The Chance to Be Blessed

"The distresses of choice are our chance to be blessed."
W.H. Auden

This quote is hanging on fridge on a 8.5 x 11 inch sheet of paper. It caught my eye this morning when I was getting my coffee. It made me stop and read it again and again -- and then smile. This particular paper was tucked safely in the folder of materials that the congregation I now serve offered when I was interviewing. It was a subtle message from the man that is now my colleague. It struck me then and it continues to echo in my heart because I feel so blessed.

This was what I explored in spiritual direction yesterday. I talked about this earlier post and my frustrations around it. However, I wasn't focused on my frustrations. I was talking about my call. My call to be myself -- not just the call that I answered to this particular congregation. This is my struggle. I want everything to be integrated but I'm still in that new pastor phase (which lasts longer for some). I still put the role on when I could just be me. I think about what a minister would do rather than being myself. Not all of the time but enough that I haven't felt genuine. That's all I want.

So, I told my spiritual director about my call and how I understand it now. It helps that I just filled out an application yesterday that made me realize that this is where I'm heading. I'm writing a lot about what my call is and how it's shaping. I'm realizing that I am blessed. I love the ministry I'm doing. I feel badly because when I'm not doing my ministry I don't want to go to church. That's what that earlier post is about. I am comfortable with friends and with Musicman so that I don't feel like leaving that comfort for the role. And yet, I have so much to celebrate in my ministry. My spiritual director let me celebrate those things. She wanted more details and heaped praise on me. It was just lovely.

Today, as I see this quote on my fridge, I realize that each choice I make has led me to blessing. Lots of blessing. I thank God for all of those blessings today.

Powerful Presence

I been prayin' more.

I find this is not a perfect art. But, I've been trying to practice more often -- I'm actually trying to practice a lot more often. Running. Hiking. Writing. Painting. Praying. These are the things that I'm trying to do more often. All in all, this results in a good week -- except for the teeny weeny fact that I got a little bitter recently. The lonely thing got a little overwhelming. I got to the point where I felt like the only one of my friends that wasn't in love (which, I can rationally admit is not so). I was not rational though. I was irrationally bitter -- which, might I add, made me a cup of joy to be near.

So, anyhow, I been prayin' more. It started when my spiritual director (I think I failed to post that I found one and it was good and I'm jazzed) asked me what God looked like now -- rather than what God looked like before. This may sound insane, but I hadn't thought about what God means to me now as an ordained person in the throws of ministry. Uh. Yeah. This is what I've been prayin' about. I started with that one word from Ezekiel in a little centering prayer. I repeated it over and over again. Prophesy. Prophesy. In my mind, it was framed as a revelation. I was looking for God to speak. (After all, I am one of those UCCers that believes God is still speaking). Now, I'm allowing myself to be present to this revelation. To see it. To touch it. To taste it. To drink it in. I still don't have a prophesy, but I do have more of a presence. Or rather, I'm more aware of that presence that I don't know how to name.

This got me thinking today because I met a boy. I'm going to try not to the gushy part where I soar ahead in time to the time when we are married with children in rock bands. Yeah, see that's a problem. Anyhow, I met this boy on the dreaded internet and he might be just perfect for me. We had lunch together today after church. And then, just as I'm daydreaming about him, he sends me a text message to tell me that he had a "blast" today and wants to see me again. AMEN! That was actually my reply. Did I mention he's a PK?

There is something about being in the same place as that thing that you want to be near -- no matter if it's a new love interest, your baby sister filling out college applications, your good friend on the nearby treadmill or the presence of God. There is something about being close that changes that relationship. It makes me more intimate and all the more wonderful. This is what I'm looking forward to this week -- being closer to God, my sister, my good friends and this new romance.

A Hidden Blessing

Let go.
Let God.

Though I have no idea who first said these words or why, they have been on my mind these past few days. They were said to me right before I left for my jaunt to the Midwest. I believe I even said them to the Senior Pastor in the midst of his recent struggles. These familiar and appropriate words even appeared on a church sign (because there are a lot of those in the Midwest). That still small voice wants me to hear these words.

Of course, all of this repetition didn't smack me until I zoomed from one airport to the next to try to be home in time for Sunday worship. I was eager if not determined to make it home. I wanted to be in church. I did. I really wanted to be in church. I had taken these few days to unwind with old friends that knew me before I became Pastor Peters. I knew that I needed to embrace this mantra. It's what made me take this little mini-vacation in October. I thought I had slowed down. I thought that I had completely abandoned my inner New Yorker pushing me to overdrive. I thought that she was gone -- until the knots in my back appeared and I found myself staring at the airport monitor.

I did what you are supposed to do in these moments. I called a friend. I told her I was stranded in her city. I wanted to wait and see if I could get on this flight. And of course, the Lord of the Airport laughed and reminded me:

Let go.
Let God.

I won't be in church tomorrow. I won't be at the denominational meeting to follow. I won't be there for the many things that perhaps should demand my attention. Instead, I booked a morning flight and came to have a beer with friend.

Good News in New York

A good friend in New York (and a former colleague when he was my boss at Common Ground) just sent me this New York Times article claiming that there is "only one first time for getting your name in the paper." Don't you love that? I love that he dreams so big -- not only in his personal life, but knowing that the work he does will change the world if not New York.

If you don't believe there is good news in the world today, read this for some gospel truth. My preaching professor in seminary told us to look for images of the resurrection in our everyday world. And this is surely going in my file.

Interrupted by Grace

Little Mary lamented in her recent post that she made someone cry during a meeting. I had a meeting like that this week -- except that I was the one that felt like crying. The meeting was focused on the area of ministry that I like least. I hate that the "young and hip" minister is the one that gets youth ministry and it is assumed that she will be good at it. So, I felt like crying as I was told what I should be doing according to my job description (a document that mysteriously does not actually exist). This meeting confirms my hatred for meetings. It is the worst part about ministry. There must be clergy that have a wonderful gift for these meetings -- but I detest them.

Instead, I would like to share with you why I am a minister. I had two of these moments today -- one right after the other as if the Holy Spirit herself were breathing little sparks to ignite my heart again. I love that she knows just when I need her. After running particularly late this morning (which happens after bad evening meetings for me), I went to visit with Gertrude in her condo without a view. This was the first thing that she showed me. Now that the trees are out, she can no longer see the bay. She complained that they were particularly big and green this year and then laughed at herself. I love it, especially because Gertrude is slowly going blind.

I had met Gertrude at the 90th birthday party a few weeks ago -- an annual luncheon that honors our oldest members on their collective birthdays. We talked about art. And this is what had brought me to her home this day. Not only because I wanted to get to know her better, but because I was interested in seeing her art. She shared her watercolors and acrylics with me. We relished in the wonder of creativity and the bonds that it offers to other creative types. You see, this was my major in college and I'm still wondering about how to connect my passion with the church (or if it should remain something sacred for me). We talked about how hard it is to be lonely and the struggle to maintain indepedence. And then Gertrude and I started to talk about her loss of sight and how hard it is to be creative. I can't really explain how awesome this moment was. But, wow. This is why I am ministry. I touched the divine in this moment as I shared in her vulnerability and frustration. Wow. It was just awesome.

And then, it happened again. Maryjane wandered into my office. She had been looking for the Senior Minister but it is his day off. Maryjane has a dear friend that is dying -- and it's been understandably difficult for her. I was in the middle of preparing for my sermon for next Sunday. I was reading the gospel lesson and wondering about tears. So, I shared with her my thoughts about the power of having a sacred space upon God's feet to cry. We talked about how there are so few people that we can allow ourselves to be this vulnerable with. And we prayed. We prayed for strength and peace in our own lives and the lives of others.

Oh, it was so freakin' amazing. So, this is why I am in ministry. Now, if only I could find the time and energy to be truly prophetic about marriage equality, abortion rights and speaking truth to power about too many crimes against human rights. But, if I can be interrupted by grace like this everyday, I suppose the time will find me.

An Appeal for Mom

While driving south this weekend, I was listening to the local NPR affiliate in another state. There was an appeal by the host reflecting upon a fist fight that had taken place at a theatre that week in the area. Someone wasn't quiet and another decided this was a valid reason to slug the noisemaker. A fight exploded. The performance on stage stopped. All attention was focused upon these two people throwing punches at each other in the midst of the theatre.

And the host appealed to the listening audience across the radio airwaves. She reminded us that though it was President Wilson who pronounced Mother's Day to be a national holiday, he was not the genesis of this day to honor our mothers. In fact, inklings of the first the holiday began long before President Wilson. It happened in 1870 just after the Civil War. It began with the words of feminist, reformer, and writer Julia Ward Howe. She proclaimed the first Mother's Day with these words:

Arise, then, women of this day! Arise, all women who have hearts, whether your baptism be that of water or tears!

Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have taught them of charity, mercy and patience. We women of one country will be too tender of those of another to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."

From the bosom of the devastated earth, a voice goes up with our own. It says, "Disarm, Disarm!"

On the local NPR affiliate, the host asked these theatre goers to disarm. She echoed the words of Julia Ward Howe. These words startled me. Not only because I had never heard the story before, but perhaps because it seems so odd that this holiday was proclaimed as a demand for disarmament and peace. And yet, no one seems to be listening to Mom.