Seeking Intimacy

Apparently, Little Mary and I have some of the same goals. She is trying to be more intimate. I refuse to have a roommate -- but I have the same goal. I have been taking risks with what I share with church people and even friends about my own personal life. I've been thinking about this since my colleague often preaches about his family life. Lots of preachers do this. I don't. I don't know why. I'm not sure I'm ready to do that in the pulpit. But, there are certainly small moments I can share things with the people I serve -- like admitting that I'm having a bad day or saying that something bugged me (because it did).

At out Pastor Parish Relations Committee meeting, the committee teased me for how I begin worship. I stole something I really liked from Rev. Ez who invited the community to begin by finding their breath. So, I do this every week. I paused to pray before the meeting began -- and the whole group started exaggerating their breath. I laughed. It was rather wonderful.

This idea of intimacy is particularly interesting given my thoughts about preaching next week on Genesis 12:1-9. To me, this is a story not only about beginnings -- but how we create family. I read this text and instantly thought about what is happening in California and that article that appeared in the New York Times Magazine a few weeks ago. So, I'm thinking about preaching about marriage -- which has become a bad word in my mind.

However, to do this, I have to talk about my own stuff. I will talk about my strange family and how that forms my understanding of marriage. That's not so intimate to me. The part that will be hard not to prevent from creeping into the sermon is my own forlorn anxiety that I will never get to have that family I celebrate in the union of others. This has no business if my sermon. It shouldn't be there. It won't be there. But, it will be hard. I think I will do it anyhow, but it will be hard.

Never Gonna Get It

Yesterday I hiked over this little town with a friend. This is a friend that did the Peace Corps. She is incredibly talented and intelligent -- and rooted in Maine. We agreed we could both never live in this little town. That's it. That's the whole town. There isn't even a local store to pick up milk. It's been converted to an antique shop. My hiking said she could live there if she knew there was a definite end. This is how she survived the Peace Corps. It was only 2 years. I have heard this from other Peace Corps friends. And then, she stopped and turned around to face me. "Is that what you think of Portland?"

My answer didn't satisfy her. It wasn't exactly what I had thought of my time here -- but I don't see this as forever. I don't know that there will ever be a place where I settle forever as clergy. (Do we do that?)

While I was running today and thinking about this conversation, I remembered something that Sara Miles had written. She talked about Ezekiel's story and that strange command to eat the scroll. This is how I feel sometimes. I want to eat God's words. Not only in a feast. I want to dig into text. I want to swim into it. I want to be lost in it. But, I also want to eat my own words. I want to swallow my own pride and surrender to the fact that this is (actually) in God's hands. Not mine. And so, I turn to the Book of Ezekiel.

Reading Challenge X

I just finished the book that is the hot topic of conversation for the Rev Gal Pals.

Sara Miles' Take this Bread is a quick read and indulgent story about conversion. It's indulgent because she manages to write in a way that invites the reader to wonder about their own journey of faith. Ok, maybe that's just me.

Miles tells a story about her call to justice that is as simple as feeding the hungry. And in doing so, she invites us all to wonder about our own calling to meet others in their hunger. Whether or not you are called to ordained ministry or even call yourself a Christian, this is a great story about what it means to be with people in those hungry places.

Happy Email

My dear friend Kweerspirit sent an email today. His email was simple -- and it said in that simple tone:

Two years ago today, we became UTS grads...
isn't that fabulous.
I miss those hallowed halls; and I miss you.

I miss him and many others. I can't believe it has been two years that we have been apart. We have done so much. We have seen so much. We have lived into our calls in true and profound ways. It is truly divine.

Mentors

Tribal Church wrote about mentors yesterday. She names something about young clergy that I think is true -- and I fall into a very particular camp. I don't want a mentor. I have had them. They were all wonderful but somewhere during my discernment and call, they became peers. I won't call them my mentors. They are Tim and Melanie. I call them as friends as much as I call them to beg "Uh, I haven't a clue here. Help."

This morning, I read The Ones We Love. Kate names her mother as her mentor which is so poignant and powerful. Lovely -- except that I'm a motherless daughter. I hate the liturgical celebration of Mother's Day. It is one of those days that I feel like an outsider. No matter what. I call my wonderful stepmother and can celebrate her -- but I still feel left out because I missed exactly what Kate names in her article in Fidelia's Sisters. I did have my stepmother. She filled this role. But, somehow, it's not the same. I think this may be why I resist mentors.

This is an "AHA!" moment for me. Now, I shall go to work.

Excuse Me.

I've struggled to point to examples of why my relationship with my colleague isn't ideal. In some ways, I am blessed that I can't conjure up a list upon request. I cannot cite all of the wrongs. I can only share that these moments hurt. The emotional impact lingers more than the details of the would-be crime.

But, here I am on my colleague's day off working on the church newsletter and wondering about the summer. I learned yesterday that there was a woman near death. She's not a member. She's beloved by one of our members. He wanted to know if he or I would do the service. Of course. The call came today. She died last night. The funeral home called my colleague at home and he agreed that one of us would do it. My colleague then called me and asked me to do it for a particular time on Saturday.

I was in Bible Study when he left the message. I had gotten a similar message last week, which I consider to be rude. I know that people die and these events interrupt our lives as clergy. We are called to be there. I'm ususally happy to be there -- but not when I don't get the first call. Not when I don't get to talk to the funeral home or the family to agree on a time. Not when it's dictated to me when and where I should offer the blessings of God. It just rubs the wrong way. Tell me I'm overreacting, if you must. Tell me that's what I'm called to do. I know. I just want to feel like I'm actually part of a team rather than waiting in the wings for someone that doesn't want to go on stage. You can also tell me that was a bad metaphor for what we do. This isn't a stage -- but I'm feeling dramatic.

Instead

Instead of writing my Statement on Ministry, I could daydream.

Instead of getting it in gear and applying to that job that sounds kinda nice, I could re-write my job description.

Instead of insisting that I'm restless, I could involve my colleague in a conversation about what it would mean to shift the entire staff dynamic at the church.

Instead of change, I could be like every elder member of the church. I shall insist that I'm not ready and change their world instead.