Archive for the ‘Pastoral’ Category

Hardly Strictly Church

Thursday, October 3rd, 2013

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the MPC sanctuary during celebrationWhile I love serving churches as a pastor or musician, there are times when it is a real drag to work on Sundays.  Especially when there is a great free music festival like Hardly Strictly Bluegrass happening in Golden Gate Park. (don’t worry, I am going to sneak over to hear some good bands in and around my work schedule!)

So I personally get it that attending church on a given Sunday is a real choice.  Beyond music concerts, theater performances, and street festivals, Sundays are great days for bike rides, sports, hiking, and other adventures.  Lots of great events happen on Sundays and then, of course, there are all the places to “get away” to for the weekend.

It’s also hard to get together with friends who only have weekend time.  I regularly get left out of brunches and dinner parties because “oh yeh, Melinda works on Sundays.”  Insert eye roll.  (I might also add that many of our friends have no clue about churches or why I’m a pastor or would even want to be a pastor)

When I was a child and even through my years in college, it wasn’t such a difficult choice because most people went to church on Sunday.  In Texas, we even had “blue” laws that kept us from going shopping or doing much of anything, besides go to church on Sunday.  And for those of us for whom those years of “church training” was effective, we don’t feel quite “right” on Sunday morning if we aren’t in worship.  I may pine to go do all those things everyone else is doing, and really enjoy doing so on occasion, but I can’t go too many Sundays without missing church.  Attending a church service on Sunday is a habit and it’s one of my better ones, so I plan to keep it!

Still, beyond the “habit” of attending worship on Sunday, I go to church because I want my life to have meaning.  I go to church on Sunday because I have big questions about living and dying and justice and mercy, and I want to learn to be “in community” with folks who are also serious about these kinds of questions.  I go to church, not because that is where “God lives”, but because I find that church is a place where I can quiet down and listen for the voice of the still-speaking God.

Sure I can pray at home and while walking in nature, but there is something about shared silence that is deeper and more reverent.  Of course, I can read all sorts of books and study the Bible whenever I want, but it is so much richer to talk about these matters of faith with others – especially with those who see things differently.  And it is wonderful to be part of a community that includes a wide range of ages so that I don’t get stuck in generational assumptions about the world.

Finally, as I look at the hideous divisions within our national and global politics, I go to church because I want to practice being a member of a community that learns to disagree without becoming divisive. I go to church to learn how to be a better person upon this earth and a better citizen too.

How ’bout you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Holy Family Transitions Batman!

Saturday, September 28th, 2013

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2.8.2012 February 2012 BirthdaysOne of the things I love best about church life is the opportunity to spend time with both the very young and the very old.  For many folks who are middle-aged like me, this is still a pretty rare thing, because so many community events and organizations are not diverse across generational divides.  It’s also true, especially amongst more affluent folks, that our extended families no longer live together – or even near each other.

But according to the Pew Research Center, multi-generational families are making a comeback.  This is a big shift.  After the Second World War, most American families began to disperse geographically.  But in recent years, due to the economy and a variety of other social factors, more and more Americans are living together as extended family.

Still, for many of you Montclarions, you may not have regular exposure beyond the church to folks who are not in your same age group.  I note how many of you have to travel to spend time with grandchildren and/or grandparents and how few multi-generational families we have worshiping together.

It also baffles me to notice that even inside the MPC family, we are often divided into generational groups for different activities.  Other than casual contact at Sunday Celebration, multi-generational birthday groups and more intentional interractions at Family Camp, I don’t often see a lot of mixing of generations in church activities.  Granted, different generations have different time constraints and interests, but I wonder how we might find ways to create more connections across generations.

There is much wisdom and insight to be gained when folks from different eras spend quality time together.  We also have different expectations and needs from our church family that are somewhat based upon age.  I invite all of you to think about who your “best friends” in the church are and whether or not there are folks you wished you knew better who are in other generations.

Generational generosity has much to offer and it might be one of the greatest gifts of being part of a church.

 

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Preaching What You Practice

Saturday, September 21st, 2013

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handsonpianoIf  you have read any of the posts on my personal blog, you will at once notice that I have written a number of posts on practice.

Spiritual practice, musical practice, ethical practice, best practice:  practice, practice, practice!  It certainly seems obvious that a longtime musician is committed to practice, but there is a deeper historical and theological component to my fascination with practice.

As a child growing up in a small Presbyterian church in the Texas panhandle, and then in big Presbyterian churches in Midland and Houston, I don’t ever remember hearing the term spiritual practice.  Through all those years, I was certainly practicing music all the time, and I knew that if you wanted to play Beethoven and Brahms you were going to have to practice, but I didn’t have a clue as to how to “practice” my faith.  I think, like most people, that faith as I learned it, was a set of belief systems that helped you to get closer to God and then live your life well. If you got your beliefs in order, then a good and happy life would follow. The difference was subtle, but important as we did many of the practices I now value.  We prayed, we sang, we served, but somehow I learned that practice followed belief and I failed to learn that good spiritual practice could actually lead to belief.

This “faith before practice” spiritual life fell apart when so many friends got sick and then died from HIV/AIDS.  I couldn’t find a belief system that explained this repeating horror.  My experience of those years made me question everything.  Does God exist?  And if so, and if God is good and if God is love, than why are my friends dying so horribly?  And why would a loving and gracious God tolerate having followers who simply heaped invective upon invective upon those of us who were suffering?  And worse yet, if God is not good and God is not love, but is indeed the vengeful, wrath-filled villian who has inflicted HIV/AIDS upon all these beautiful young people all over the world, well then, I don’t know what to believe at all.

Meanwhile, those of us who were infected and affected by HIV/AIDS loved one another through the pain.  We encouraged each other to come out as gay or lesbian.  We built an entire infrastructure of care outside of the normal health and social services circles.  We developed practices for caregiving, treatment, safer sex, and for community.  We developed practices for hope.  We did what we could do and developed ethical practices on the fly.  We developed practices for political engagement that drew upon the practices of non-violence, but added in dimensions of personal storytelling that drew from the “personal is political” commitments of the second wave of feminism.

We discovered over and over that practice works when faith fails. 

You don’t have to believe in God to practice the love of God.

And if you practice the love of God, pretty soon you will begin to believe in God again.

When I came back into the church, (I was unable to bear the silence and homophobia of the “Church” during the worst of the “dying years”) weary with grief and in desperate need of peace, consolation, and rest in the midst of so much practice, I was not able to simply resume a spiritual life based upon belief alone.  I needed spiritual/faith practices that would sustain me.  I needed spiritual practices that would lead me closer to God.  For throughout all my struggles with faith and death, I could not shake the presence of God.  In fact, my trust in the existence of God had been greatly strengthened by the experience of so much dying. I felt a deep kinship with the suffering of Jesus and the power of transcendent love to heal.  The gentle Jesus “meek and mild” of my early childhood faded away when I began to identify with those outcasts and lepers whom Jesus loved so fiercely.  For me, practice without belief finally led me home to faith that cannot be separated from practice.

Now what I find is that lots of folks are looking to preach their practice.  This is a counter-cultural move to fundamentalist faiths that continue to insist that right belief is more important than right practice.  An emphasis on spiritual practice is also helpful in allowing folks with deeply divergent theological and philosophical points of view to work well together in community.  Finding a set of common practices for service is essential in interfaith efforts and ecumenical cooperation.

What are your own spiritual practices?  Do they lead you to greater faith?  Do you find peace and comfort as a result of your spiritual practice?  If there are “holes” in your faith, could you imagine practices that might help you?

 

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Jazz, Postmodernism, and BBQ

Thursday, September 19th, 2013

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Dear Montclarions (and web-based friends) – This is a shortened version of my statement on ministry that I gave to the personnel committee and Session.  You’ll also notice that I borrowed some of this for my first sermon with you.  Enjoy!

EW_4643Jazz-It-Up-I-PostersThe future of the Church is jazz.

I first wrote that sentence in 1996 as I was just starting out in ordained ministry in the United Church of Christ. At the time, I was serving as a community-based chaplain serving women living with HIV/AIDS and out-of- town families coming to San Francisco to care for their loved ones dying from the disease. The calling to serve as a spiritual caregiver in the HIV/AIDS community was not easy.

At the time, no one was really tracking the particular struggles of women living with HIV and there certainly weren’t any jobs available to do that ministry. So, I wrote a letter to friends in churches where I had served as a minister of music and/or pastor and simply asked them to help me create such a ministry. And for five years, I was able to serve through my own project, Women and Families Outreach sponsored by Marin AIDS Interfaith Network.

This first foray into ordained ministry was definitely an improvised sort of thing. Like the beginnings of a jazz composition, I had an idea that I shared with others, and those people added to it, gave it juice, and helped it find its’ own groove. Then it took on a life of its’ own. Because my funders were friends, I had the luxury of being able to serve the ever-changing needs of these populations without spending precious time and resources trying to continually justify each element of this cutting-edge ministry. There was room, and permission with accountability, to grow the ministry and to gravitate towards genuine need, not artificially-concocted projections of need. And finally, when triple-combination therapy broke the cycle of constant death and changed the landscape of needs for folks living with HIV/AIDS, I ended this ministry and moved on, with great gratitude for the power of friendship to create what is needed at any given time.

Jazz is a decidedly postmodern art form and ministry in the 21st century is also a postmodern art form. What is postmodern, you wail? Isn’t that some crazy academic idea that leads to long tomes full of too many words?

While I think of jazz as a postmodern art form, you can also think about what postmodernism means by having a conversation (with just about anyone in the world) about barbecue. Now to a Texan like me, barbecue is any kind of meat that is dry-rubbed and cooked for many, many hours with lots of smoke – preferably in a pit in the ground. The sauce comes later. But if you are from the Northeast, it most likely means a steak on the grill. In North Carolina, it’s a pork butt with mustard sauce, and of course in Korea, it is meat cooked on a hibachi. All cultures have some way of cooking over fire, a.k.a. as barbecue, and we all define it differently depending on where we were raised and how we now live. It’s all still barbecue, but we have to listen carefully to one another to plan an actual eating event where everyone’s desires are met.

I submit that we are similarly baffled about our differing views of God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. And unfortunately, we are not always as gracious in our desire to understand one another’s theological differences, as we are when we gather around a backyard fire to discuss our favorite recipes. So, learning to truly hear one another in all our glorious diversity is the first task in successful postmodern ministry. I’ll have some of that pork butt, if you’ll try some of my country-style ribs. Then after we have tasted one another’s favorite recipe, we can perhaps begin to have a truthful conversation about how the Jesus of your childhood doesn’t work for you anymore and you can hear from me why I love Jesus now more than ever.

My deepest knowing is that God is love and that love is never static. Like the rhythms of a gospel chorus and the improvised solos in a jazz waltz, the loving Spirit of God is in constant motion urging us forward together. Faith is the trust that moves us though our fears into a more loving relationship with God and with each other.

We are the people of God, Christ’s Body in the world. We are the heirs of the Spirit, promised to us in scripture to bind us together to be Christ’s body. As her winds blow through us, we are born again, equipped to love, teach, and serve one other and the wider community. Ministry happens in a myriad of mysterious ways. Some are planned and others improvised within the amazing solidarity of a community moving forward in a good jazz “groove”.

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Commuting Fear

Saturday, September 7th, 2013

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Bay BridgesAnything scares me, anything scares anyone but really after all considering how dangerous everything is nothing is really very frightening. – Gertrude Stein in Everybody’s Autobiography (1932)

 

 

My first two weeks of commuting to Montclair from our home in San Francisco have been way more interesting than we might have expected!  The first week, the Bay Bridge was closed and I left our second car in Sari Kulberg’s driveway and used BART to go back and forth. (thanks Sari!) This worked quite well, although it took nearly 90 minutes on Sunday the 1st because I just missed a K-Owl on Market street and then had to take a 33-Stanyan to the 16th and Mission station only to discover that BART wasn’t open yet at that station.

Now you might not know that I’ve lived in San Francisco for most of the 22 years that I’ve lived in the Bay Area.  And in the late 90’s, I did needle exchange and street outreach late, late at night in the Polk street neighborhood.  My ministry in those days also included a regular shift at the Ambassador Hotel in the Tenderloin via the Listening Post, a program sponsored by the Rev. Glenda Hope’s amazing Network Ministries.  So, I’m pretty street-wise and not easily intimidated by the usual bad smells and scary behaviors that happen amongst San Francisco’s hardcore homeless and/or drug-addicted population.

But on Sunday morning September 1st, because I was on my way to Montclair church for Sunday Celebration, I was in a good suit and not dressed for street outreach.  As a result, I stood out in a way that was somewhat uncomfortable for me and it seemed like a bit of a curiosity to those hanging around the station.  I found myself clutching my bag and a smidge fearful.  But I have learned that fear in not only an unhelpful response (it makes you stand out even more!) but it is also disrespectful because it communicates disapproval to those who live in that neighborhood.  So, I took a deep breath and struck up a conversation with a couple of other folks waiting for the station to open.  Just small talk about the weather, the bridge project, etc. and my anxiety began to decrease.  By creating a small pocket of “community”, I was able to manage my fear and relax.

My second week of commuting brought another set of more welcome changes.  The new Bay Bridge is absolutely beautiful!  My first morning driving across it was magical.  It feels like you are riding on the deck of an enormous sailboat and gliding across the Bay.

But what I welcomed as a wonderful adventure, I discovered was another opportunity for fear when a friend of mine said, “I’m never going to drive on that bridge.  Who knows how it will do in an earthquake with faulty bolts and substandard steel from China?”

Certainly his concerns have some validity and they have been rightly raised throughout this long, long, and absolutely obscene, political process of building the new bridge.  I also have justice concerns myself about whether spending six billion plus for a new bridge was a wise use of resources when the old bridge could have been retrofitted for a fraction of that cost.

But am I afraid to use the new bridge?  Nope. My lack of fear of the new bridge is partly because I’ve been regularly driving across the old bridge for over 20 years knowing that it has not been retrofitted and that it isn’t just likely to fail in an earthquake, it has already failed in an earthquake. I also regularly ride through BART’s Transbay Tube and the retrofit of that structure isn’t complete.  I have served churches located on ALL the major faults in the Bay Area.  Worst of all, I’m a regular pedestrian in the City and that is truly high-risk in a statistical sense.

This little meditation on fear does chronicle some of my own successes in this area of spiritual and emotional development, but don’t think that I have it all handled.  You will definitely see uncontrolled and irrational fear should a snake come onto campus.  It will be embarrassing and quite dramatic as I break into a cold sweat and heart palpitations.  (try not to laugh – it doesn’t help) For those of you who are joining me for walks, let’s hope we don’t find any of them on those journeys either.  But if we do, just know that I will probably be useless.

So here’s my question for all of us: what do you do when you find yourself beyond your comfort level and somewhat fearful?  This happens to all of us in a variety of situations.  It is normal and human to become afraid and/or anxious in the midst of change or whenever we encounter something different than what we expect.

Night Bay Bridge

 

My own knowing is that any way that I can create a pocket of community at the point of my fear is really helpful.

 

 

 

It helped at the BART station and it helps me when I think about earthquakes and other natural disasters that I know I will not be alone and that I have been part of the preparedness planning of many communities including my own neighborhood.  And I am completely confident that if I encounter a snake, I do not want to be alone.  When I’ve spent time on our family’s ranch in Texas, “in snake world”, I prefer to walk with a dog or be on horseback – just in case!

As we continue getting to know each other, I am listening for the moments of anxiety that exist within this community about the future of this church and for the anxiety and fears we may have individually.  Feel free to speak with me if this blog has “rung any bells” for you or simply lean on your sisters and brothers in this community in whatever way you figure out.  The Stein quote I put at the top of this is also helpful for me and so is my faith that no matter what happens, I can count on the love and strength of the holy one, too.

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Walking Together

Saturday, August 31st, 2013

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Heart-shaped labyrinth (small)When I interviewed with the Session of Montclair Church about the possibility of becoming your Temporary Supply Pastor, they asked me a great question: “what do you need from us?”  I told them the usual things about “setting priorities” and “giving good feedback” and then I told them that my biggest personal concern about becoming your pastor is that I would find a way to keep up my walking regime.  I then told them about my idea of having “walking office hours” on Tuesdays and Thursdays between 4 and 6 p.m.

I’m pleased to report that your Session is faithful to their promises and Margaretha Derasary took me for my first walk on Thursday.  We drove up Thornhill to Skyline and then went for a walking tour of the labyrinths in Sibley Volcanic Park.  It was warm, but not hot, and the views were spectacular!  We could see Mount Diablo and the inland valleys in one direction and Karl the Fog (twitter handle for the San Francisco fog) billowing in through the Golden Gate when looking the other way.

And then there are the labyrinths.  Margaretha says that “no one knows who made them, but they were made in the ’60’s”.  I was struck by the beauty and simplicity of these rock labyrinths.  One is clearly heart-shaped and the other two follow basic Cretan patterns that I recognize as being similar to the labyrinth that Noe Valley Ministry painted on their floor a number of years ago.  In a 2011 article in the San Francisco Chronicle, the mystery of the labyrinths is partially solved.  Apparently one of them was created by Helen Mazariello in 1989 as a “gift to the world”.  It didn’t identify which labyrinth is hers, however, so there is still some mystery involved – even after this article.  A previous article in the Chron in 1999 alleges all sorts of amusing theories about these labyrinths from “witches” to “extra-terrestrials”.  I think I agree with Margaretha that they were probably built by hippies in the 60’s.

Cretan LabyrinthWhile Margaretha would have been fine clamboring down to walk all the labyrinths in their separate pits in the quarry, I wasn’t feeling quite up to the task, so we only walked one of the labyrinths that was placed amidst low hills with a wonderful view of a Dr. Seuss-shaped tree.

I have walked the Chartres-style labyrinths in Grace Cathedral many times and have been to a couple of workshops about this ancient spiritual practice.  Medieval labyrinths like the ones in Chartres cathedral in France were created for many reasons, but it is believed that many walked them in lieu of actually going to the Holy Land with the crusades.  For these stationary pilgrims, walking the labyrinth was a metaphor for the perilous journey taken by crusaders.  Not a particularly appealing purpose for labyrinth walking in my opinion, but it is a very appealing idea to walk a labyrinth as form of pilgrimage.

As we entered the labyrinth, I took a moment to center myself and asked my self the question, “what do I want to let go of?”.  I then entered and Margaretha allowed some space and came in behind me.  As I walked, I consciously let go of some neck pain and let my mind wander as to what else I could helpfully leave behind on my walk to the center. Along the way, as we passed each other on different parts of the path, Margaretha and I paused to simply be together before walking on our separate, yet same, path.

In the center, I simply prayed to be able to receive any wisdom or insight that might come while walking out.  As my mind drifted, I thought about the mysterious origins of these labyrinths.  Soon I was thinking about how little I know about most things that have been a great gift to me.  This pattern of labyrinth has been appearing on the earth since pre-historic times, but this ancient practice is now available to me and it helps me clear my mind and heart.  Walking a labyrinth is a spiritual practice that always leaves me renewed and often leads to new insight.  Such a wonder that something so simple and ancient is still SO effective!  It is a relief to realize that we are not always obliged to create something new for it to be re-newing.

Thank you to Margaretha for a perfect start to my first walking office hours, the wonderful conversation, and for showing Sibley to me.  Now if anyone else wants to go walking, do let me know, I know some cool labyrinths I could show you!  Or better yet, show me your favorite trails, even if it is simply a walk around the neighborhood. Blessings to you all and WALK ON! – Melinda

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A View From SF PRIDE 2013

Monday, July 1st, 2013

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Well, given the events of the past week and the defeat of the Defense Of Marriage Act, there was no question about going to PRIDE this year as it was an historic event.  I guess the other 1.499 million people had the same idea!  As I walking down Market Street in San Francisco on my way to the parade after church yesterday, I thought about the first time I attended PRIDE in San Francisco.  The year was 2001.  At the time I was doing a summer intensive course for my doctor of ministry degree.  One of the other participants was a pastor from South Korea.  We both ended up having our first experience of PRIDE that weekend.  He went accidentally and I went intentionally.  He had attended a church service in San Francisco and found himself caught in the parade route.  He couldn’t move much so he watched instead.  When we were back in class on Monday morning, he was profoundly disturbed by all he had seen.  Ironically, I, too, had been quite shocked by what I had seen.  Not disturbed, mind you, but shocked.  Who knew people were brave enough to walk down Market Street naked, in drag, pantomiming S and M acts, blatantly sexual and erotic?  My goodness.  I really am a small town girl at heart!  When the pastor from South Korea expressed his dismay in class the next day, I surprised myself by speaking up and sharing my experience.  He was surprised to hear that I was shocked.  Because of that, I think he was able to listen to me differently.  I told him that PRIDE is like a day of freedom for LGBTQI people.  For so many who have been closeted and oppressed for so long, PRIDE is the day when it seems safe to let loose the chains and live freely.  For some, I explained, it means going to the opposite extreme.  For others, it means having fun and expressing one’s sexuality  in ways that are harmless.  To his credit, the pastor seemed to understand the idea of a day of freedom.

Last evening while driving home after a very long day, one of our daughters and my wife and I were talking about the things we had seen at PRIDE.  Once again the subject of people’s bodies came up because one see’s things at PRIDE that are not normally a part of everyday life.  One of the things we were talking about is how many straight young people go to PRIDE wearing very little in the way of clothing!  Our daughter summed it all up by saying, “All of it makes sense to me because PRIDE is a day to celebrate your body no matter what your body may look like.  PRIDE is the one day where it seems safe for people to be themselves or to be someone else and they will be celebrated.  Women can usually walk around and not be propositioned by men.  People who are less attractive can wear whatever they want and they are appreciated for joining in the festivities.  PRIDE is a day for judging to stop.”  Her description of it moved me.  Imagine a time when 1.5 million people can just accept each other!  A day of freedom, indeed.

My only regret from yesterday was that I was not marching to show the crowds, once again, how true it is that God loves each and every one.  Period.  For those who have been so abused by the church (not God), that show of love is transformative.  PRIDE is exactly the place for a pastor and a congregation to be!

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Who Is Your Neighbor?

Monday, May 13th, 2013

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Several years ago our normally quiet Suburban street was transformed into a street that was cordoned off, guarded by police vehicles at each end, and made into the staging area for a SWAT team.  Imagine our surprise when our house guest at the time told us what was happening in the early morning hours!  Initially we thought she must be in an extended dream state but then we went to look for ourselves.  Sure enough, the street was cordoned off, the SWAT team was gearing up and police officers were telling all of us to stay inside.

Being good, obedient, American citizens, we all opened our front doors, sat on our stoops and watched the action.  We heard the commands given to the SWAT team and then watched as they burst through the door with a battering ram.  In fewer than 5 minutes, the situation was under control and the SWAT team began to disperse.  We heard from one of the police officers that they were responding to a 911 call from the man in the home who told the 911 operator that he had just killed his wife and dog and was preparing to kill himself.  By the time the SWAT team broke down the door, the man had already killed himself.  We were shocked and horrified.  He seemed like such a gentle man!  They were both quiet and he frequently walked their beautiful dog.

As time went on that day, we learned the full story.  The woman had been suffering from terminal cancer for a couple of years.  We had no idea.  We had noticed that she wasn’t out in her front yard as much working, but we had no idea she had cancer.  The man was always nice enough when we saw him, but not much of a talker.  He never mentioned his wife was ill.  We never asked.  Apparently, they talked about it and made a pact that when the time got very close he would kill her and the dog and then himself.  He did it just like they had agreed.

Our neighbors on our block were stunned.  No one had any idea his grief and pain and no one knew she was suffering so horribly.  We all gathered in small circles and talked about how we wish we had known so we could have supported them differently.  We talked about being too busy to check in on each other and sometimes to even notice when someone hasn’t appeared in a while.  I stood in the circle with them and thought about how I care for so many people as a pastor but somehow wasn’t able to care for my down the street neighbor.

A similar, although far more tragic in many ways, scenario has been playing out in Cleveland, Ohio.  I understand the guilt and sorrow and regret the neighbors feel who were not aware of the 3 girls being held captive.  The rest of the world cannot imagine how it could be that 3 girls could be captive for 10 years without anyone noticing.  I understand how that could happen.  I also understand the desire to not get involved in other people’s business.  What I don’t understand is how any of us can go on from here without making changes.  We have heard countless times that human traffickers are hiding people in our neighborhoods, sometimes 20-30 in a house.  The time is over for us to give people their space.  The time is over for us to stay uninvolved in our neighbors‘ lives.  The time is over for being too busy to pay attention.  Maybe, just maybe, the redeeming aspect of all of this will be that we will all pay more attention to our neighbors.

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Fifty Is Fabulous!

Monday, April 29th, 2013

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People keep asking me how it feels to be fifty!  Aside from receiving my first piece of mail from AARP which terrified me, it feels great.  One cannot help but pause when turning 50 to take stock of mind, body and spirit.  Mind?  Seems to be churning along just fine and I can actually still retain information, dates and names.  Not bad!  Body?  A bit annoying now and then (all week I have had a twitch in my left eye and in one of my left fingers…a sign of being 50?), but mostly healthy, still active, and cooperative most of the time.  Spirit?  Solid.  What a long, windy and tumultuous journey it has been but the reward is feeling solid in spirit.  My deepest feeling this week (aside from a tiny bit of self-pity since I insisted on not doing anything big to celebrate my birthday) has been gratitude.  I honestly think I have a view of life that few people get to see.  Allow me to describe it.

From the time I was 28 years old, I have been a pastor in a variety of churches across the United States.  In my role as pastor, I have had the privilege of knowing everyone from infants to 98 (one of my current congregation members who was at church this morning is 98!) and even older.  They are not people I have observed from afar or seen on movies or at family gatherings.  These are people I have known.  For more than 2 decades I have watched up close how people age.  They have shared with me what they like about aging, what they don’t like about aging and all of the ways they are consciously denying their aging.  Can you imagine what that view has been like for me?  The people I have known cover a broad spectrum of those who have aged well and those who have not aged well.  Some of the most amazing people I have met and been close to have been people over the age of 70.  I did not have the privilege of knowing my own grandparents  very well so it has always been people in my congregations who have shown me how to be an older person who is engaged, growing, learning, and ready for the next adventure.  There have certainly been some who have had terrible afflictions that have impacted their abilities but never stopped them from aging with grace.  Others have had every privilege given to them in life and never mastered the art of living in a way that keeps one growing rather than shrinking in mind and spirit.

Honestly, sometimes I think I am the luckiest 50 year old around.  For 22 years I have had a steady stream of saints who have lived honestly in front of me and shown me how to live until one’s very last breath.  The view from here is spectacular.  Every time I think about being 50, I bring to my mind the picture of any number of these saints.  72.  76.  63.  88.  98.  92.  85.  83.  82.  74.  79.  89.  75.  I just hope those behind me are able to look at me in the same ways as they watch me get older year by year.  Thank you to every saint I have known who has shown me how to age with the grace of a gazelle and the fierceness of a tigress.

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Living for Peace and Healing

Monday, April 15th, 2013

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After waking up this morning in Chicago, flying across the country, and then having lunch in the San Francisco Bay Area, my wife and I were marveling at modern technology.  If one so desired, one could actually eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, in 3 different parts of the country all in one day!  Within 30 minutes of being back home, we began hearing of the news coming from Boston.  About the time we were landing on the West Coast, a couple of bombs were detonated at the finish line of the Boston Marathon in Copley Square.  It seemed there was more than one device and the news media outlets were reporting that it was a coordinated attack.  There are still no definitive answers about whether it was domestic or international terrorists at work.  By late this afternoon, CNN was reporting that of two people who died, one was an 8 year old boy.

Like most people, I could hear my breath intake sharpen and feel the twist in my gut when I read that a child had died.  For many people this event today will have the effect of being grabbed the ankles and thrown back through the atmosphere to 9/11.  Heads shake in disbelief.  Praying people get on their knees even if it is not habit.  Rosary people pull out their beads and get to work.  People find themselves muttering and talking to their computer screens or tv screens or handheld devices.  No one can believe it.  How could this have happened again on our soil?

If there is one thing we learned from 9/11, it is to not jump to conclusions before we know the facts.  This is not a time to assume Islamic fundamentalists are behind the attack.  It could just as well be one of the hundreds of home-grown terrorists we have who live on compounds with stockpiled ammunition and weapons and a hatred of the government.  What we need in the coming days are level heads and compassionate hearts.  What we do not need are knee jerk reactions and a desire to get revenge even if we can’t get to the people who did it.

As I contemplate how many people’s lives have been drastically changed today, I pray that each one impacted will use this experience to work for peace in the world and to try harder to see good in every person.  Today is a reminder to those of us living in the United States that 8 year olds are dying every day around the world.  Many are dying because of war and violence.  Many others are dying because of gun violence on our city streets that is out of control.  Many are dying because of extreme hunger and poverty.  We can’t save the life of the 8 year old boy who died today in Boston.  But we can save the lives of the countless other 8 year olds around the world and on our streets who are dying.

May we each pray for peace and healing and then live for peace and healing.

Posted in Pastoral  

 



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