That's it. I'm saying it. I'm calling a moratorium on Christmas cookies. Not because I don't love the sugary goodness, but because it borders on madness. They have arrived slowly. One package at a time from one blessed member of this community and then another. And now, on the fifth day of Christmas, I could build myself an entire new home with the enormous supply of Christmas cookies I have received.
The gym is the first thing to go when stress strikes (or illness, as that came first last week). And I don't need any more cookies. But, I can't say no. I didn't say no once again when they arrived again after the funeral this morning. And they are really, really good cookies. But, the madness must stop. So I officially call a moratorium. So there.
12.28.2006
Saying Goodbye to Those Unknown
Christmas is one of those hard times for those of us that have lost dear family members. I remember my mother and miss her. I wish my grandmother would still serve her amazing feast. There are others. Sometimes it seems like too many others, like now.
I hugged a church member on Christmas Eve who was in tears. He had just lost his wife a month ago. My heart broke for him.
This morning I met with the daughter of a man that breathed his last on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow morning, together, we will say goodbye. I never knew this man and yet he sounds wonderful. He sounds like someone that we would all love to have in our families. And yet, how do you remember someone you never met? My own grief bubbles up. It's hard not to let it. But, so it is. Here we go. My first funeral.
I hugged a church member on Christmas Eve who was in tears. He had just lost his wife a month ago. My heart broke for him.
This morning I met with the daughter of a man that breathed his last on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow morning, together, we will say goodbye. I never knew this man and yet he sounds wonderful. He sounds like someone that we would all love to have in our families. And yet, how do you remember someone you never met? My own grief bubbles up. It's hard not to let it. But, so it is. Here we go. My first funeral.
12.25.2006
Lessons & Carols
The Senior Pastor's wife (who is also a pastor) has been recounting her first call as an Associate Pastor over and over and over again to me in the past few weeks. It has been annoying, but she actually helped me yesterday. She remarked that she feels sorry for those that don't get to be in the pastor's role on Christmas and Easter. As pastors, we get to experience something that others don't. We are (as she says) "right in the thick of it" where everyone else is "on the fringe." I wanted to remark that it's probably the reverse actually as pastors don't get to truly worship in quite the same way. We are concerned that little Joanna is able to reach the lecturn to read the Fifth Lesson and making sure that the mic is on for the lighting of the Christ candle. We don't close our eyes while we pray on behalf of the congregation, but look to see how our words are echoing with the hearts of those that gathered with us this night.
But then, it happened. Kinda like the Word of God. It happened again. As we sang "Silent Night" and the chior carried their candles out of the sanctuary, I watched as the only light in this sacred space walked out. No one in the pews noticed, I suspect. But, the light of Christ went out of this space and into the world. It happened. I saw it.
And so we can sing that mysterious verse that echoes with every emotion I have at Christmas:
O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
It's those hopes and fears that I think prevent us from seeing the miracle of Christmas. So ready? Here is what I have learned in the few hours I have spent on my first Christmas away from family. The past few years, I have found myself disappointed by Christmas. The miracle never happened. I never felt the transformation. And I wanted it. I wanted that miracle to arrive. But, my expectations were all over the place. It had to be big. It had to be God Incarnate. It had to be... well, you get the picture. As a child, it always happened. My favorite Christmas celebrations were spent in Long Island in my great aunt's home. In the back room that overlooks the canal, the entire extended family would gather on Christmas morning. And without fail, the miracle happened. I have no idea what caused it. I don't know if it was the mound of presents that erupted under that tiny tree for all 22 of us or if it was the fact that we were all together. I don't know what caused the miracle. But, it always happened. In recent years, I have not felt this miracle in the same way. Maybe family has changed. Maybe we started fighting too much.
But, on this first Christmas without my beloved family, I realize that my hopes and fears never allowed for the simplicity of the child to come. It didn't need to be big. I just needed to see God right there ushering in yet another miracle like a beautiful (though snowless day). Another day where peace might be possible. Another day where love will be shared. Another day where joy is omnipresent. And all of this revealed in the simplicity of a child. And so we sing:
What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
But then, it happened. Kinda like the Word of God. It happened again. As we sang "Silent Night" and the chior carried their candles out of the sanctuary, I watched as the only light in this sacred space walked out. No one in the pews noticed, I suspect. But, the light of Christ went out of this space and into the world. It happened. I saw it.
And so we can sing that mysterious verse that echoes with every emotion I have at Christmas:
O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
It's those hopes and fears that I think prevent us from seeing the miracle of Christmas. So ready? Here is what I have learned in the few hours I have spent on my first Christmas away from family. The past few years, I have found myself disappointed by Christmas. The miracle never happened. I never felt the transformation. And I wanted it. I wanted that miracle to arrive. But, my expectations were all over the place. It had to be big. It had to be God Incarnate. It had to be... well, you get the picture. As a child, it always happened. My favorite Christmas celebrations were spent in Long Island in my great aunt's home. In the back room that overlooks the canal, the entire extended family would gather on Christmas morning. And without fail, the miracle happened. I have no idea what caused it. I don't know if it was the mound of presents that erupted under that tiny tree for all 22 of us or if it was the fact that we were all together. I don't know what caused the miracle. But, it always happened. In recent years, I have not felt this miracle in the same way. Maybe family has changed. Maybe we started fighting too much.
But, on this first Christmas without my beloved family, I realize that my hopes and fears never allowed for the simplicity of the child to come. It didn't need to be big. I just needed to see God right there ushering in yet another miracle like a beautiful (though snowless day). Another day where peace might be possible. Another day where love will be shared. Another day where joy is omnipresent. And all of this revealed in the simplicity of a child. And so we sing:
What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
12.23.2006
Do you believe in reincarnation?
I've never really had a solid answer to this one. With my mother's death at a young age, there is always part of me that wonders if this new person in my life might have part of my mother's spirit. I know that I'm instantly drawn to people that remind me of my mother, but I hesitate to settle on the fact that it might be reincarnation.
I posed this question to a congregant this week as she remarked that she feels like she has known me for a long time. She explained that there is something about my spirit that makes her feel like I have actually come home. I'm not a new minister, but someone she has known for a long time. I suppose this is not unlike my feelings about seeking my mother's qualities in friends and companions. She hesitated and said that reincarnation limited the possibility she spoke of. But, I'm stuck with this question as I think and pray about the incarnation of God in our midst -- once again.
I will be spending Christmas Day with my church administrator as well as an assortment of other women with or without a place to call home on this miraculous day. It hit me as I was talking to my parents this afternoon that this new friend reminds me of someone I have not seen and heard from in a long time. It's not the same feeling as connecting with friends that remind me of someone else that I know and love (which is the case for another one of my favorite Portland people). This woman actaully reminds me of my grandmother. Both my grandmother and this woman share the same zest for life, dark sense of humor and compassion for all. They even share the same name. I remarked this to my stepmother. And she said, "well, you never know." This is the mystery that I love. It doesn't matter if my grandmother's spirit does or does not live on in this new friend. Instead, I am relishing in the mystery of the incarnate God revealing Herself to me yet again.
I posed this question to a congregant this week as she remarked that she feels like she has known me for a long time. She explained that there is something about my spirit that makes her feel like I have actually come home. I'm not a new minister, but someone she has known for a long time. I suppose this is not unlike my feelings about seeking my mother's qualities in friends and companions. She hesitated and said that reincarnation limited the possibility she spoke of. But, I'm stuck with this question as I think and pray about the incarnation of God in our midst -- once again.
I will be spending Christmas Day with my church administrator as well as an assortment of other women with or without a place to call home on this miraculous day. It hit me as I was talking to my parents this afternoon that this new friend reminds me of someone I have not seen and heard from in a long time. It's not the same feeling as connecting with friends that remind me of someone else that I know and love (which is the case for another one of my favorite Portland people). This woman actaully reminds me of my grandmother. Both my grandmother and this woman share the same zest for life, dark sense of humor and compassion for all. They even share the same name. I remarked this to my stepmother. And she said, "well, you never know." This is the mystery that I love. It doesn't matter if my grandmother's spirit does or does not live on in this new friend. Instead, I am relishing in the mystery of the incarnate God revealing Herself to me yet again.
12.22.2006
Stealing Jesus
Baby Jesus is missing. A family in Buffalo, NY was reunited with their plastic Christ child earlier this week after Jesus went on a road trip. He arrived on their doorstep with a photo album entitled The Baby Jesus Chronicles. Jesus travelled all over NY state with a group of young people that didn't want to see him cooped up in an attic all year. There he is smiling somewhere among New York's exciting tourism sites. But, now, he's home safe. Reunited with the family that loves his plastic divinity.But, don't breathe too easily because he's still not safe. Jesus is truly missing. And this time, he's disappeared from the Angelican Cathedral of St. Paul in Portland, ME. RIght here in my home town. See the empty creche? Doesn't it make you want to weep and mourn?
Actually, what depresses me from this story is the comments that were posted on the local newspaper's website. One remarked:
Someone stole a wreath of our front door the oterh day too...thats a hate crime. I want action!!!
Another commented:
I hope when the catch whoever did this they are charge with a hate crime.
There were several other comments that attacked those that posted, as well as a horrible and irrelevant attack on Islam. Was it a hate crime? Was it something that requires action? I appreciate the priest's concern to not report the theft to the police so that the police can focus on more important matters, but should there be action at all? I'm not convinced. I'm not convinced that this is another attempt to remind us to put the Christ back into Christmas. It just seems impossible. In all of these harsh words, it seems imposible to realize the simple mystery of the incarnation of hope, peace, joy and love. Certainly, Jesus has been stolen from us.
12.21.2006
Shelter for the Spiritually Homeless
It's a season of Christmas cards. And though this might be a trite way to share the spirit of the season with our loved ones, it is something I enjoy. As someone that is terrible about using the phone and likes to get mail, I love the Christmas card season (mind you, I have not sent mine).
And this week, I got a card from my denomination. It was actually sent to the previous associate, but really, I don't care. It's a really pretty card that proudly declares "God is still speaking" which comes as no surprise to we in the proud UCC. But, what I really like and have never noticed in the other GISS campaign materials, is what appears on the back of the card in plain old 12 point font: Shelter for the Spiritually Homeless.
My peer in ministry retorted, "if only we could live up to that!" Perhaps it is a lofty aspiration, but a noble one I fear in this world where our Episcopalian brothers and sisters are fighting about the full humanity of God's children to the point of division. I should read more about this Nigerian Bishop to understand what the real matter is underneath the rift. But, it only depresses me. It depresses me that this is what we fight about when Jesus sent us out to love. Didn't he? Or did my exegesis go totally haywire?
As I sit here composing my Christmas prayer, I realize that I'm stuck in darkness. I didn't really think about it until I tried to write this prayer for Christmas -- not Advent, but Christmas. I can talk about the darkness and the longing. But, I wonder if our hope is met with dissatisfaction. Two thousand years later, it seems that I identify more and more with the shepherds shock and the wisepeople still on a journey toward peace and light. I really, really want Mary's confident prayer "Here am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be with me according to your word" (Lk 1:38, NRSV). But, I'm stuck in the darkness wanting to proclaim light more than anything. But, how can I?
And this week, I got a card from my denomination. It was actually sent to the previous associate, but really, I don't care. It's a really pretty card that proudly declares "God is still speaking" which comes as no surprise to we in the proud UCC. But, what I really like and have never noticed in the other GISS campaign materials, is what appears on the back of the card in plain old 12 point font: Shelter for the Spiritually Homeless.
My peer in ministry retorted, "if only we could live up to that!" Perhaps it is a lofty aspiration, but a noble one I fear in this world where our Episcopalian brothers and sisters are fighting about the full humanity of God's children to the point of division. I should read more about this Nigerian Bishop to understand what the real matter is underneath the rift. But, it only depresses me. It depresses me that this is what we fight about when Jesus sent us out to love. Didn't he? Or did my exegesis go totally haywire?
As I sit here composing my Christmas prayer, I realize that I'm stuck in darkness. I didn't really think about it until I tried to write this prayer for Christmas -- not Advent, but Christmas. I can talk about the darkness and the longing. But, I wonder if our hope is met with dissatisfaction. Two thousand years later, it seems that I identify more and more with the shepherds shock and the wisepeople still on a journey toward peace and light. I really, really want Mary's confident prayer "Here am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be with me according to your word" (Lk 1:38, NRSV). But, I'm stuck in the darkness wanting to proclaim light more than anything. But, how can I?
12.18.2006
Are you a heretic?
I can't sleep so I'm reading other blogs and taking online quizzes. And in the midst of my lack of slumber, I found out something I already knew. I'm a heretic. And proud, baby.
My seminary had a basketball team called the Heretics. I should have played basketball with them -- if only I could play. But, I can play in church even if I am a heretic (don't tell my congregation). This quiz doesn't leave room for reclaiming our ancient traditions. I had a weird conversation with one of the priests at one of our local hospitals on Thursday. He jumped into this theological reflection that was too traditional for me. It's not where I am. It's not that I don't believe in these things, it's that I claim them in a different way. This is true for the Trinity for me. But, there's no room for that in this quiz. Interesting though, right?
You scored as Socinianism. You are a Socinian. You deny the doctrine of the Trinity because you think God exists in a simplified unity. Since this makes the Incarnation impossible, you see Christ's work as simply exemplary.
Are you a heretic? created with QuizFarm.com |
My seminary had a basketball team called the Heretics. I should have played basketball with them -- if only I could play. But, I can play in church even if I am a heretic (don't tell my congregation). This quiz doesn't leave room for reclaiming our ancient traditions. I had a weird conversation with one of the priests at one of our local hospitals on Thursday. He jumped into this theological reflection that was too traditional for me. It's not where I am. It's not that I don't believe in these things, it's that I claim them in a different way. This is true for the Trinity for me. But, there's no room for that in this quiz. Interesting though, right?
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