought about women in ministry, or that he thinks I'm taking over the church? haha!

Worthy points to ponder

2011-08-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

I've been reading the mystics again. Here are two quotes that continue to stick with me:

* "Hope always draws the soul from the beauty that is seen to what is beyond, always kindles the desire for the hidden through what is constantly perceived. Therefore, the ardent lover of beauty, although receiving what is always visible as an image of what he desires, yet longs to be filled with the very stamp of the archetype." -- Gregory of Nyssa

This speaks directly to my last post's musings. Searching for any number of things to fill the void, the only thing that truly fills is the archetype: The Holy.

* "Late have I loved you, O Beauty, so ancient and so new, late have I loved you! And behold, you were within me and I was outside, and there I sought for you, and in my deformity I rushed headlong into the well-formed things that you have made. You were with me, and I was not with you. Those outer beauties held me far from you, yet if they had not been in you, they would not have existed at all. You called and cried out to me and broke open my deafness; you shone forth upon me and you scattered my blindness; you breathed fragrance, and I drew in my breath and I now pant for you; I tasted and I hunger and thirst; you touched me, and I burned for your peace." -- St. Augustine of Hippo, Book Ten of his Confessions

How often we search for that which is already there. "You were with me, and I was not with you." Deep calls to deep...

wayfarer

2011-07-19T20:23:00.000-07:00

I find myself yet again in a time of wandering and wondering. As long as I can remember, something has felt different within me. Something that prevents me from feeling like I'm part of whatever "we" is closeby. Something spurs me on to the next horizon. Something whispers, "not here, not yet". Even as a little girl I do not remember feeling safe or settled or just right.

This restlessness is planted deep within my soul. On better days, I trust our call (as Christians) is to constantly watch for Christ's presence. To keep one foot in the world, and one foot outside. But there are days when I get tired. I would like a people to call my own. I would like a place to call home.

A friend recently told me that, for the first time in her 30+ years, she wakes up each day perfectly content with who she is, where she is, and what she is doing.

That seems like such a wonderful possibility... But is that settling? Is that who we are called to be? Are we meant to find true peace in this reality, or are we doomed to anxiously await something more? (Check out C. S. Lewis's The Great Divorce if you haven't read it recently!)

My feet are tired. My bones are weary. My soul is yearning. Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!

I need a man

2011-05-11T13:23:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I haven't posted this story yet...

A few weeks ago, I visited an octogenarian couple in their home. I took a classic home cookin meal of stewed chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and soggy greenbeans. They welcomed me to sit with them while they ate. Sweet people! Conversation was simple and humble, going from family updates to the weather. The wife, however, was mostly deaf and unable to participate in the banter. In the midst of our polite conversation, the husband suddenly smacked the table and said, "Girl! You are wasting the best years of your life!" Shocked, I said, "---, what do you mean?" To which he replied, "You need to be under the sheets with someone every night! You need to be loving!" Aghast, I turned scarlet while he chuckled and tried to encourage me that I shouldn't stay single. (N.B. This is an absolutely verboten topic with single women. Do not try this at home.) He laughed and laughed, and started to chuckle, too. His deaf wife then leaned in to ask, "What are you laughing about?" Without replaying the whole exchange, --- shortened the conversation and just yelled, "She NEEDS a man!" And she, of course, said, "What?" To which he replied again, "She NEEDS a MAN!!" I decided to leave before the neighbors came over to see who exactly needed a man, and what, exactly, she needed him for.

The things I get myself into.

unplugged

2011-04-12T13:13:00.000-07:00

I turned off my tv. I unplugged my computers. I disconnected my cable. And life got pretty quiet. I worried that it would be an extreme way of living. I worried that I would feel isolated and out-of-touch. Much to my surprise, the unplugged life is blissful! Listening to NPR at night has been a gentle way of winding down. Although I thought that watching the news or a little tv was a great way of zoning out before bed, comparatively, it was making me more tired. Now I putter (yes, putter) around the house, read, or sit on my patio. My wind slowly unwinds from the day's craziness. It's not a bad way to go. Try it ... I dare ya!

that look!

2010-12-21T06:58:00.001-08:00

If only we could remember the look on our faces when we were baptized... (for those of us baptized as infants) Sunday morning's baby came with mouth wide open in happy surprise, and eyes looking up, as if asking, "Where is that wonderful water coming from? How did I get so lucky to get this treat today?!" Radiant inner joy! Of course, there are those who scream at the heavens, and those who simply endure in silence. The theological personalities of each are significant: we revel in the promises of new life; we must be dragged from seductive sin into Christ's holiness; there is much to ponder as we make this journey.

I am grateful to celebrate and accompany these moments with our newest members. Grateful, too, for those who made promises on my behalf, and grateful to make promises myself on the behalf of others.

yet again

2010-12-17T11:18:00.001-08:00

I'm a fan of Christ coming to save all of creation. I'm not so much a fan of all of creation literally sitting at the Communion Table. This week, at their owner's invitation, an old dog was served the broken body of Christ. (The second such occurrence in my career when I have served home communion.) As my mouth fell open, I tried to remember the Psalms of creation clapping its hands, mountains singing, and rivers rejoicing. I believe that God redeemed every rock and tree, every iguana and gnat. But something about their sitting around the Table just doesn't feel right...

Lifeline alert

2010-11-15T09:24:00.000-08:00

Delivering home communion recently, I found myself in a circle of older women. Our hostess, whom I will call "Alberta", was mostly deaf with a dead hearing aid battery. As I was breaking the bread (officially "the fracture"), Alberta's phone rang. Set on its loudest possible ring, everyone jumped in their seats then tittered while she searched high and low for the receiver. It quickly became apparent that Lifeline was testing its process. Alberta was instructed through a separate receiver/speaker to press the button around her neck. Unfortunately, she could not hear their instructions. So, holding the bread and wine in each hand, I yelled across the circle for Alberta to "PUSH THE BUTTON". She refused. "THAT'S ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES," she screamed back. "NO!" I said, "PUSH THE BUTTON NOW." The other ladies nervously watched the exchange repeated several times. They were caught in the decorum of respecting the hostess, yet hearing contradicting instructions. Finally, I took Alberta's button and pushed it myself. "We will now contact emergency services. Please stand by for assistance," said Lifeline. "NO!" Alberta screamed. "YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!" Still with bread and wine in hand, I sheepishly tried to explain that Lifeline had said to push the button. Everyone was aghast. No one moved. Silence descended. Everyone sent pointed looks in my direction. Then, over Lifeline's speaker, "Alberta, are you ok?" Again, she could not hear them to answer, so I responded for her. They demanded I identify myself, but quickly proceeded to say that it was a real test. We had done the right thing. The ladies all breathed a sigh of relief as Lifeline hung up. Again, silence. And, still holding the Communion elements in hand, I thought about how to possibly reclaim sacred space... so, I simply said, "Jesus Christ, the True Life Line..." Ugh.

for a beloved friend...

2010-06-10T12:24:00.000-07:00

Vashti H. Flannagan, old soul and cantankerous cat, joined the yard triumphant on Thursday, June 10, 2010. Having lived a full life (fuller than we will ever know), she celebrated her twentieth birthday at least twice. Vashti was an active member of the Act Like a Pillow party, the Grow Huge Hairballs club, and the Early Morning Soliloquy Society. She is survived by an adoring sister, Addie, an estranged roommate, Esther, and two overly involved caregivers, Katie and Meg. A private service will be held followed by a savory salmon feast. In lieu of flowers, adopt an old cat from a shelter.

The following poem was found in Vashti’s favorite cushion:
There was an old cat named Vashti
Who lived secret lives – definitely!
She talked every day
‘til in the face, grey,
Wondering why no one heard clearly.

Why didn’t they appreciate
The things she’d sit and contemplate?
Ignoring her voice;
Instead hearing noise.
So she decided she’d vacate.

Adventures awaited afar…
She’d dreamed of being a star
Something dramatic,
Leaning dogmatic,
To tell all the wonders there are.

Poem as prayer

2010-05-18T08:37:00.000-07:00

I love poetry! Here's a great one I read today...

"Song" (by Adrienne Rich)
You're wondering if I'm lonely:
OK then, yes, I'm lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean.

You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely

If I'm lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn's first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep

If I'm lonely
it's with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it's neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning.

Is a compliment a compliment?

2010-05-13T15:50:00.000-07:00

I'm not good at accepting unexpected compliments, compliments that point to an undesirable truth, or back-handed compliments. They're awkward. And while it would be much easier to say, "thank you" and walk away, I feel compelled to interpret them and even argue with the giver. Recent such words have suggested that I might be a great children's minister, my sermons are not from the internet, and I've grown so much (professionally speaking). Each of these is a nice idea, but none of them were in aggreement with my current viewpoint. Each of these seemed to be spoken as a trying-to-point-me-in-a-new-direction kind of way. And if that is the case, are these actually compliments? If the speaker is trying to change someone, is it really a compliment?

To love or not to love: THAT is the question

2010-02-23T07:01:00.001-08:00

... whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer...

I am wondering if it is possible to un-love someone. It seems that if you truly love someone/thing/people it would be impossible to un-love them. Of course, love changes over time. The love felt for someone may blossom into compassion or concern, but I don't think that it is possible to scoop out the love you once had and throw it away.

Considering this from the famous 1 Corin 13 text that states, "Love never ends... [prophecies] will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end..." Paul seems to move to a place that true love (from God) is the one eternal piece we have in the world. This gives me hope; however, I wonder how many people ever experience such true Godly love in their lives. Not many, I'm afraid. Most, if not all, of our relationships are filled with limited love. I realize the disparity between God’s love and our “fast-food-get-it-how-you-like-it” love on earth. It fills us up temporarily, but leaves us longing for more. We are used to being loved poorly, loved conditionally, loved incompletely. We are used to love as a competitive sport and unrequited love. We are used to being rejected when we’ve gained too much weight, or sent away when we’re in a bad mood, or manipulated when we aren’t doing as another hoped.

But even in our limited ways, I think that our hearts cling to fragments of love and try to carry them through trials, troubles, and terrors. The most atrocious historical figures had people who loved them. Is this good news? How do you negotiate relationships that change and move away from love? Does that undermine the love you had? Was it ever truly love?

30 years ago today...

2009-09-10T08:31:00.001-07:00

rules are/not made to be broken

2009-08-31T06:43:00.000-07:00

It is no longer cool for clergy to live separate from the world. After several decades of ministers hanging out with folks and trying to make church a friendlier place, church leadership have been absorbed into the world. They have tried to weaken the historical ropes separating laity and clergy. Youth leaders do all they can to get onto students' levels, pastors unbutton their collar, and people try to jazz up the worship space. Though attempting to be helpful, they/we have compromised much; often settling for less-than in hopes that people would grow into the more uncomfortable pieces of Christian life. Initially we might have been accused of false advertising, but now our habits have begun to solidify, leaving us with little ground on which to stand.

It is now strange and unusual for clergy (in my tradition) to be hard-nosed about Christian behavior. Recently, I entered the treacherous territory of confirmation expectations. There is no attendance policy (with reward or punishment) for any class or group in the congregation EXCEPT for the confirmation class. Its specific goals and experiences led the teachers to require attendance at all events. (Students are allowed to miss 2 without penalty.) In a culture with traveling sports teams, Sunday games, and other familial busy-ness, we suddenly find ourselves as the bad guys. From the parents' perspective: it is unrealistic for students to come every time, church is not about learning; church is about loving, parents can teach students what they miss in class. And said snidely, of course the pastors would not understand that there is anything worthwhile outside of church.

Isn't it my job to encourage members in their discipleship? Isn't it my job to hold God/The Church above other things? Isn't it my job to remind people of the sacrifices (albeit minor) that we can/are called to offer God?

I feel caught between this need to be "cool" and understanding, as opposed to encouraging dedication to something bigger. Personally, I wish everyone had more of a desire to separate from the secular. I wish that everyone wanted to spend several weeks in a monastic setting, practicing faith with discipline. Though since I realize that this is an unrealistic hope for the majority of the world, isn't it important for me to maintain it for clergy and other intentional religious folk? There is a though that people pay their ministers/priests/clergy to be the people they want to be. So, as I push a family to put God first, to work for something bigger, to be intentional about being "different" from the rest of the team, I am trying to invite them into this Other space.

Help! What do you think?

a REAL girl

2009-06-03T08:34:00.000-07:00

Last night someone told me how they were describing me to another person. In their attempt to downplay my ministerial role, they said, "She's like a real person..." "Like a real person?," I asked. I am a real person. Seriously. A real girl who happens to be a clergy type. A real girl who loves to shop, loses my temper, and has a potty mouth. I understand what they meant, but seriously?!

I'm just sayin'.

The Community

2009-04-22T07:05:00.001-07:00

Some are very lucky to live in the midst of their community, having friends and supporters, encouragers, and challengers around them. Some of us, however, live in the diaspora. We are part of the scattered Community. Always on the lookout for our 'people', life becomes a journey for the sacred. It is desperately hard to get by some days. Knowing that The Community is out there isn't always enough. I'd like a tangible incarnation of my people -- hands to lift a pint, arms to hold, voices to commend, and feet to follow. So on the rare days when I am blessed to be with The Community, I rejoice! I leap and dance and sing and shout, "Alleluia!"

There is more to this, but I don't have words yet. This is one of my life's threads. Something that I spend a lot of time pondering. It seems like my call will forever be among the disapora. I hope to be blessed with the opportuity to live in The Community some day.

drive, drive, drive... let it ride!

2009-03-19T13:47:00.001-07:00

Last week I drove across the country with my college roommate. Crazy good times! Though I am not a fan of car time, it was wonderful to spend time with K and see the sights! Here are two of the many stories:

To entertain ourselves along the way, we devised a number of stunts that would be done at random. One such stunt was to write K's cell phone number on marshmallows to throw into passing cars. Having driven many hours without finding a suitable recipient, we went to dinner alone at a local pub. Much to our joy, the wait staff was incredibly handsome! So we lovingly passed one of our marshmallows (the extra large kind) to our server, who gave it to another server. And, again, much to our delight, the server called K after work. They went out and partied till the cows came home! Dreams do come true, boys and girls.

We were excited to hike and explore the vortices in Sedona, Arizona. Apart from the desert dryness, high altitude conditions, and rocky trail, we were prepared for the Great Outdoors. Our first hike was going to be an easy 1-mile out and back. Lovely gentlemen offered us a ride to the trailhead, so we hopped in and took off. As we hiked around a mesa, time seemed to be passing slowly. Hadn't we already been out here for 30 minutes? Was the trail slowing us down? Doesn't the sun seem to be scorching? And then some hikers behind us told us that we were on the wrong trail. We were on the 4-mile trek. Oh well. We would have brought more water, hats, etc. But the scenery was great, so we kept going... and going... and going... until we thought that we were headed the completely wrong direction. We crossed the road and tried to hitchhike back to our car. We: two remotely attractive, well-dressed, young, single women. And no one picked us up. Not a soul. People actually laughed and pointed as they drove up the mountain. Perhaps they thought that we were joking. Then, in my zealousness for flagging down a motorist, I slipped and fell face-down onto the road. With a jeep passing inches from my head. And still no one stopped. When we finally arrived at the top, someone actually dared to say, "Aren't you glad you walked?" Seriously?! I wonder what would have happened if I had been wearing my collar?

I highly recommend a long, slow trek on rural highways. We saw Americana at its best. Old ladies who taught us life lessons, old men who needed some excitement, Native Americans living simple lives, cute boys in almost every state (New Mexico had a dirth), and strange road signs. Colorado was stunning and Flagstaff, Arizona was a nice surprise. Can't wait to visit again.

me under a tree on our long walk around the mesa

faux pas

2009-02-25T08:24:00.000-08:00

At this week's conversation set in the local pub, we were discussing the discipline of fasting for Lent. Folks chimed in about giving up chocolate, television, and various other things. One man said that he gave up sex for Lent and it made Easter all the more special. Everyone giggled. I said, "Well that does make the Halleluiah better. You can say, 'Christ is risen!' with some excitement." Thinking only about the liturgical refrain of "Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!" Not thinking about the connection between risen-ness and sex. Everyone got very quiet with a long awkward pause. Not realizing what I had done, I just went on to the next question. haha! It took me until the next day to figure out the connection. Now I am very embarassed. I've considered apologizing, but think that it may be best to let this dog lie. Oh well.

booted from BINGO

2009-01-21T08:24:00.000-08:00

Another funny tale for my collection:

Last Saturday I volunteered to help some older folks play BINGO. The coordinator encouraged me to arrive early, bring prizes, and greet people as they arrived. I looked forward to spending the Saturday morning playing and chatting with people. I arrived as instructed and began setting up, but was waylaid by a resident volunteer determined to show me how things were done. Though I was grateful for her wisdom, I felt confident in my instructions. "FINE!" she snapped, "you do it your way," and threw the box at me. At this point my blood pressure began to rise. What was about to happen? Things settled down. Everyone found their seat. After calling a few games, I felt good about the rhythm. People seemed to be in the zone... until... at the end of one round, a woman at the back table yelled, "Mildred, would you please call?" (Mildred was the woman who initially took offense.) Everyone gasped. Several "well that's rude" exclamations. She must not have liked my style. I chipperly said, "That'd be great. I'd love to play!" I don't know what I did, but apparently it wasn't up to her snuff. Who knew that BINGO was so serious? I guess that BINGO calling isn't really my Calling.

Why do we excuse older people's behavior? As if life experience suddenly gives permission for thoughtlessness or bad manners. Plenty of older folks are more than gracious, but no one cares to correct bad behavior in the grouches. I understand if it's due to a medical condition; however, I have little tolerance for rudeness from anyone of any age.

life lesson #276

2008-12-26T09:43:00.000-08:00

Hallowed days, Christmas Eve and Easter are both treasures and booby prizes of ministry. They are the days most hoped for and most feared. This year I wanted to leave town as soon as worship ended, knowing that I would be tired, but glad to get away as soon as the festivities were done.

I left the office at lunch, wanting to get a nap, finish packing, and shower before returning to church. As I ate, a torrential downpour began outside. I was glad for the rain and impressed by the volume of water. It occurred to me that I should probably check the basement because of the amount of rain that fell in such a short amount of time. As I went downstairs, I could see the reflection of light in water... a strange sight inside one's house... Much to my dismay, puddles had appeared at the end of rivers flowing from the edges of the basement walls. I grabbed a mop and industriously thought that I still might be able to get the water up with time to take a nap. But the water kept coming. I mopped a little more. The water kept coming. So I left the house to buy a wet vac. 3 hours, 30 gallons, and no nap later, I returned to church. Merry Christmas. Wasn't I in a great mood to sing "Gloria!"?!

Life's lesson learned: some messes are bigger than mops.

superstar girls

2008-12-22T14:41:00.000-08:00

I will never be one. I do it in my own way, but I will never truly be one. You know, the ones who always look amazing. The ones whose kids are always well-behaved. The ones whose hair is always perfect, whose husband is cute and sweet, and whose house is well decorated. The ones who put the almost unnoticed final touches on things. They are the ones that are still beautiful despite their imperfections. They are the REAL popular girls. The cool kids of adulthood.

Today my inadequacies were lifted up in the small form of a beautiful, iridescent orange ribbon. A magazine was left on my desk with an article marked for my perusal. Instead of the post-it that I would have left, instead of a dog-eared page or a smashed-open spine, there was a magical, shimmery, orange ribbon marking the spot. Left in such a casual way that it just happened to be within arm's length when the reader decided to send it my way. But left in such a way that it is clearly an intentional inclusion of loveliness and speciality into the day. It was charming. I loved it.

But even as I loved it, I wondered why I didn't choose to add a certain finesse to similar, unimportant things. Then social conditioning around gender caught up to me; I began to ponder my failures as a Southern woman. How did I not learn this? Why isn't this an innate quality?

Even though I don't have special scrap ribbons for packages and letters, I try to bring my own je ne sais quoi to life. I cry with friends, am an unabashedly loud singer, ask hard questions, and refuse to accept the status quo. It may not be glamorous, but that's me.

There is a Season

2008-11-21T09:22:00.000-08:00

"... In an achievement-driven society, life is not a thing of seasons; life is a product to be perfected and perserved. To this mind, it is never possible to simply go on, past the things of the past to the realities of the present. No, those who live by measuring-sticks rather than by the meaning of the present moment are intent on gaining and grasping. Letting go is not virtue to them. Letting go is loss..." -- so sayeth Joan Chittister in There is a Season

Her words have stayed on the top of my mind since I read them last week. In her introduction to the famous Ecclesiastes passage about everything having a particular time and season, she unpacks how our understanding of time has limited us in our relationships to self, God, and others. As she encourages us to see time in cycles or seasons, she leads us away from the count-down mentality that we often use. I confess that I often fall victim to the sales pitch of life as product. Constantly trying to improve, become wiser or stronger, more compassionate, more reflective, and on and on, I tend to live as if life were something to be achieved. As if there would be a top 10 at the end of time.

There is much to be said about her book. Let me commend both it and the artist to you:

Joan Chittister's There is a Season with artwork by John August Swanson.

http://www.johnaugustswanson.com/

Swanson's artwork can be purchased through the National Association for Hispanic Elderly at: http://www.anppm.org/NonProfitStore/

and while you're at it, bring a doughnut, too

2008-11-19T14:18:00.001-08:00

It's true. There's no hiding it. The pastorate, as a profession, continues to be an Old Boys Club. (And, one could further argue a particular age, marital status, and family system.) I knew what I was getting into. I saw what I was up against. There are plenty of folks to counteract the OBC mentality, but it is not uncommon to attend a gathering and feel strangely out of place. They are often stuck in their conversations about how bad their sermon was and how much time they should have spent preparing. At a recent conference I found myself swimming again in a sea of salt-and-pepper hair, khaki slacks, and penny loafers. The conversation was intended to be about churches are growing. I thought, "maybe these guys are different..." But as I chatted with folks about my work as an Associate Pastor, I was saddened. Several of them sang the refrain, "Well, I could use an Associate." In the same way that you might say, "well, I could use a maid." Or, "That tie would go really well with my suit." This really frustrates me. As if I don't do the same amount of work that they do. As if I don't have the same qualifications. As if I am just a ruffle on their dress. Though they will protest and make penitent gestures, I sincerely doubt that they actually believe I (or other Associates) are their equals. I doubt that many of them would give up their "senior" title. I doubt that many of them would lower their salary to their associate's. I doubt that many of them could stop using "I" language in favor of "we" language.

Why do we buy into this hierarchical model? It isn't biblical. I wish that we could drop descriptors in front of "pastor" or use only "co-pastor" language. A verbal change is often needed to move into new space. There is no reason to have titles that maintain broken understandings of self and power. All are one. Sainthood of all believers. Keys to the kingdom. Come on, folks, we can do better!

a new day!

2008-11-05T10:07:00.000-08:00

Friends, we are a different country today than we were days or weeks ago. Something has come upon us. And we will soon have a leader who will carry us forward. Someone who has vision for our broken pieces to become something new. And if you missed the incredible speech given by Obama in Chicago on Tuesday night, Nov. 4, here it is. One of the most inspiring orations in recent American history:

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

It's the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.

It's the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled - Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

It's the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day. It's been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.

I just received a very gracious call from Senator McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and he's fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Governor Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nation's promise in the months ahead. I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.

I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nation's next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House. And while she's no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.

To my campaign manager David Plouffe, my chief strategist David Axelrod, and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics - you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what you've sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to - it belongs to you. I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington - it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation's apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.

I know you didn't do this just to win an election and I know you didn't do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime - two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how they'll make the mortgage, or pay their doctor's bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America - I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you - we as a people will get there. There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government can't solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way it's been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years - block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek - it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you. So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers - in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.

Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world - our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down - we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security - we support you. And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope. For that is the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one that's on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. She's a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing - Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old. She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.
At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.
When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.
When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.
She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that "We Shall Overcome." Yes we can.
A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made? This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time - to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth - that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes We Can. Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.

personal privilege

2008-10-21T12:58:00.000-07:00

It is a pastor's privilege to be with people in some of life's important moments. As easy as it might be for someone to say, "Of course the preacher is there...", it is nothing to take for granted. Over the weekend I was invited to participate in both a funeral and a wedding. It was very touching to bury one woman's spouse of 60 years, then move to blessing the first day of another union. I am slightly overwhelmed at the way a door swings open and arms pull me inside. In one situation, I had never even met the family. In the other, I had only known them briefly. How remarkable that we could sit and cry together. How remarkable that we could laugh and pray together. How remarkable that in this holy moment for both couples, suddenly I (a mostly complete stranger) am suddenly standing with them. I feel as though I must step lightly. I feel as though I should confess before entering the space and praise when leaving. Ministry is a beautiful, messy, intimate, sacred vocation. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

sad puppy

2008-10-07T09:55:00.000-07:00

All relationships are doomed to an end. Knowing our broken world, it's inevitable that things will eventually crumble - whether in life or death. And when that time comes, do you keep marching with stoicism? Do you wear bright colors? Do you fight for the right? Or do you let your mascara drip? Do you sing James Taylor songs? Do you accept the inevitable with a sigh?

What do you do when you're really, really sad?

W. H. Auden:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

strange worship habits...

2008-10-01T12:23:00.001-07:00

Sunday morning I managed to visit another congregation across town. Having heard much about it, I was excited to see what great things they were doing. I confess that I was slightly biased against them. Nevertheless, I knew that they were doing some thing right.

I entered the space and was immediately greeted by folks. They gave me a gift bag (with nice travel mug, magnet, and church information), introduced me to some ladies, and pointed out the differnet information stations around the hall. They even escorted me into their worship space and helped me get situated. I wasn't embarassed to sit by myself, so I plopped down between other young adults and prepared to worship. The music was professional caliber, the congregation was engaged, and the leadership was enthused. Despite the lack of prayer and other congregational participation, I was enjoying myself.

Then, they announced that we would be gathering "around the Lord's table". "Great!," I thought. "This will be neat. I've never had communion in a church like this." Well, folks, let me tell you. For all of the imagery and story telling they gave, there was no table to gather round. There was no scripture read. There was no cup or bread. No breaking or pouring. Instead, ushers came down the aisles and passed baskets down the rows. We reached into the baskets and pulled out PRE-PACKAGED COMMUNION!!! Underneath a layer of plastic, there was a small wafer. The wafer lay on top of another plastic layer that covered the small juice cup. (about a thimble) The outer layer of plastic had the words "This is my body which is broken for you. Take, eat. Do this is remembrance of me." My jaw hit the floor.

Is this communion? If someone packages stale crackers in a factory far, far away, is it the body of Christ? If wine is never poured, if Scripture is never read, is this communion? If no one ever prays, if the community is never gathered (in some way: prayer, music, common words as you pass it to your neighbor), is it communion?

I have been mightily troubled by this aspect of worship. It is calling my theology into question. Am I becoming one of those uptight Presbyterians? What do you think?

encounters

2008-10-01T12:13:00.000-07:00

A few artisans have found their way into my life recently. Though many would take them to be country bumpkins, they have amazing stories and incredible art. One such man is a painter who has long silver hair (in a pony tail), wears wife beaters, and boots. He used to be a drag racer, but decided to start painting because "it seemed like something he should try." His paintings are incredible Andrew Wyeth styled works. Without any professional training, he offers his uninhibited gift to folks. http://www.hrlovellgallery.com/

Another gentleman fell into my path who also used to race cars. (He holds some title in California... what's the connection between car racing and art??) George takes old horseshoes and fires them into different shapes, words, and figures. Marvelous treasures! His workshop is a collection of every manly tool and machine available. He decided that in his retirement he would do something different with his days.

I found these folks in one of Tennessee's tiniest towns. A town that was going to be the state capital, but Nashville came along and stole the show. Rural America has much to offer. Support your locally owned businesses, your independent craftsfolk, and those isolated restaurants on the forgotten highways!

two rants

2008-08-13T07:18:00.001-07:00

OK, so I have two rants:

1) Are doctor's offices and other busy people allowed to follow different social rules because of their position? I recently visited an office to meet the doctor before coming under her care. I called ahead of time to tell the office what I wanted. They promised me that I could have 10 minutes or so with the doctor. I arrived for my introduction and was kept waiting for over 45 minutes, then finally left without ever seeing her. Apparently, the doctor was tied up with another patient. I completely understand this. My frustration comes in that after I left the office without meeting the physician, no one has called to apologise or invite me back. If I ever missed an appointment or was running so late, I would call to apologise or reschedule. It strikes me as incredibly rude for them to just ignore the situation. I'm not trying to be this important person worthy of royal treatment; I only want respectful care from someone who will be seeing me naked. I don't want a doctor who doesn't have time to meet me. Am I being too high-maintenance?

2) The Olympics should not be a competition for the most medals. I think that medal counts (by country) are obnoxious. Isn't this the one athletic opportunity when folks can come together and celebrate? Of course there are winners and losers, but must we be so competitive as to need to know how MUCH better we are than others? We romanticise the Olympics as some grand event when the world unites. Commercials singing of world peace, showing competing athletes holding hands, and singing songs. That is ridiculous! They are only united in that they are playing games in the same city. I wish that there was some game or competition when people from different countries played on the same team... Americans next to Chinese next to Ghaneans, competing against another international team. Does this exist?

tales from the town

2008-08-13T07:08:00.000-07:00

It has taken me a few months to get myself settled in here. Time has been absorbed by moving, packing, painting, building, etc. But I am finally getting myself grounded enough to resume normal activities. The house and neighborhood are lovely. I frequently see deer, turkey, rabbits, owls, and other fun creatures parading through the yard. Addie loves it!

Here are a few fun tales from folks I've met around town:

A contract service person was working at the church one day. As he wandered around my office, he commented on pictures of my spousal-equivalent. The gentleman said, "He looks nice. Is he a minister?" To which I replied, "No, but he is nice. So, just out of curiosity, do I look like a minister?" (I never should have asked.) And the guy said, "Welllll... no! (ensue laughing)" Thus ended our conversation. Not my favorite person.

I purchased my lawnmower from a guy named "Louie". Seriously. I walked into his shop on the last day that it was open. Seriously. He told me that if I ever had any problems that I could call him. Seriously. So I call Louie and he calls me "Girl". Seriously.

Folks in the congregation here think that I am a teenager. A few can't call my sermon a "sermon", but call it my "comments". Everyone continues to be surprised that God can call a young woman into serious ministry. C'est la vie. My burden to bear for the next few years.

how much can you stand?

2008-03-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder how much I can deal with. The current leaving of one congregation for another is testing my patience and endurance. Certain relationships that have been unhealthy in their day-to-day life are flagrantly out-of-bounds in these stressful times. Of course anger is not a sin, though I firmly believe that violence is wrong... still, there are moments when I would really love to punch someone in the nose! Is this sin calling my name?

How much can you take?
How much are we supposed to take?

A bully on the playground always pushes you down. At what point do you react? How do you react? A 90 year old in assisted living listens to people patronise him every day. At what point is it all right to get cranky? At what point can you demand an alternative?

I don't like being the one who always stands up. I get tired of being the pushy one or the loud one. But I have zero toleranace for injustice and immaturity. At what point am I justified to stand up? Why do we have to take a certain amount before it's OK to defend or call out?

Best Valentine's Day Ever...

2008-02-16T16:45:00.000-08:00

(and least sexiest)

Having spent the week delivering soup to my flu-infected spousal equivalent, I was not surprised when I awoke on Valentine's Day with a sore throat. The illness was disappointing considering all of the expectations for a first V Day with one's partner. Instead of roses, there was a bouquet of Kleenex. Instead of chocolate, there were boxes of Airborne. Instead of a sexy red dress, flannel pajamas were the evening's fashion. In spite of the outward signs, we insisted on trying to make something happened. And so it commenced.

Upon arrival at my somewhat sicker boyfriend's place, we gazed into each other's watery eyes and said lovingly, "let's not go out." The evening thus declined into a dreary sitcom. We coughed and sneezed on each other, ate a $5 take-out pizza, watched "Who Killed the Electric Car" (excellent, by the way), and discussed what vitamins would triumph over this version of the plague.

The first Valentine's Day is supposed to be a romantic climax. There are legends of apartments drizzled in rose petals, pots of chocolate fondue, and loving words spoken through the night. While I never expected the moon, I certainly wouldn't have minded a bit of Parisian romance. Instead, we were saddled with a heavy dose of reality. It wasn't terrible. We had a good time laughing at each other and remarking on our pathetic state. Our Valetine's Day was not a Hallmark facade of pink hearts and candy, but was a humble mark of care and devotion. Perhaps that in itself is sexy...

solo journeys

2008-02-14T11:19:00.000-08:00

Haiti was heavenly, as always. I am so grateful for the opportunity to travel, see friends, and learn more. The chance to be with others in a cross-cultural setting raises my awareness of what I consider "normal", necessary, and comfortable. Those moments when I think, "EEKkk! Get me out of here!" Then I wonder what's at the root of this. Generally, it is my own ignorance about a particular way-of-being. Energy is quickly drained when surrounded by lots of new.

Part of me relishes the opportunity to travel and reflect alone, yet part of me is grateful for travel companions. It is good to compare impressions. At home, most of my time is spent surrounded by people, so moments of solitude are sought-after. Time in Haiti is a chance to step away from the constant chatter, to savor quietness and revel in my own reflections.

These things being said, it is interesting to me that, while still single, I struggle with the dance between the need for space and the need for intimacy. After 28 years of mostly alone-ness, being in a relationship takes quite a bit of humility and flexibility. And, though I complain of not having enough time to myself, I am actually tired of being alone. I am worn down by years of figuring it out by myself. I am jealous of those who can make team decisions. I am frustrated by my lack of competency in certain areas of life... places where one's partner might fill in the gaps... It is impossible to coordinate the many details of life alone. No one person can be an expert in car repairs, finances, house repairs, cleaning, decorating, cooking, and childcare. (Let it be said here that it is ridiculous to jump into relationship to meet only those fears/needs. I do not advocate unhealthy, codependent pairings that promote clinging, whining, and/or desperation.)

As I stand on the brink of another "new" thing, I wonder where the road will lead. Will this be yet another chance for me to prove how great I am at adapting? Will this be yet another chance to see how quickly friends can be found? Honestly, I'm exhausted considering it. Going to Haiti by myself is far less unnerving than the uprooting that stands before me.

I'll keep you posted.

Need for a revolution

2008-01-07T15:29:00.000-08:00

Next week I will return to a place that I love. St. Joseph's Home for Boys in Port-au-Prince, Haiti and their sister home, Wings of Hope, located in the mountains around Port-au-Prince. http://www.heartswithhaiti.org/homes.html A colorful oasis from the often simple Haitian daily life. Homes filled with people learning and loving. Where running water is suddenly unnecessary, and air conditioning is never considered. Bucket baths, conversational days, and an unhurried life are the key to happiness. Previous visits have inspired radical changes in thought processes and positions. And, when someone asked, "Why are you going back?" I responded, "Because I have to."

Living in a first world country can allow one to become oblivious to global surroundings. The "basics" of our life (24-hour electricity, hot water, ready food, internet) are unthought-of luxuries. Never missed when not available. And, though we may convince ourselves otherwise, they are not necessities. The simple life is the way to go (kudos to Furman University's President, Dr. David Shi). Our rush to get into the air conditioning, to run 5 errands in 6 minutes, to achieve and accomplish has become an inane pursuit. But we couldn't stop ourselves now if we wanted to. Too much depends on it: careers, families, relationships, culture.

If it weren't for time in Haiti. If it weren't for a week at a monastery in France. If it weren't for specific days away, I would fool myself into thinking that I wasn't missing anything. But after spending 2, 5, 10 days following the natural body rhythms, after talking to whomever I encountered on the road without a stopwatch looming, after quieting myself to actually listen to others, I accept defeat. I need this. I need a reminder of something else. I need a reminder that I'm not perfection, I'm not an island, I'm not an army of one. I am part of a global community. Part of a people who are dependent upon one another. Part of an ecosystem where my trash affects those living downstream (literally and metaphorically).

So I need to go. I need to get in touch with what is real. Here I go!

To purchase Dr. Shi's book on the simple life, use this link:
http://www.amazon.com/Simple-Life-Thinking-American-Culture/dp/0820329754/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1199749134&sr=1-1

with a steady hand

2007-12-19T11:45:00.000-08:00

After watching last week's news stories about the gunman in Colorado, I was completely flabbergasted. The response of the church in Colorado Springs may be born out of trauma, but their justification of violence is inexcusable. "The Holy Spirit was with me," the security guard said. "My hand was steady. I didn't shake at all." At some point, God guiding this woman through an incredibly difficult situation became God pointing the gun at another person. The pastor continues to argue for armed security guards in churches. And everyone seems OK with it.

For millenia (and maybe forever), people have used God to justify violence. Old Testament scriptures ring with battles in God's name. The Crusades took on a life of their own as "Christians" paid their way into heaven by fighting for "Christ" in the Holy Land. World War II saw contemporary Christians participate directly and indirectly in the slaughter and genocide of millions. So this isn't a new thing - this idea of using God to aim the gun. History books are full of people apologizing for the wrongs their ancestors did. Haven't we learned? What's it going to take?

It may be naive to hope for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s hopes, to pray like Gandhi, to serve like Dorothy Day. At some point humanity must stand up and hold itself accountable. It is irresponsible to hold the "why didn't we see/know" until 20 or 30 years have passed. It is shameful to never be able to see ourselves as the guilty or unjust.

I don't know what I would do if a gunman walked into my congregation. I don't know how I would respond if I had been there. But I don't think that it is acceptable to praise God for the murder accomplished. The act and justification are both sin. Taking someone's life does not please God; they were part of God's "good" creation originally, too. Let's call it as it is: badness, violence, ugliness, brokenness, sin. This is not a blessing. We shoudn't be congratulating each other. This is the world gone wrong.

beginnings

2007-11-08T12:09:00.001-08:00

Let's start at the very beginning. (It's a very good place to start.) Life is in a snarl. All of the traffic lanes are jammed. Some decisions must be made in the imminent future. So I tend to be a verbal processor. With myspace on its way out and my need for blogging being unfulfilled, this will become my sacred space. I'm naming it and claiming it. Here we go!

life from myspace

2007-11-08T11:56:00.000-08:00

holy moments -- Aug. 29, 2007
Good morning, campers!
The past two weeks have been rather hectic around here. Still, I had to share recent snapshots:
Saturday afternoon I visited a woman dying of cancer. As we sat and talked, it was apparent that she was not here for much longer. I shared what was happening in worship on Sunday, then asked if she had any wisdom to share with the congregation. She said, "Tell them to have faith that God is with them whether they are well or suffering." So I asked her if she was suffering and she said no. Before I left, I prayed with and for her. She was very peaceful. When I finished the prayer she did not move. I thought that she was asleep or bored or... But then she started praying for me. Wonderful. A woman for whom I thought I would care decided to care for me. Though she had little strength, she was unwilling to only receive. God bless her. She died yesterday.

And, another holy moment (though in a completely different vein)... I am going home this weekend and for the first time ever, taking someone with me. That's right. I'm almost 30 and have never taken anyone home. So I'm probably more nervous about this than I ever am about preaching or sitting with the dying. Ya'll pray for me :)

Finally, if you have never heard Suzzy and Maggie Roche, you need to check them out. Their album, Zero Church, is amazing! It's my new playing-all-the-time CD.
Peace!

Thursday, August 02, 2007
a clergys secret
I'll confess without much discomfiture that I am addicted to Victoria's Secret. Because my presence is so highly valued in their stores, the company rewards me with freebies. This week I went to a funeral close to the mall. I decided to stop in and claim my rewards. Although I was wearing my collar, I decided it wasn't a big deal. I boldly walked into my opiate. As I stood there, perusing the possibilities, a girl walked up to me and asked me where the restroom was located. She thought that I worked there! Remember now that I was wearing my collar. WHO DOES THIS?? Not that I was offended that she asked, but I was quite perplexed. Have religious signs become so distant from contemporary culture that people do not recognize them? If anything, I think that people would expect me to be on the other side of the mall from V's Secret. Of course, that's another issue. People can't imagine women as ministers. Women who wear cute clothes under the robe. Women who like cute lingerie. I must be in a different unvierse.

Monday, July 09, 2007
naked biking and other adventures Current mood: hot
So I walked out my front door early yesterday morning to head to the office. Final edits were required on my sermon. I was surprised to find riding down my sidewalk a naked man on his bicycle. He was so happy! Just enjoying a peaceful ride early in the morning. What a sight: head bobbing from side to side (as if he was humming to himself), cheeks flapping in the wind, cheerily riding down the way. It's not everyday one sees such things.
Similarly, my family and I biked down the Virginia Creeper trail while I was at home last month. (We did it fully clothed, though.) It was a blast riding from White Top Mtn down to Damascus, VA. They shuttle you up to the top and then you wind around the mountain, flying through valleys and over streams. It was a beautiful way to begin the day. I was also able to hike Lookout Mtn (fully clothed) in Montreat, NC. That, too, was marvelous. Something I would never have been able to do when I was younger.

Now I'm back in Florida. Life is fairly still right now. Here are some other soundbytes, though: a professional photographer telling me to stand on Main St. in my skirt, the same photographer asking me to say "precious" instead of "cheese", watching "The Good Shepherd", hearing a sermon on adultery with ridiculous sexist generalizations, conversation about office hierarchies, and the possibility of healthy relationships...

Take a nap. Enjoy the summer.

Friday, May 11, 2007
bad bar banter
After a few horrendous encounters, I couldn't contain myself. Here are two terrible conversations:
1) Drinking beer. Happy. Gentleman sits down. We nod. Basic banter begins. We each share a bit about what we do. Discussion of busy days. He literally pulls out his Blackberry and begins telling me exactly how busy he is, what each appointment is, and why he is so tired. Is this a competition? Bad form.
2) Drinking wine. Happy. Gentleman sits down. We nod. Basic banter begins. We talk about the area. He asks if I live alone. Red flags begin to rise on the horizon. He asks if I would like to have someone with whom to cuddle. He states that he is a wanderer, has no place to live, and is looking for a quiet place to record his new CD. He doesn't drink, but wants to know if I'm OK if he smokes pot. Would I want to hang around and talk some more or (with a shrug of the shoulder) do something? (sigh) What makes him think that 2 minutes into a conversation with a stranger he would find a new roommate, a dealer, or a ----buddy? Bad form.
Boys, this is not how to do it. I can help you, though, if you don't understand where these two cads went wrong.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007
grief
This past weekend several teenagers from my youth group were involved in a serious car wreck. One of them died. While I will frequently complain about teenagers not being my favorite age group, I must say that, walking with them through these past days, they have taught me a lot.

Friday evening after the accident occurred, they started gathering at our church. Filling up our library, courtyard, and spilling into the parking lot, they gathered to cry, rage, and question. Several of the guys who try so hard to be tough were caught up by their emotions. I overheard one say, "Man up, dude! Pull it together!" to which I replied, "This is not the time to 'man up.' This IS the time to cry." And as the hours passed, they allowed themselves to consider the reality a little more.

Saturday night was their prom.

Newspaper reporters have haunted them.

They returned to school on Monday. Monday night they were supposed to have their final youth group meeting before summer. Our leader decided to make the time a memorial service. So, slowly, they filled our church's halls again. Trickling in. Sitting down. And this time they really cried. They laid down on the floor and sobbed. They held each other. Hours were spent, mixed with raucous laughter and hearbreaking wails. While my initial inclination was to rush to comfort, I decided that this was the right place for them to cry. Probably few other places in life allow them to fully embrace their pain and then express it. Healthy (but painful) expressions of grief. So I stood in the back and watched and cried and was moved.
Our church received a gift when the students came here to grieve. Of any church in the community, they trusted us with their experience. When adults tend to "man up" and find socially acceptable expressions of grief, these students were willing to be messy. They accepted their inner cries. They accepted others' tears. If only we could all just let ourselves lay down on the floor, prostrate, and weep for hours. Perhaps we would be healthier.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007
anointed?
We look for signs in the world around us to confirm or deny significance. These signs usually come as surprises...

Friday evening I was watering my garden, pondering the possibility of chairing a committee. (yes, ever so Presbyterian) I noticed some crazy people down the street pointing up into a tree, figuring that they had found a bird's nest. As I kept watering, they moved closer and closer to my yard. I saw that they were pointing at an actual bird squawking in the sky. One who appeared to be stalked by a local osprey. The people were raising their hands in the air - as if to put a spell on it or summon it groundward. Forget the fact that all local air conditioners were running and a bird would not hear from that far away (or so I scoffed). The bird was a pet who had been on the lam for a few hours. It landed in a tree closeby, but refused to come down to their outstretched fingers. When suddenly, the bird took flight again and began circling over my roof, I felt a unique weight upon my head... The people yelled, "Don't move!" So I made like a fountain - with my hose running in my arm - and held the bird on my head until the owners removed it. I'm not sure why it chose me after hours of freedom with owners chasing after it. Perhaps I am emitting unknown Franciscan signals.

What does this mean? Is it a sign that I am The Beloved? Do I well please? Have I been Chosen?
Happy Holy Days

Monday, March 19, 2007
more firsts
News, newness, and newborns:
My car has continued having "issues". Not so fun. My encounter with Ginger, the towing lady, was only a beginning. She encouraged me to visit a particular car shop, so I made an appointment to take in my chariot. I was having a lovely chat with the gentleman in the shop (from Kentucky -- one of my people). Anyway, we were talking about the mountains, the oppressive heat in Florida, the strangeness of Volkswagens, when his eyes suddenly widened and he bolted out the door saying, "Wait just one second!" I began to panic thinking that something serious had happened to my car or that the building was on fire, so I stepped outside to see the commotion... where I found him flipping hamburgers on a little grill sitting outside the garage. He said, "my burgers were burnin'" (with an accent that only a mountaineer could love). Then, "I hope this doesn't scare you." To which I replied, "No. Honestly, it just instills more faith in your capabilities." hahaha! He and Ginger are a wonderful addition to my community.
Last week I ate dinner in the kitchen at Emeril's Orlando restaurant. Amazing! Perhaps the best food adventure I have ever had - and that's saying something. Food beyond compare, samples of dishes, conversations with the chefs, and a wonderful memory.

I also did my first baptism last week. Yay! A new cousin was formally brought into the fold on Sunday. It was really precious to hold her in my arms and say the special words. A few tears fell, but I made it through. Marvelous!

Monday, February 05, 2007
tell the pastor, "bye-bye"
Good Lord! I never thought it would happen. Yesterday I served communion at a retirement facility wherein one woman BROUGHT HER POODLE! The dog was quite obedient throughout the service, though was perturbed that I did not offer her the body of Christ. After the service finished, the woman rolled up to me (with poodle on lap) and said that her dog had a great trick. "Tell the pastor bye-bye," she said, at which point the dog sat up on its hind legs and waved its front legs. I have never been more astounded in worship (perhaps only challenged by the short skirt episode mentioned previously). The things we see...

Monday, January 29, 2007
Ginger, a.k.a. "Old Scratch" Current mood: better
The last few days have not been my favorite here on earth. Not so nice to me. C'est la vie. In the midst of unpleasantness, however, a jewel of a woman emerged. (Notice the word "jewel"...) A few days of car trouble seemed to have passed when I emerged to a completely dead car on Friday morning. Dang it! So I called the chain store (which had tried to fix my car) and gave them an earful. They promised to tow it, but said that I would need to set up the details. I called a number asking for "Ginger". She was pleasant on the phone. I assumed that she was the operator and would be sending some gruff old-timer out to push and pull my car around. When the truck pulled into my garage about 45 min. later, I was slightly shocked to discover Ginger standing there. Just over 5 feet tall, completely dull-colored hair (not even salt and pepper), tiny in her quilted, plaid overcoat that came down to her knees, and somehow graceful in the blue monkey suit with rips in both knees. Ginger said, "Now go sit in your baby's driver's seat... that's it, now step away from your chariot... ok, now don't watch your baby being loaded up." Ever caring and even (might I say it) pastoral. Certainly beating all expectations of a tow truck driver, a woman driving a tow truck, and a woman named "Ginger". One might have expected her to be named "Doll Face" or "Betty". I said, "Ginger, I'm a pastor at this church and am really proud of women who go out and do their own thing. Good on ya! Can I take you for a beer?" to which she replied, "Weelll, I don't drink beer. Never developed a taste for it.... but you can take me for a margarita!" So let it be known that Ginger and I have a date for margaritas. Ginger, one of few people in my new town that may truly identify with me, must be a God-send.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007
finally (it happened to me) Current mood: good
Word to my people. I am finally ordained. When I say finally, I mean that after years of schooling, years of crying, years of tantrums and guessing what the hell I'm doing, it all came to fruition in the human recognition of God's previous act of my ordination. What happened long ago has finally been recognized by humanity. Thanks be to God.

It was wonderful to be in Tennessee - and the mountains - for a few days. The topography there is what I think of as "home". Safe and secure in the bosom of the Blue Ridge Smokey Mountains. Who wouldn't want to live there?

Now I'm back in Florida with significant more job security than last week. Single women in ministry unite.

Monday, December 18, 2006
my first potholder
People in congregations are nice. They all want to share their stuff with you. (and when I say "you", I mean me) I've gotten some wonderful painted wine glasses, dripping with mangos, bananas, and grape leaves. I have beautiful brass lamps that haven't been polished in years. I got someone's dresser that was still filled full of old Christmas cards and gift receipts. Then, to top it all off, this morning I found my first potholder giftwrapped and waiting for me. It's in red, white, and blue yard. The tag says that it's in memory of 9/11. If you know me, you know how much I already love it. Really, too kind.
This being said, I really do love my people. Generous hearts and willing to offer themselves. I'm glad to be spending my first Christmas here.

Sunday, December 10, 2006
funny stories, chapter 2 Current mood: busy
Whew! Worship. So this morning I had the helm of the ship to myself. Lots going on since it is now Advent. Candles to light, offerings to take, scripture, scripture, and more scripture. After preaching, I sat down for someone else to make a presentation and began to think about the upcoming offering segment. Suddenly, it became quite clear to me that there were no offering plates sitting in 'the usual place'. I started "psst"-ing the organist. I mouthed, "WHERE ARE THE PLATES?" With no plates to be found, I tried to stall. I talked about why we give an offering, what it goes to, how we should give. And I could see the ushers in the back making the "draw it out" hand gesture. But there was no more to be said. So the organist began the offertory, I took off my shoes, and ran down the aisle to try and scrounge some baskets together for an offering. (sigh) After the service I had more comments about my barefootedness and sense of humor, than I did about the worship service itself. Oh well. The service must go on...

Sunday, November 19, 2006
funny chapters in life's stories Current mood: chipper
The first weeks of a soon-to-be ordained person have proven adventuresome. I constantly meet folks whose names I immediately forget, but who will graciously remind me the next time we talk. I have been called out of my house in my pajamas by a member VERY concerned about my garden. I have been to hospitals, funeral homes, and several ultimate frisbee competitions at the High School. Folks are, of course, unsure about how to handle this young female minister. Lots have called me "the little girl over there" and "the young pastor". Good grief. Amongst these firsts are a few noteworthy tales:

My first Sunday in worship I was passively listening to the children's sermon. Suddenly, the question, "on a scale of 1-10, what do you think about Meg?" rings clearly through the microphone. Aghast, I gratefully hear one girl sing, "TEN!" Phew. Then, the male scripture reader gets up to read the Old Testament. He says to the congregation, "When they asked that question after I arrived, the kids only gave me an 8." And then from the back row, a voice chirps in, "That's because you don't wear short skirts." Much laughter. My jaw hit the floor. It took me a good 15 minutes to recover. And, for the record, my skirt came at least to my knees.
In another worship setting, I went to a local mid-week service. The minister there introduced himself to me before the service. Picture a friendly, warm, humble, Hobbit-like man. I was reluctant about announcing my identity as another pastor, but he dragged the information out of me. As the sermon began later in the service, he stopped things and said, "Today we are blessed to have a special visitor . She is the Assoc. Pastor up the street at ---. Her name is... Peg McFadden." Now this, of course, is not my name. I can't help myself -- I shouted out, "Nonono, it's Meg ---." Everyone chuckled. The minister searched around for a pen to write down the correction. Then he said, "Now that's a nice Scottish name." (sigh from me) "Actually," I said, "it's Irish." People laugh some more. Move forward in the service to communion. He presented me with the bread and said, "This is the body of Christ broken for you, PEG." hahaha. I just chuckled and said, "MEG." Oh well. Like the character on SNL who got everything wrong, but in a similar sound. Peg McFadden - it has a nice ring.

Sunday, August 20, 2006
Anderson Cooper, I love you Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities
Anderson Cooper is my latest infatuation. The gun-metal gray hair, persistent questions, and willingness to offer raw reporting has drawn me in. While we grew up together -- from our days with Channel One in high school, to his current tenure at CNN we (or should I say I) have not been so aware of the others existence. Sure, I remember him as the serious one on Channel One. Sure, he was never the cutest or the best dressed. Sure, he doesnt know that I was one of thousands watching him, but these things dont matter. The point is this: our time has come.Anderson can count himself on a short list of other folk who have been at the center of my world: Billy Jonas (www.billyjonas.com), India Arie (www.indiaarie.com), and ABBA (who doesnt love a little Dancing Queen). Of course, my other people are all musicians, but thats what makes Anderson special. He speaks truth with a unique rhythmic pulse. Anderson defies the status quo of air-brushed reporters with bleached teeth who speak of poverty and revolutions from the comfort of their Gucci suit. Mr. Cooper has been there, seen it, and felt the addiction of cross-cultural experiences. "You run toward what everyone else is running from... all you want to do is get it, feel it, be in it... Coming home [means] coming down... I'd come back and couldn't speak the language."The realization of my infatuation is spawned by reading his new book, Dispatches from the Edge (see previous quotes). From the introduction I was captivated that he was speaking my language. Someone else who feels a call into territories unseen and forbidden. Someone else who willingly flies into places where he can forget and be forgotten. We are part of the same tribe. Only, he doesnt know yetSo Anderson, we should meet. I have wanderlust, like yourself. I travel to places and think that I belong. I often wonder if I will call any place home. I look for the reality that lies beneath the superficial markers. And if we did meet, I would tell you stories of my time in Haiti and show you pictures of my people there. I would take you down the road to the Carter Fold (www.carterfamilyfold.org) where popcorn is 50¢ a bag, and old men hang up their canes as they get on the dance floor. I would introduce you to George who has lived on the streets of Atlanta for so long that now he becomes anxious if pushed to live indoors.I dont have a posh family heritage like Mr. Coopers Vanderbilt mother. I have never lived in any real estate worth a significant amount. Im just a coal miners daughter (or something along those lines). I like cheese grits and houses on hills where you cant see your neighbors lights. I love going to the opera, but am more comfortable in my flip-flops than high heels. Give me a chance, Anderson. We could be the best of friends.If you havent read Anderson Coopers new book, you should. If you havent seen his show, Anderson Cooper 360, you should. He seems a good guy. I think I like him.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006
What's this about?
Suddenly I find myself ending at the beginning. Surrounded by brilliance and ignorance. Possibilities and dead ends. Friends finding new paths and family treading old waters. The universe spiraling in its habitual chaotic whirl with new patterns breaking in. Assertion and submission. Hope and desolation.

It is the end of the summer. After living in any number of houses over the course of the past 12 weeks, I am exactly where I began the summer: in a remote house on the edge of Atlanta, staring at a lake, listening for a Call. But things are different now. My roommate (who was with me in May/June) got married last weekend. Churches who were tops on my list have now faded into the twilight. The summer's journeys with adolescents are now memories. And instead of leaving this house for life in other friends' houses, I am returning to Tennessee... humbly, hopeful, without resignation, but more full of contentment. The world seems different.

Sunday, July 16, 2006
another religious sighting
Seen today on a street corner: small collection of people carrying signs and wearing sandwich boards. Because it looked like a protest, I drew closer hoping to be enlightened about Atlanta's intriguing issues. Instead, "Hell is hot. Turn or burn." and "Jesus saves. It's not too late." and various other fun slogans. These things raise my ire. Folks standing on a street corner without any love or concern for their neighbors. Surely they don't think that anyone will get out of their car, walk over, and shake their hand out of thanksgiving for finally hearing the Truth.
In other news, I continue interviewing. This week I have voluntarily accepted further unemployment and poverty. Thanks be to God for crazy Calls.

Sunday, July 09, 2006
haunted by God Current mood: desolate Category: desolate Religion and Philosophy
"All my life I have been haunted by God." - a Dostoevsky character
Today this rings true in the bottom of my soul.
I think, however, that I might argue whether it is "haunted" or "hunted". Both suggest an activeness in God. Both disregard the receiver's desire. Both occur regardless of the receiver's attempts to thwart. What's this about? Grace? or is God just a stubborn old woman?

Monday, June 26, 2006
street preacher - or crazy person? Current mood: anticipatory Category: anticipatory Religion and Philosophy

Yesterday I saw a sight that I both feared and admired. Classic conundrum. Driving down a Decatur street I passed a man on the sidewalk who was defiantly shaking his fist at traffic. He had a small amplifying mic in his hand (much like a PreSchool multi-colored toy). The mic was sitting on the top of a stroller, and in which was a small toddler. The man, the mic, the stroller, and the baby on a corner surrounded by simmering SUVs. While the man's ire was clearly directed at people going by (phrases like, "get your life right", and "living a lie"), the man continued to turn to his only captive audience: the baby. Was he calling the baby out in front of Atlanta? Showing the baby what s/he might become if they didn't get themselves straight pre-potty training? Or was the man just glad to have one person listen to his every word? The man interspersed his infantile addresses with gestures to the street. He would wipe his face of sweat and take his hat off intermittently. But eventually, the man would return to the stroller's contents.

I suppose that all preachers might fear this picture. It brings up the relevance of preaching, the significance of the congregation, the legitimacy of Call. Ultimately, are our congregations modified street corners? Is anyone REALLY listening out there? Are congregants only bodies s/trapped in churches, waiting for freedom? (N.B. I do believe that congregants listen, but this experience voiced my fear.)

This being said, I'm preaching on Sunday. Please, please, let it be a time of integrity.