Posts Tagged ‘practice’

What are you waiting for?

Wednesday, November 27th, 2013

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Waiting-1Like most Americans, I don’t really like to wait. Not in line, not in traffic, not really for anything. And waiting to get on the freeway, or into a movie, or for coffee in my favorite bistro really is sort of pointless. When the waiting is done, the payoff is pretty small.

 

Unfortunately, my lack of being able to wait for small things makes me unable to wait comfortably for the big things such as insight and wisdom, courage and reason. But until I can let go of my desire for instant gratification, I cannot attain the greater joys of life. And that’s hard. And it means I have to wait, and think, and learn to not give in to every whim.

In Ken Burns new film, “The Dust Bowl”, there is a wonderful insight from a survivor of that horrible era of man-made ecological devastation who explains why what happened then, keeps happening again and again. He says, “We want it right now–and if it makes money now it’s a good idea. But if the things we’re doing are going to mess up the future, it wasn’t a good idea. Don’t deal in the moment. Take the long-term look at things.”

Lots of new age gurus and some very serious spiritual folks teach that learning to live in the present moment can change everything. And there is no question that living every moment well is a deeply powerful spiritual practice.  I am always trying to be here now and not be tied to the past or too focused on what comes next.

But what will it take for us to resist “dealing in the moment” and giving in to a consumerist culture that will eventually kill us all?  Everything I want right now will not serve me (or any of us) well in the future. Some things are worth working towards and sometimes we must keep our eyes on the horizon and our rampant desired in check.

My great-grandparents in the Texas Panhandle were a hearty, thrifty, and rugged bunch.  They survived the “dirty 30’s”, World War II and the horrendous drought of the 1950’s.  They scrimped, saved, and reused everything.  All the “green” practices we are trying to adopt today regularly make me think of my great grandmother who saved foil, mended dresses and shoes, and didn’t think that anything was “disposable”.  In her diaries, she accounted for every chick, chicken, and egg in meticulous detail.  She wrote down prices for everything and always knew the price of milk (and wheat) to the penny.  Waste was an abomination to her because she knew about real deprivation – not just a momentary act of self-restraint.

They used wind chargers on the windmill so that they could have electric light in the evening and rigged up various ways of naturally preserving food to make it through the winter.  Having a roasted chicken for dinner meant catching, killing, plucking AND cooking.  And after the meal, using the carcass to make chicken and dumplings.  No waste anywhere in the whole process.

Personally, I don’t want to go back to a time without easy electricity and to having to kill my own dinner.  But I do think that our fast, disposable, and recklessly wasteful ways will not be good for humanity in the long-term.  We are “dealing in the moment” and as a nation we have been foolishly squandering our natural world for a long time and there are dire consequences on the horizon.

The season of Advent in the Christian tradition is often described as a time of preparation, gestation, and waiting for the miracle of Christmas.  In the Northern hemisphere, the darkness of winter time shrouds this season in mystery.  But in churches all over the world, for thousands of years, Advent candles have been lighted to remind believers of the power of light in the midst of darkness.

Waiting is hard and resisting the cultural imperative to quickly get what you want when you want it is also difficult.  It’s perhaps even revolutionary.  My invitation to myself this Advent season is to pay attention to my own desires for comfort and ease and to be curious about the long term effects of instant gratification upon my soul.  Or maybe I will simply learn to wait.

 

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Justice and Compassion

Friday, November 8th, 2013

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katrinaJustice is what love looks like in public – Dr. Cornel West

There is an old story told about a village on a river that I first heard from a nun friend, but it seems to be so old (and pervasive) that I could not find an origin. If anyone can name the source, I’ve got a lollypop with your name on it!

Once there was a village next to a river. On one fine afternoon, the villagers were shocked to discover the body of drowned man on the shorline. They hauled his body out of the water and gave him a proper burial. The next day they noticed an injured man floating in the river, so strong swimmers were dispatched to rescue him and bring him ashore where the villagers nursed him and cared for him, but he died too without being able to tell them how he wound up in the river. Soon the villagers were hauling men, women, children, and even babies out of the river. Most died, but a few lived for a little while.

In the midst of providing compassion for the victims that arrived at their village via the river, some of the villagers decided to go upstream to try to discover why so many people were winding up in the river. They soon discovered a group of bandits were robbing and beating travelers on a bridge and throwing their bodies into the river. The villagers that went upstream eventually were able to bring the bandits to justice and then there were no more victims washing ashore downstream.
This story is told as a simple way to understand the difference between compassion (downstream) work and justice (upstream) work. In my experience, most people gravitate strongly towards being upstream or downstream folks. Some people have done both over the years, but most orient one way or the other. It is also true that exercising compassion and justice is never so easy. Finding the root causes of hurt in the world rarely happens by simply taking a little hike. And caring for those who are struggling and injured and in need is a very big job too.
Of course, in a desperately hurting world, we need to be engaged in both compassion and justice because neither is adequate alone. Justice without compassion is uninformed and can be heartless. And compassion without justice is anemic and eventually futile. Unfortunately, those of us who orient mostly towards either side of the justice/compassion coin can often be quite judgmental towards those who are upstream or downstream of our own interests even though we may intellectually understand the value of both.
In my own life, I have certainly been engaged upstream for long periods of time and downstream at other times. I truly value both and also know that I am prone to burn out if I don’t do both at various times and/or seasons of my life. I also believe that it is exceptionally important for a community to make sure to make room for both and to be very clear about the differences in these activities. We can also celebrate that sometimes our activities can do both.
Less than a year after Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast and the massive public policy failure that is/was the levee system devastated New Orleans, I was honored to help lead a retreat for women impacted by the disaster. Led by the Rev. Dr. Curran Reichert, a team of UCC pastors facilitated a weekend retreat for fifty women who were trying to put their lives back together. The retreat gave the women a chance to stay in a lovely hotel and take long baths, get some rest from the harshness of living in a FEMA trailer, and have some time to reflect on what had happened to them. What we got as leaders was some profound lessons about spiritual maturity in the wake of tragedy.
The experience of this retreat also shifted my own thinking about the relationship between compassion and justice. One story still stands out. We were meeting in small groups and Curran had given the groups this question: “What are the gifts of the storm for you?” Almost every woman talked about the gift of discovering that things don’t really matter. “I feel so much freer and closer to God without all that stuff. I know what really matters now”, said a young Euro-American woman who was living with two children in a FEMA trailer. “I don’t ever want my life to be about “having things” again. I want to travel light.”
Another older African-American woman then said, “Well, I had to let go of some of my opinions.” When pressed to say more, she said, “Imagine this: the ONLY people who came to help me muck out my house were some GAY JEWISH WHITE MEN from NEW YORK. And so I had to rethink A LOT of things after that.” We all laughed wondering what was harder for her: that they were gay, Jewish, white, or Yankees.
I often tell this story in lgbt settings because I think it shows the power of compassion in the cause of justice. Those gay men powerfully moved the cause of lgbt acceptance forward through service. I’m quite certain that this woman’s gift of changed opinions could be replicated many times over and break-through some of the most resistant forms of homophobia.
On this day when another extreme storm has struck our sisters and brothers in the Philippines, we will need to stretch our compassion to all those directly impacted by the storm AND continue to sound the clarion call about the need to address global climate change. This is the power of compassion and justice working in tandem. But we need not all be engaged in both. The concrete implications come when some of us will want to donate to the Red Cross and others will want to give to climate action groups. All of it is useful.
So whether you are a hands-on compassion person or a right-on justice person, I encourage all of us to use our specific gifts well and to give big thanks for those who are doing a different part of the work because all our gifts are highly desirable and valuable.

 

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The Power of Symbols

Saturday, November 2nd, 2013

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dancing_saintsHappy All Saints Day!

I  love the “dancing saints” at St. Gregory of Nissa Church in San Francisco.  Completed in 2009, this wonderful 3,000 square foot painting depicts a staggering variety of traditional and surprising saints depicted in a style that recalls ancient iconography and yet all of them are dancing.  The artist,  Mark Dukes, collaborated with the congregation to select and choose the individuals in the painting so that “as the congregation dances around the altar, the saints dance above, proclaiming a sweeping, universal vision of God shining through human life.”

Placing icons of saints in a church is hardly new, although St. Gregory’s has definitely turned this old tradition into a vibrant new expression of 21st century postmodern faith.  This painting also makes the unique vision of this congregation visible and clear.  Gazing upon the unusual juxtapositions of Biblical figures with 20th century “saints” such as Harvey Milk, Anne Frank, and Malcolm X (dancing with Queen Elizabeth I) instantly conveys a vision of inclusion that makes the visitor to the church know this church is not your average church.

Yesterday was Reformation Day and it was a delight to think a bit about our spiritual ancestors from the reformed tradition including Martin Luther, Jean Calvin, and Huldrych Zwingli. The collective reforms they wrought on a corrupt medieval church were breathtaking and continue to inform the practice of many, many people all over the world, whether they participate in church or not.

The influence of Zwingli, who decried all paintings, statuary, and even pipe organs in churches, lives on in the sparse, image-free architecture of many American churches.  We may have brought musical instruments back (even thought there is a tendency to hide organ pipes) and learned to enjoy art again, as long as its’ relatively abstract, but “symbols” in the sanctuary are generally limited to baptismal font, communion table, and pulpit.  No dancing saints for Zwingli!

doctoraldragIn many churches that inherited the reformed tradition, the practice of pastors wearing medieval academic regalia including “Calvin” tabs continues.  When I was a child, that black academic gown, hood, and the “tabs” that my childhood pastor wore stood out – like the dancing icons at St. Gregory’s – from what other pastors in our small town wore during worship.  It proclaimed a commitment to an educated clergy and to a literate laity. And it was accurate: our pastors were highly-educated and the members of the church held many academic and professional degrees.

Most of the churches in my small town in Texas were conservative and evangelical and their ministers did not attend seminary and often only had a high school diploma and a couple of years at Bible college.  For those churches, a pastor (who was always a man) wore a suit and tie and never, ever, never wore an alb-style robe like the Catholic priest (who was Hispanic and the mass was conducted in Spanish) nor did they ever wear the black Geneva gown worn by my Presbyterian minister.

These evangelical pastors’ wardrobe symbolized their commitment to the “priesthood of believers” and their heartfelt desire to not “lord it over the people”.  It also said something about their often hostile views of higher education.

They thought our pastor’s robe was offensive and it didn’t help that my pastor’s Geneva gown also made him look like a judge since the same garb is worn by the judiciary. And in the 1970’s, the great refrain from Laugh-In of “here comes da judge”, was certainly a running joke within my Presbyterian youth group every time our pastor appeared in his robe.

Flash forward to 2013, however, and liturgical drag has become as diverse as our churches.  In many progressive congregations that I have served, the minister might wear an alb that recalls the medieval garb for baptism with a stole and perhaps even a cincture that might be a salute to contemplative monasticism.  The alb is also thought to more closely resemble the first century clothing worn by Jesus and the disciples.

This brave new woFemale+Priestrld of liturgical “drag” also raises certain subtle issues related to gender.  It is harder for clergywomen to figure out what to wear when they preach if robes are not an option.  In a perfect world, it wouldn’t matter, but in the real world these things do matter.

This is a constant conversation amongst clergywomen who have gotten into trouble in a particular church because a skirt was too short, a neckline too low, jewelry too flashy, or in the case of one friend, her breasts were too visible because a too narrow stole got tucked beneath her arms thereby emphasizing her breasts.  On the hilarious, but really very serious website, revgalblogpals,  you can purchase a t-shirt that asks, “does this pulpit make my butt look big?”

Dressing like those in the pews these days, especially in California, might lead to shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops and I wonder whether a preacher would be taken seriously in such casual attire.  And I’m absolutely sure that a dressed down man would be more acceptable in the pulpit than a dressed down woman – especially in shorts.

The Geneva gown still makes an appearance in progressive circles, but is usually reserved for Lent and Holy Week (and Reformation Day?) to provide a more somber look.  Some ministers have created liturgical outfits with many multicultural references from their justice commitments.  Cotton shirts from Hawaii, Mexico, the Philippines or dashikis from West Africa are common.  Some clergy friends wear kimonos or saris, depending on their commitments, personal taste and personal budget for special clothing.

Amongst “emerging” christians  – many of whom have left church buildings behind and are now leading worship services in bars and coffeehouses – tattoos, piercings, and leather jackets are common.  Check out progressive, emerging church pastor Jay Bakker’s website  to see this sort of liturgical look. (yes, he is the son of televangelists Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker)

In churches committed to diversity, it seems to me that a wide-variety of clerical garb and liturgical garments could be enjoyed as a reflection of the many wells that congregants draw from for their faith.  The monastic alb tends to appeal to those who value contemplative practice.  A Geneva gown certainly recalls the commitment to an educated clergy when it is worn in worship.  Creative and multi-cultural stoles and robes testify to our globally-connected commitments to social justice.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAFor myself, I like to wear robes (I own a white alb, an indigo cassock, and a Geneva doctoral gown that I bought when I got my D.Min.) and a beautiful collection of stoles (many made by a professional quilter in Marin County) because they make my wardrobe choices simpler.

These garments can also add beauty to worship in much the same way that banners and beautiful flower arrangements make the church seem like a special place and not just another space for getting together in community.  Wearing liturgical drag is also a bit like wearing a costume in the theater, it helps me to be “in character” and to draw my frail human self up to the task of preaching and leading worship.

It is also true that when I wear liturgical vestments, and I am also open about my identity as a lesbian, I am claiming important symbolic ground in the culture wars over the ordination of lgbt folks (and women, for that matter)  So as a woman and as an out lesbian, the wearing of liturgical drag is a positive symbol of great change in some churches and a symbol of resistance in a culture that still does not always affirm this complex identity.

Symbols matter in a church.  Symbols provide subtle – and sometimes not so subtle – statements about the identity, theology, and practice of a local church.  But symbols also have to keep pace with the times and when it comes to liturgical garments, the commitments and identity of the one wearing the clothes also matters along with the identity of the community that minister is called to serve.

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The Art of Being Church

Friday, October 25th, 2013

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flowers-of-fireThe miracles of the church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always. –  Willa Cather, (1873 -1947) U.S. novelist, poet and journalist

Over the years I have laughed at art critics and historians talk about the abstract expressionism of the great painter Georgia O’Keefe.  Her paintings seem quite realistic to me because I have spent a lot of time in the high deserts where she painted things pretty much the way they actually look, albeit from different perspectives.  For her flowers, she zooms in on the minute details, while her landscapes are sweeping vistas replete with the amazing colors of New Mexico.  But if you’ve never been to New Mexico, these forms seem completely unreal and truly abstract.

We all have the ability to perceive the same things quite differently once we take into account the way our experiences, education, and current life situation affect our ability to make sense of the world.  This is a wonderful gift AND it can be a source of difficulty in a diverse community.  The difficulty comes when any one of us simply assumes that others share our same point of view or worse yet that our point of view is exclusively correct.

I learned this the hard way. For nearly seven years I served as the one Euro-American pastor at City of Refuge, UCC, San Francisco.  City of Refuge is a predominately African-American, metho-bapta-costal United Church of Christ congregation filled with LGBTQQISGL folks. (I know I just lost some of you with THAT description – lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, intersex, and same-gender loving – phew!) In that church none of us could take anything for granted and so we had to practice great hospitality towards one another.  We regularly had to wait for the Pentecostals to have their praise time.  The Pentecostals sat desperately while those of us who needed more silence took our time.  We had to learn to be patient with things we didn’t agree with and didn’t like as an act of radical hospitality towards our sisters and brothers.  I still find it hard to remember that “my way” is not the best way and that others have deeply held beliefs and preferred spiritual practices too.

The truth is that individual members of most churches – including Montclair Presbyterian – have many diverse ideas about congregational singing, prayer, preaching, and communion.  I know this because you’ve told me in person, or on a white card, or in an email what kind of prayer you do and do not like and so forth.  This is great to know!

It’s also impossible for all of you to get what you prefer on any given Sunday.  As I said in my first sermon, everyone will probably be frustrated with me at one time or another as I try to figure out how to “serve all of you – some of the time” instead of choosing to serve “some of you- all of the time.”  While your diversity may not look as dramatic as the diversity of City of Refuge, you do have a wide range of theological conviction and spiritual practice.

Over the next few weeks, we will use our Sunday Celebration time to explore “Why Church?” and I look forward to hearing from many of you what really makes your heart leap and spirit soar here at Montclair.  And through this process, we will continue to map out what really is the “MPC style” and we will continue to find ways to distill the wonderful work of the Mission Study into easily-shared, bite-sized tastes of what a new pastor or visitor might experience as part of this wonderful community.

Our investigation will not be limited to worship, but I hope will spread throughout our activities to encompass how we treat one another in committees, task forces, and in all our interactions.

feeding-the-hungryFor example, there is a great desire among many of you to be engaged in a hands-on food program of some sort.  But there are great differences among you in terms of schedule and physical abilities and you even have some philosophical differences about what constitutes a beneficial program.

So while some retired adults can volunteer during a weekday that will not work for the youth (who really want to do something meaningful in this area!) and it will not work for other working adults.  The Fruitvale food pantry is a worthy activity, but it cannot accommodate a whole youth group as volunteers and so it isn’t enough to satisfy our community’s desire to serve.  Philosophically, some would like to identify needs close to the church and others insist that our efforts be limited to the more obviously poverty-stricken areas of Oakland.  Some want to host dinners and/or provide lunches and others want to be part of a food pantry.  My own contribution to the conversation is to look for partners who are already providing a good service, but could benefit by our participation to create more capacity.

All of these points of view are valuable and helpful, but it is extremely important that we not become paralyzed by these differences and fail to act at all.  We have to keep having theses conversations, gathering additional information, and inviting even more voices to the table to see if we can begin to see a path or paths (!) for this ministry. Feeding the hungry – and in fact “being church” – isn’t a zero-sum game.  The needs are greater than our combined creativity and many approaches can be beneficial.

A Hindu proverb states:

There are hundreds of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place, so it doesn’t matter which path you take. The only person wasting time is the one who runs around the mountain, telling everyone that his or her path is wrong. 

May all our divergent paths lead us towards one another and toward our shared desire to serve a hurting world.

 

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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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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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