Movements of the Spirit

The audience for this reflection is not my typical blog readers, but members of my cnurch. However, I'm thinking about many of you as I write this so I'm posting it here.

It is so important to surround yourself with people that "get" you. It is rare to find these special people who understand things about you without you having to find words to express it. And though these people are rare, you know that you have found one when it seems like you have known this person for your entire life -- when actually, you have only known them a few weeks.

Moving to a new place far from these rare people that "get" me has been tough. I would be lying if I said it was easy. So, I won't lie. It has been hard. But, the Spirit is always working. The Spirit doesn't want to hear me complain or whine. Instead, She moves me to new places to do new things.

She moved me to Hartford in the beginning of the summer where I found myself among other clergy like me. We are rare in the UCC. Currently, only 4% of ordained clergy in the UCC are under the age of 40. There are only 7 of us in Maine. I have been active in this small group of clergy since I arrived in Maine. We get together to have lunch. We email and share in the journey together. Going to Hartford, I found myself surrounded by others just like the 7 of us from Maine -- members of the 2030 Clergy Network made up of clergy under the age of 40 in the UCC. These are people that "get" me. I didn't have to say a word. They understood.

But, the Spirit wasn't done with me. For my week of continuing education, I had made plans to attend a conference entitled Preaching as Testimony: A Conference for Women Preachers under 40 at the College of Preachers in Washington DC. I was not prepared for what the Spirit presented in DC. I had come to this conference through a connection I had made through the internet (it amazes me how many connections I have on the internet). Before I had even arrived, I had agreed to be part of the board of this newly formed organization, The Young Clergy Women Project. I was uncertain that the Spirit was in this decision. But, I know that we all need those people that "get" us. So, I went to DC to see what might happen.

And the Spirit was already at work. I just didn't know it yet. I discovered other woemn like me. We were all there for the same reason. Of course, we wanted to be better preachers but the real reason that we were called to DC was for fellowship. None of us knew that this was a call until we sat down to dinner on that first night. I didn't have to say a word. They got me. And I got them. These movements of the Spirit are hard to explain. But, if it has ever happened to you that everything seems just a little too perfect, then you know what it feels like to be blessed by the Spirit. I continue to be fed by this community of women that I encountered in DC. I am inspired by the conviction of their faith. And more than anything, I'm so hopeful about the church. Who knew that this is what the Spirit wanted me to learn this summer? What did She teach you?

Something New

"See, this is new." And that's just what we said to each other. "See, this is new," we as we struggled into our wetsuits. We had signed up for a two-hour lesson on a semi-crowded beach simply because we wanted to try something new -- something that we had never done before. Something new under the sun. And it was. It was all new. Every word to which we carefully listened was new. Every detail that our instructor "Huge" offered to explain the basics of surfing was new. "See, this is new," we continued to cheer each other on as we carried our boards into the surf.

"See, this is new," I thought to myself as I watched the horizon while lying on top of the board. Feeling the cool embrace of the sea, I knew it was my turn to try to ride a wave into the shore. "Paddlepaddlepaddle," I heard the instructor call as I pushed through the water with my arms. I could feel the wave craddle me as I tried to move to stand. And tried. And tried. And tried. And tried.

But, without feeling discouraged or disappointed, I thought, "See, this is new." This afternoon of being cradled by the waves interrupted my routine. I had dared to do something unexpected. I had tried to do something that I had never done before. It's all I could think about while I waited for the next wave to carry me awkwardly back to shore. I would try again. And I would fall. But in between these ungraceful rides, I watched the horizon and I remembered all of those times that I talked about things I could have done. I thought about what has been and how we always do it. I choked on my laughter inhaling salt water as I fell off the board again and again and again. I laughed to myself, thinking "See, this is new." And though I doubt you will find me at Higgins Beach hanging ten, I was reminded to continue to push myself to say "See, this is new."

When was the last time that you echoed the words in the wisdom of our tradition, "See, this is new?" (Eccl. 1:10, NRSV). I found my voice echo those words amid the waves. No matter how many times I fell off the board. No matter how much salt water I swallowed, I had echoed these words from the wisdom of Ecclesiastes. I felt that echo one last time with every grateful step I took upon the sand steadying my legs after my two hour lesson. "See, this is new." It was new. It was different. It wasn't like last Friday and it wouldn't be like next Friday. But, it had changed what had been and what was done. Perhaps there was indeed something new under the sun. Perhaps I only needed to take a risk to do something new to realize it.

After the Flood

I have been waiting for the weather to change for a long time. It doesn’t feel like Easter without witnessing the resurrection of those little purple flowers from beneath the earth. It doesn’t feel like Easter until the buds on the trees start to appear. It just doesn’t feel like Easter could happen if hints of spring have not crept into my consciousness.

But, it didn’t happen this year. It snowed. It sleeted. And then, just after we celebrated the glorious event of the Resurrection, it flooded. Many of us lost our power. The worst storm to strike Maine since 1998 arrived. Alleluia!

And then, something strange happened after the storm. While we waited for power to be restored and our heat to come back on, the weather shifted dramatically. It happened suddenly, didn’t it? It happened abruptly. As all of the snow finally melted away and we helped our neighbors bail out their basements, the sun came out. Not only did the sun came out, but the people came out. People appeared on the streets. On their front steps. On their porches. In creation. In God’s creation.

As I drove through Cape Elizabeth I saw them. And then I watched others from the porch of my apartment on Saturday night, while the crooning of the radio called from inside my apartment. On Saturday night, I often tune into the Fitzgerald Theatre in St. Paul, MN. I have never been to St. Paul, or even traveled to Minnesota. I don’t really have a connection to this place. That is, until I moved to Maine. Once I moved to Maine, my understanding of the humor and wisdom of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion became obvious. And so, I sat there listening to the News from Lake Wobegon, which concluded with Mr. Keillor remembered these words from an old friend: “I love this time early in summer when people are sitting outdoors, when it is still wonderful for them.”

And here I was sitting outdoors celebrating all that is still wonderful in our world – cherishing this new creation and this earth. I sat there on my porch this Saturday night and was reminded of the words God offered to Noah after that terrible flood so long ago: “I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth” (Genesis 9:13, NRSV). Peering through the rails of my porch, I did not see a rainbow. I did not see a bow in the clouds. But, I did see “every living creature” of “all future generations” enjoying the beauty of God’s creation when it is still wonderful for them. And I remembered that the storm had passed. The flood was over. And God had offered this beautiful day to remind us – “every living creature” of “all future generations” – that God has made a covenant with our earth and we are called to cherish it.

The Miracle of Easter

Easter was never as magical as it was when I celebrated with Irene. I had never seen anything like it. The lamb would be roasting. There would be enough spanakopita lovingly prepared by Irene’s mother for a contented stomach ache. There was dancing and even an egg hunt. And it was a week later than my celebration, because Irene is Greek Orthodox.

Just as my spanakopita stomach ache started, Irene’s father appeared with his egg. He would smile slyly and challenge anyone and everyone in a traditional game of tsougrisma. There is a trick to this game that I never mastered. You are supposed to hold your egg in a certain way so that when someone (like Irene’s father) tapped your egg, it would not crack. I tried every angle imaginable to hold this egg in my fist while I waited for my opponent to tap the tip of the egg. My egg would always crack. And Irene’s father was usually responsible.

There was one year that I survived two rounds of this game before Irene cracked my egg. Alas, I still could not figure out the trick to this game. I figured it took years of practice to which I was always going to be at a disadvantage. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. In fact, I think it is a feeling that most of us wrestle with. When there are so many terrible things going on in the world, we feel that we cannot do enough. We can’t pray enough. We feel that somehow we have been left at some disadvantage.

It was not until my second or third Greek Orthodox Easter that I realized that Irene’s father cheated. He always won because his egg was marble. Or wood. Some thing stronger than my plain old hard boiled egg. But, Easter isn’t about strength. Certainly Mary had to be strong when the other disciples questioned her and Thomas had to find his own strength, but this is not the miracle. The broken egg shell in my hand reminded me that we are all a little broken. We can all be beaten up by a stronger egg, whether it is your best friend's father or a news item on TV. But, resurrection happens in our practice. It happens in our laughter, even when we lose. It happens in that strange transformation where disciples gather to remember unexplainable events.