Remembering and Renewing

O God, you divided the waters of chaos at creation.
In Christ you stilled the storms, raised the dead,
and vanquished demonic powers.
Tame the earthquake, water, wind
and fire, and all the forces that defy control
or shock us by their fury. Keep us from
speaking of disasters as your justice; keep us
from adding to their fury by our slowness
to respond or our callousness of spirit. Help us,
in good times and in distress, to trust
your mercy and yield to your power,
this day and forever. Amen.

This was the prayer that began our worship this morning. I was struck by my inability to be composed. I wept over the first few lines of this prayer. It captured my heart. It spoke of my fears. In the wake of Katrina, how do we face 9/11? When wounds are still fresh in this city, how do we face another anniversary? My prayers these past few days have been marked by remembering those in grief this weekend. I remember the few friends of my own and wonder about the countless others who are not on the list of names read from Ground Zero these past four years -- the undocumented, the illegitimate, the lonely. I wonder who remembers the nameless faces that once marked our city's streets.

Wiping away a tear, I found myself in the midst of the rite of baptism. On this day of destruction, this little baby boy affirmed hope. His squeals of glee sang through the entire sanctuary. He was darling and delighted.... until the water came to bless him. The water was not his favorite part but he was easily distrcted by the dancing mic. Wiping away my tears, I was reminded of new life. I was struck by the courage of these parents to welcome, affirm and bless their small child on this day of all days. On a day that we need to wonder about forgiveness (what does 70 times 7 mean?), this family snubbed the masses and said "To Life!"

Thanks be to God.

Vaginas in Worship

The Director of Worship at my seminary asked me to do the Scripture reading yesterday. Of course, I was thrilled. I love to be involved in worship. But, without really thinking, I wore my V-Day (www.vday.org) t-shirt that boldly reads: "Value Your Vagina. Vote." It was one of my purchases of protest approaching the election last year.

So, per request, I get up to read the Scripture reading from the First Letter of John, Chapter 4, beginning with the 16th verse. I read about perfect love while my chest boldly proclaimed "Value Your Vagina." I met smiles while I read --- not realizing the connections that people were making.

After worship, I was told by a number of people how much they loved my t-shirt, though they had no idea what the Scripture reading was. But, perhaps this is what I have to give to my liberal faith communty as my friend Durrell chided, "And Miss Thang brought her perfect vagina to worship."

Old Friends

Tonight, I had drinks with an old friend. I'm always amazed at reunions. I remember more than I expect. I feel like there is tons of time to catch up on. I feel like there is something I need to share -- whether worthwhile or not. I love that excitement of seeing an old friend. And tonight, I reconnected with someone from my past. I reconnected with my life before seminary who reminded me of who we were before I began this journey. We spent three months together in Appalachia while doing what might be called service work. We share a vocational call -- but I've always felt a tad more connected to my dear friend. And I had the blessing of reconnecting with her while she shared with me the wonders of her new life. I can't help but thank God for the blessings of friends -- but especially this dear friend.

For the Workers

All of last summer, I was trying to gather support from local congregations for a group of workers struggling to unionize in Lower Manhattan. They won -- whether by the support of the churches or not. There were people of faith to support these people. Last summer, Labor Day meant something. It bothered me that we didn't recognize workers in worship the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. It bothered me that we failed to elevate their experience.

This summer, I wrote a Children's Message about the Gospel reading. I spoke about the presence of God where two or three are gathered. But, I didn't mention workers. I didn't mention the importance of all people in that small congregation of two or three. I didn't recognize how hard it might be for those workers to gather due to exhaustion or work duty. I didn't mention the people that I had met last summer. Did I think the children would not understand?

Today, I passed my day off in the sun. It was a beautiful day where I didn't have a care in the world. And only now as my day comes to a close am I thinking about those workers that support our nation and our world in prayer. Only now am I remembering those that are deprived from the right to organize to create better opportunities for healthcare, job security, wages or simply on the job safety. Only now -- as midnight approaches -- am I remembering those that we honor on Labor Day. May all workers find peace on this day and everyday. And may the rest of us be restless until we remember them in our morning prayers.

Down the Toilet

While I have heard a number of jokes about President Bush's lack of awareness about Guantanamo Bay, I can't understand how we can't respect each other's humanity. President Bush can claim that there are no human rights abuses in the world. He can claim this but what logical sense does this make when he choses to intervene for the sake of humanity? Justice, my ass. He may think that it was American genius that "eliminated" violations against Afghani women. That was never a reason for us to intervene and our troops did not change anything -- anymore than our policies. Instead, we seem to assume that we have the right answers to everything. We have the right nationality. We have the right religion. We have the right set of moral values. Hell, we even have God.

And somehow, this arrogance grants our patriotic brothers and sisters to reject the humanity of another. This is what is happening in Guantanamo Bay. How in the world can we assume that we have the right text? How can we know that we have the only vision of God? I've been told by too many Republicans that I should respect their beliefs. In a city where they are the minority, these GOPs feel oppressed. They meet in secret. They are bizarre. And yet, they want me to respect their beliefs. Sure, fine. You are entitled to your own opinions. But, my understanding of the gospel leads me to believe that anything that denies the humanity of another is sin. It would be a sin for me to not beiee that poverty should and will be eliminated. It is a sin if I do not work toward this change for the least of these. It is a sin tht I do not embrace every child of God -- no matter what nationality, race or creed -- as my sisters and brothers. It is a sin for me as it is for all of us.

CNN reports, "A U.S. military investigation has found four incidents in which guards at the Guantanamo Bay prison mishandled the Quran, but said that it was detainees who threw the Muslim holy book in the toilet." How can we disrespect another's belief? If we are to respect the Bible as God's sacred word, how can we disrespect the revelation of God in another form? Christians -- including myself -- don't always believe that the Bible is actually God's word. It is inspired by God, but not actually the literal word of God. This does not disregard the sacred nature of this text. This does not eliminate God's sacred revelation or erase the power of Jesus Christ. In Islam, Muhammed recoreded God's word as it came to him. It is God's literal word -- and even if we do not share the visions of God as Muhammed received them -- how can we flush anything holy down the toilet?

Writings on the wall

Yesterday, I was taking a walk through Riverside Park. It's a walk filled with detours and tunnels from construction and traffic flow (though that's not what one commonly imagines in a park). Somewhere around 79th Street, the word "FAITH" greeted me. It was scrawled across the interior of a tunnel. It may have been a girl's name. It may have been some young romantic longing for his or her love, Faith. Or maybe the artist's intention echoed my sentiment.

Greeting this word in a tunnel of New York, I was reminded of the wonders of life. I was reminded to continue to seek for new and extraordinary possibilities in perhaps unlikely places. I was reminded -- quite simply -- to always have faith.

No Easy Answers

I am entering into my last year of theological education before being launched into the world outside of these safe ivory towers that I presently call home. Perhaps this is true for any life experience, but I'm caught in this place where I feel like I should know more. I should have more experience. I should have righted more wrongs in the world. It's the impossible place of a justice-seeking overachiever. There is always something more to do. Entering into this last summer before the "real" world, I am filled with all of these questions of what I must do before I complete my seminary education. This is what primal screams are made of. What experiences do I need to be an effective pastor? What knowledge do I need to gain? And yet, it seems that these are questions that will fill my whole ministry. There will always be something new that God is doing. There will always be some new, creative and wondrous way to experience God. There will always be a new circumstance that challenges how we know God. Of course, I am bold and naive enough to believe that I can answer all of these questions in the next 12 months.

You should scream at that -- or perhaps laugh. Or maybe it is more appropriate to cry. That sort of cockiness doesn't make me any better than the pastors in the South and the Midwest that think that they have a monopoly on God. No one can really own God -- I don't care what you think about the filibuster. God can lead you. But, go back to the Bible. Let's look again at what prophecy looks like.

Anyhow, prophecy aside, I'm trying to understand where God is leading me. I'm trying to understand how I can say "Here I am Lord" like my man Isaiah. This past year, I was a Pastoral Associate at a church on the Upper East Side (which is a fancy way of saying that I was an intern). I completed my service to that community a month ago. Though I'm not sure if service is ever complete, I felt that God was leading me somewhere new. There was more of God's work that I had to experience. My prayer has lead me to believe that I was to focus on my studies in the next year -- this last year in seminary. But, God apparently had something else in mind as She steered me back to the Upper West Side. It wasn't something that I was looking for. But, I am keenly aware of my call to step out of the pews.

So yesterday I found myself at a second inteview for ministerial position at a church on the Upper West Side of our great city. I am not sure what I am looking for. It seems that this opportunity would be ideal. I could wax on and on about dream jobs -- as much as I could talk about an ideal church. I'm not sure that either of these things exist. I do know that there is something -- something that I hesitate to name -- about this church. I know that there is something about this position that delights and inspires me. But, does that mean that that is where God is leading me?

It doesn't answer my questions or clarify my confusion. It doesn't make the tough questions any easier to answer. I don't know where God is leading me. I'm not sure what will happen next year. I'm not sure what will happen tomorrow. I only know that I need to listen. I need to listen with my whole heart. Perhaps easy answers will emerge.