Category: 2012 (Page 3 of 3)

Today at the easter services at St. Anne’s there was the opportunity to meet a lot of new people. There are some people who, for their own reasons, choose to attend services only on Christmas and Easter. Sometimes you might hear them referred to as “Chreasters.” Some people may employ this term pejoratively, but until we have walked a mile in those people’s shoes I would recommend extending welcome instead of judgment. Christmas, Easter, weddings, and funerals are the biggest evangelical opportunities we have in the church. These are occasions when our sanctuaries are filled with people who may not hear the message of salvation on a regular basis. These are people who may have had negative encounters with the church in years past. They may be people who are struggling with their faith. These are people who might profess another faith all together and who are attending these services out of support or love for family and friends.  The point is: we don’t know their story. These are the people for whom the church exists.

I met a lot of so-called “Chreasters” today. There was one woman whom I overheard standing by our bulletin board after the service. There was a job posted on the bulletin board advertising for a new Christian Ed. director at another local church. The woman’s husband said, “Why don’t you apply for this? It sounds like a good job.” To which the woman replied, “God no! If I took that I’d have to get dressed on Sundays!” – I had to laugh. She had just come out from a joyous Easter service with a rousing sermon and her first response to someone indirectly asking her about attending weekly services was “God no!” My first thought was, “Maybe we need a more powerful sermon next time.” (And Jim’s sermon was a home run so I’m not really sure what else he could say!)

There was another woman I met who was elderly. I met her at coffee hour and she told me about her time in Chapel Hill and the church she attended there. She was very involved for years. Her children moved to Reston 25 years ago and she comes up to visit them for Christmas and Easter each year. Her children (and grandchildren) do not attend church except for when she is in town. When Grandma comes to town they all come to church as a family and then have a nice dinner together. Our conversation was interrupted and when I turned back the woman was gone. I was touched by her joy in telling me about her family and the times they come to church together.

Finally, at the latest service today there was a couple sitting in the front row right by the altar. It was a middle-aged man and wife. They caught my eye first during the Gospel reading. The wife was struggling with her program and could not find the reading because she had the pages all out of order. Her husband tried to help her and when it was apparent that it was more disorganized than he suspected he patiently traded programs with her and reordered the pages in the disorganized program. Later in the service the couple caught my eye again during the prayers as the woman began softly weeping and her husband passed her a handkerchief before pulling her towards him. As I was distributing the bread at communion and the couple came forward to receive I noticed, for the first time, what she was wearing. She sparkled from head to toe. Glitter flats, a jeweled bracelet, iridescent earrings, and traces of glitter on her face. I smiled despite myself as I said, “The body of Christ, the bread of heaven.” She locked eyes with me for a moment before consuming the bread. In the reception line after church the woman shook my hand before leaving. She looked sad and did not make eye contact until I said to her, “Your sparkles have made my whole day. Happy Easter!” (you know I’ve got a thing for glitter.) She held onto my hand, looked me in the eye, and her face split into the widest smile I’ve seen today. “Thank you,” she said. I could literally feel her gratitude.

Each of these encounters was a resurrection opportunity hidden in plain sight. I did not talk to the first woman. I only witnessed her interaction from afar. But embedded in this witness was a gift of knowledge: this woman is out of work. Why don’t I pray for her? My first reaction was to laugh (it was a little funny.) But the more I thought about her the more I realized that I don’t know her story. The second woman was filled with joy as we spoke about her family and their company at services on these holidays. I don’t know whom they are or why they don’t come more regularly, but I do know that they make this matriarch proud and happy when they come to St. Anne’s together. Finally, the woman from the front row: There was a deep sadness in her eyes. There were other seats available in the church. She didn’t have to sit so close, but she chose to. Something tells me there is more to her story that is between her and God. I am grateful that she found her way to church today and hopeful that some of the Easter message of hope shined some light into whatever darkness she is carrying.

I felt truly joyous upon leaving church today. I felt the Easter message of triumphant love and a desire to share that love with others. It would be wonderful if our parking lots were so full that we had to overflow parking onto the streets every Sunday. What a great problem it is when we run out of communion bread and need to consecrate extra bread in the middle of communion because so many people have come. But the truth of the matter is: the church is not a building; the church is the people who are charged with carrying this Easter message of love and hope and joy out into the streets. Sure, a few times a year our buildings overflow with wonderful new people with whom we can share God’s message of salvation. But all year round we are supposed to be finding people with whom to share this love. The church is designed to speak to the “Chreasters.” So instead of feeling frustrated with the lack of parking, the new people who are sitting in “our” pew, or the sermon that seemed to go on forever – let’s go forward into this new Easter season thanking God for sending new people to meet. I think sometimes we forget we need to take the Good News outside of our chapel walls and that is why it’s important for for us to greet the “Chreasters:” they remind us that there is church outside of the sanctuary walls.

This Lent has been an interesting one so far. I feel like a bird poised on the edge of a branch waiting for the wind to turn so I can take flight. Staying with this metaphor: I am also hoping the wind takes its time because I would rather stay in this tree a little longer than be heading towards the clouds. I usually love Lent because it offers a chance to nestle in and snuggle with God. Being still and knowing God is God helps me through the entire year and I find that Lent is generally that time when I readjust my stillness that is all out of whack after the craziness of Christmas and New Year and all the gatherings that come with them. This Lent has been taken at a run and I don’t like it; not one bit!

But as I sit and reflect on this Lent I also recognize that Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness was not a picnic. Jesus didn’t have forty days to just sit and snuggle with God. Jesus was being tempted by Satan. Jesus was being challenged to defy God’s authority. And we call it temptation because it was tempting. If you read the account from Matthew 4:1-11 it might sound like it was easy. Satan tossed out a challenge and Jesus swatted it down with a scripture reference. Boom! Super Jesus to the rescue! But this is not a comic book. Jesus was tired and hungry and weak. The devil was offering a “life line” out of the pain in which Jesus found himself. If you have even been in pain, not just physical pain –but emotional and spiritual pain as well, then you know that it would be excruciating if someone came by and asked you to do some that you knew you could do promising to end the suffering if you obeyed. If someone came and challenged me to sing a difficult aria promising to make all emotional and spiritual suffering cease if I did don’t you think I would get to work learning that aria?

I love Lent because it generally gives me an excuse to focus my eyes on God when other activities invite me to do otherwise. This exercise of turning to God is something that we should do each and everyday, but we don’t. We find countless excuses to do something else instead. So this anxiety that I am feeling about the coming breeze that will ask me to release my perch and fly from this place is actually helping me (against my will) to participate in a more authentic Lenten experience.

This morning I was reading Mother Teresa’s No Greater Love. She wrote: “God will not ask how many books you have read; how many miracles you have worked; He will ask you if you have done your best, for the love of Him. Can you in all sincerity say, ‘I have done my best’? Even if the best is failure, it must be our best, our utmost.” So the question I am asking myself today, and the question I invite you to reflect upon, is ‘Have I done my best?’ In this world of excuses am I really giving all that I have to God or am I holding something back in the hopes that it will serve another purpose later?

Lent, Lent, I love Lent. I’m absolutely, positively wild about Lent… *sung to the tune of Skidamarink a dinky dink*

Yes, if you know me at all or have followed my blog then you know how much I love the quiet simplicity of Lent. I generally take on a positive practice in my life (which necessitates giving up other, time consuming activities) as a way of marking the season. We walk the forty days of Jesus’ wilderness trials with our own period of introspection. I wrote more theologically about it last year. This year, however, I am writing more practically about it.

I was having a hard time thinking about what I should do for Lent this year. I like to do something that will be truly challenging and will yield positive long-term results. One year I took on reading daily (which necessitated giving up television) for the 40 days and to this day I read more than I watch TV. Last year I practiced the Ignatian Examen –and lead a group at church in that practice (which necessitated giving up Facebook) and I am still more mindful about the events of my day and where God has met me therein (my Facebook addiction continues; but that is the subject for another post.) So to chose a practice for this year I asked: What trials am I facing and what can I do to meet those challenges head-on?

Trials:

–       Saying healthy goodbyes: to the places and people who have loved and supported me these last 3 years of seminary

–       Preparing to transition into my professional vocation as an ordained minister in God’s church (gulp… no pressure there.)

–       Actually writing the thesis on the topic I have prayed, contemplated, and struggled with for the past 8 years.

–       Finding a place to live before it is time to leave the security of the dorms.

–       Being still, and knowing that God is God.

–       Celebrating the successes in my life and not being caught up in the worries.

I have to admit: identifying the trials was a lot easier than figuring out what I can do about them. As I sat and considered these things I got ridiculously stressed out because my living space is in such chaos right now. I did a good job at the beginning of the year keeping stuff organized, but just before Christmas (around the time of the GOEs, job interviews, and the “final” semester) a figurative bomb went off and my room has not been a calming space since. –For those of you with families, please know that I realize how much more difficult it is for you to keep your stuff straight while also organizing your spouse/partner/children’s things. I commend you.—But I have only myself to deal with, and trust me, I am a hot mess.

So I have decided to adopt the daily discipline of tidying my space. This may sound simple. You are probably thinking: “She should be doing that anyway; this is not a discipline it is a copout.” But I assure you, it is not.  Yes, in an ideal world I would be able to keep my chaos from affecting my living space; but I can’t. My room is a reflection of my current emotional space and I intend to use this Lenten period of reflection as an experiment to see if daily tidying of my exterior space can simultaneously offer me the opportunity for daily prayer and reflection –a form of bodily prayer, really—that will result in an internal restructuring, re-centering, and calming practice.

I will have to give some things up to make this a reality. I will not have the same amount of time to devote to stress. (Trust me, this is a huge sacrifice. I spend a LOT of time worrying.) I will not have the same amount of time to devote to Facebook or other tools of procrastination that generally result in an increase of worry. It is my hope that this exterior/interior restructuring can result in a calmer presence as I prepare to end my time in seminary and begin my ordained ministry.

“Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished.” Luke 4:1-2

Dear God, I pray that we may also be filled with the Holy Spirit and led by Her through this time in the wilderness. Guide our footsteps and guard our hearts as we prepare to enter this time of Holy introspection. Use it to strengthen our faith and to turn our eye towards You. Amen.

I was at Spiritual Direction yesterday and she asked me where I perceive God moving in my life at this time of transition and goodbyes. I am so sad that seminary is coming to an end. I will miss my friends and classmates. I will miss living in a community that forces me out of my shell. I will miss classes that challenge and intrigue me. I will miss professors whom I love and respect. I will miss daily worship and the space for stillness. I closed my eyes and breathed in her question: where do I perceive God moving in my life at this time? There were two places I immediately recognized and I would like to share one of those places with you:

I perceive God in the affirmation of my call to ordained ministry that has come in the form of my first vocational call as the new Assistant Rector of the Parish of the Epiphany in Winchester, Massachusetts!

The week after GOEs was supposed to be a week of respite at home in Maine, instead I was invited to interview with 3 remarkable churches in Massachusetts. (I never made it home during that “vacation.”) Each parish had wonderful positions and opportunities available, but one of those positions spoke to my heart. My interview at the Parish of the Epiphany was both challenging and comfortable, exhausting and energizing. I met with many of the ministry leaders and all of the staff members. The position they described and their desires for their assistant matched so well with my skills and personality that I couldn’t imagine a better first position for myself. I was called back for a final interview the last week of January and learned more about the challenges and opportunities available there. It felt like home.

I am not unrealistic. I know that this job will stretch me in ways I cannot possibly imagine. I know that there will be days of great joy as well as days of great sadness. But I also know that this is the place where God is calling me next.

I appreciate your prayers in this time of transition for my classmates and myself. The luxury available to me in this final semester is that in knowing where I am going I know some of the things I need to learn before starting in June. I am doing an independent study in curriculum to prepare for the Christian Formation work I will be doing. I am working with my field education parish to arrange new learning opportunities. But most of all I am working to hold tight to these short months I have left in this wonderful place. As much fear and sadness as this leaving will have, the affirmation I feel at having secured such a remarkable position this early in the “season” provides me solace and joy. My hands are God’s hands and the opportunity to use them in a new way is just beyond the horizon.