In Honor of St. Francis

My brother Drew, who is fast becoming the superstar of this blog, called me on Tuesday evening upset. He was reporting that somehow a cat had fallen in between his apartment building and the one next door. His girlfriend Shelli had been hearing this crying all afternoon, and finally they found the cat. Apparently it had fallen from the 3rd floor window, where the buildings are 6 inches apart, but these old victorians had shifted and tilted apart. So closer to the ground, the buildings are flush. Drew could see the cat wedged in there, about 6 feet from the ground.

Drew was so upset he could barely hold a converstaion. The pain and fear of this creature, which I could hear through the phone, was grabbing at Drew's attention and heart, as any of you who have been around people or animals who are suffering know happens. He and Shelli were waiting on Animal Control to arrive. When they did, they cut a whole in Drew's apartment building with a chainsaw to free the cat. He reported to me yesterday that their landlord was not so happy about the hole in the building. But having heard that cat's cries, I am so glad it is safe.

To me, animals can be mediators of the divine: noticing their strange otherness even when they live so close to us, opens up my sense of wonder at the being of God and of myself. Here is a little poem I found yesterday, in honor of St. Francis:

Landlocked in Fur

I was meditating with my cat the other day
and all of a sudden she shouted,
"What Happened?"

I knew exactly what she meant, but encouraged
her to say more-- feeling that if she got it all out on the table
she would sleep better that night.

So I responded, "tell me more, dear,"
and she soulfully meowed,

"Well, I was mingled with the sky. I was comets
whizzing here and there. I was suns in heat, hell-- I was
galaxies. But now look-- I am
landlocked in fur."

To this I said, "I know exactly what
you mean."

What to say about conversations
between
mystics?

This is a poem by the 17th c. Indian poet Tukaram translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Inlaws and the family system

I am growing weary of the debate that often rages in churches. The debate is often framed as a change/no change polemic. Tradition is good - no, wait, tradition is stifling! This is an overly simplistic polarity when in truth the issues are much more complicated and nuanced. My own opinion is that these arguments fail to account for the complexity of our relationships with one another and how it feels to be pushed or pulled into a new paradigm. No mandate for change can be implemented if we fail to take into account how the change will enhance or damage our relationships with one another.

I found the following reflection sent to me by a friend to be very enlightening:



Some churches need to continue in their current paradigm of ministry, either because it has proven successful in their particular context or because the costs of transition are too high at the moment....We must recognize that emerging culture transition cannot occur through a midnight takeover of a local congregation that leaves faithful followers lost in a new environment without working language, compass bearings, or meaningful symbols. The pace of transition should vary widely between churches. Transition to emerging culture ministries will be much easier, more natural, and far more necessary in some communities than others. And some methods and practices will not translate into every community. But along with the opportunities, there will be unexpected costs and casualties in every situation.I've recently stopped thinking of pastors as leaders of an organizational system, and more like in-laws who have married into an established family system. It is arrogant to think that as an in-law who just entered the family, you will change the way an established family functions - especially if the family is dysfunctional. Yet many pastors come into churches and expect to transform a family system that has been entrenched for decades.

The practice of hospitality

Last Sunday I asked one of the kids in the Epiphany youth group what their favorite meeting was last year. He told me it was the times when we cooked dinner for the folks camping in our church building with the Interfaith Hospitality Network (yes, they actually sleep in big blue tents). One of the youth ministry adults had
Jr. Seekers at IHN

observed the same thing: The teenagers really like to cook, eat together, and despite their whining, probably even enjoy the scramble to clean up.

Tonight I noticed that, over the past year, the teens are getting better and better at being hospitable to the families and especially welcoming their children to join our youth group activities. I have also noticed the kids are getting better at being welcoming, kind, and hospitable to each other. Inhospitality rarely comes from innate cruelty, but a kind of discomfort in our own skin because we are 13, we feel guilty that we have a place to live, or we wonder if we are the right person to extend welcome and kindness to another in a given situation. The teens’ increasing comfort with our IHN guests has inspired the adults at youth group to be more open too, including me. We are all learning how to embody God's justice through this feasting together.

Watching the kids grow leaps and bounds in this area prompts me to wonder how the rest of us at Epiphany and in all churches can grow in our practice of hospitality. Such welcoming is a spiritual discipline, where we live out our belief that God loves everyone and is in the process of drawing all of us closer to God’s self.

Art and Amber, expert Pizza Chefs

The least we can do is embrace others when God calls them to our churches!

At Epiphany, we have a wonderful and overworked hospitality committee; Pope Benedict is fast tracking its members to sainthood even though they are Episcopalians. And far from being inhospitable, Epiphany is a warm and friendly place, full of people comfortable in their own skin. But newcomers can still struggle to connect, get lost in the building, and take years to learn folks’ names. In what ways can we practice hospitality and help others experience our warmth (which is really God’s warm welcome), I wonder?

Chaos, Darkness and Rest

Today I heard the story that my 3 year old friend Anna learned on her first day of Godly Play last Sunday. What story was it? It goes like this: It was really dark, then there was light, and God made the Animals and then God was really tired and rested.

Everyone I talk to at this time of year can relate to God in that story. There is much excitement and newness. Little ones starting school again and for the first time, programs beginning. And there is exhaustion. How do we make space for everything that is important in the chaos of our lives? Where do we carve out space for that much needed rest, to let ourselves play and process the workings of our soul?

I can feel a kind of darkness creep around the corners of my vision when I begin to get overwhelmed. And it can be scary if I let it stay out there looming in the distance. But to remember that the darkness is where God begins the work of creation and to embrace it has become an important lesson in my life. When I am willing to go there, I realize the darkness isn't a bad and scary place. Its is a fertile and energetic place where the Spirit is moving-- it is energetic chaos and depth.

Chaos doesn't always feel good, but if we resist our desire to control and order the world around us sometimes, we can see what new things come out of seeming disorder (after all imposing order is not our job) . A spirituality of darkness and chaos trains us to find God, not just in the infrequent moments of stillness, but in times of frenetic action, and times when it feels like things are falling part. It encourages us to go into the dark place, where we surprisingly find renewal.

Is this what's next for Irreverent Epiphanies?

Check out Wikipedia for yet another word coined from technovation: godcast.

I wonder why Jesus never did mass healings? He worked with people one at a time. How inefficient is that!?

Maybe healing from disease wasn't even the point of his healings - as in restoration to health.

For Jesus, the healing seemed to be something he did in order that something else might occur.

There is a Zen saying:
"The finger points to the moon. The dog barks at the finger, and does not see the moon."

What was the moon that Jesus saw while everyone else was looking at the finger?

Questions of Vocation from a priest on NPR

I have been ordained for about three months, and I find myself continuing to think a lot about vocation. Here I am on the right with some of my colleagues before our ordination at Grace Cathedral in June. As a newly ordained person, my interest was piqued by this story on NPR's Fresh Air. The Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor is one of the most skillful preachers the Episcopal Church has. This is the sad story of her 'burning out' as the rector of a church in Georgia. The interview also contains her very good reflections on theology and being church.

My heart goes out to her-- she obviously was in a great deal of pain as a parish priest. It reminds me of Gail's post about dementors in July where jobs that are not oure true vocation suck our souls right out of us.

I shared this story with some friends and relatives who I thought might like to know more abut being a woman priest, and more about the Episcopal church. And I found myself writing this to my aunt: "It seemed to me she has taken on other peoples expectations about what being a priest means in a way that isn't so helpful. I try to be myself and sometime break others' expectations, because its impossible to be the kind of holy person she was trying to be. Instead, I think my job is to help people see how we are all called to be holy people, but not perfectly and maybe not the way they think!"

It is a moment of spiritual maturity when we realize even our leaders and mentors are flawed, and we try to find the wisdom to be who God calls us within ourselves. We will always burn out when we try to be the perfect representative of God that sometimes people fantasize we can be. To be fair, I bet Barbara Brown Taylor knows this-- I heard hints of it in the interview-- I just don't think it came through enough for my taste, but maybe its the way they editted it. From her sermons, I credit her to be very wise indeed!

I find being in a parish, building friendships and relationships with children, youth, and adults, gives me joy and energy. And I think this is ultimately what vocation is about-- joy and energy. Centering prayer guru Fr. Thomas Keating said it beatifully (Thanks Nancy G for sharing your magazine with me, where I read this quote):

"There seems to be a divine way of doing everything: a divine way to be a lawyer, doctor, grandmother, teacher, convict, homeless person, or just to be sick. Since the Kingdom of God is present in ordinary circumstances, sensitivity to the movements of the Spirit within us tends to increase. On such occasions everyday life can be a kind of dance." -- from his book Dancing with God.

being family

Yesterday my great aunt died, at 89. Now my grandmother is the last sibling left from a family of 9 children. When I heard the news from my mother that Pearl had died, I felt very sad-- but it was a sadness for my grandmother's loss, more than my own. I knew in my heart my grandmother would feel very alone and she confirmed it for me today when we spoke. At 87, she is a woman who does not flinch. She doesn't try to protect us younger generations from her experience-- that for her getting old sucks and outlasting your most beloved family members is intensely painful.

Today I grieve my grandmother's pain, and I thank God that she is still living, that she was in our wedding and plans to attend my ordination to the priesthood in Dec. Today I marvel at the connections that make a family-- biological, or chosen-- that who we are can be so dependant on the others that hold us up and give us our identity. This power is also why family can make us crazy, and even hurt us sometimes.

Last time I wrote, I mentioned that my brother has moved to SF, where I live. Who I am feels different, just having another person I love so much in close proximity to me after 9 years of remove. My empathy for my grandmother is honed by the knowlege that one day my brother or I will feel like she does today-- not quite sure who we are without that sibling in the world.

Today as I think about these family relationships, I am struck by the idea that we call God mother and father, that Jesus tells us that we are God's children. That God chooses to be in such vulnerable relationship to us, that God's very being and identity is bound up with us feels like a very messy, scary, and beautiful prospect.