Designated What?

So I've got a new gig. Finally…finally exploring a new role in church leadership--designated pastor. Wondering about the possibility of ordained, vocational, pastoral ministry since I was thirteen, and believe it or not, just a month before my 33rd birthday, twenty years later, I have the opportunity to pastor a really lovely community here in Louisville. Ordination draws nigh. Preaching every Sunday is quickly changing the pace and focus of my weekdays, and visiting the elderly in their homes, nursing facilities, and hospital beds forms the bulk of my non-sunday work. What a gift this is. I am quite thrilled actually and am already so thankful to this congregation.

I'm going to post my sermons on here for a little while. I'm following the RCL for the most part (even those it's entirely patriarchal and heteronormative). We'll see how I do at keeping up with this posting idea. The sermons are quite particular for this congregation, and I frequently ad lib in the pulpit- moment. But enough with the caveats, right?

Sermon No. 1:

Preparing for Something New: Epiphany

Tomorrow, January 6th is the feast of Epiphany. The day that the famous wise men reach the new born baby Jesus to celebrate that he is the new king. Because it is when they offer their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, tomorrow is a day when many Christians around the world give gifts. Armenian Christians actually mark tomorrow as their actual Christmas celebration, not Dec. 25th. 

But for us, Epiphany marks the end of the Christmas Season. It does not end, in fact on New Year’s Eve, like culture tries to dictate. This is a way that we act differently than the stores would have us act. Christmas, in fact, is not over yet!..not until tomorrow anyway. 

Have you ever wondered why this moment is called “Epiphany?” Wouldn’t it make more sense to call it “Three Kings Day” or “Visit New Baby Day?” Or perhaps you have a better title?

To make sense of this day and to understand why we celebrate it, I think first we need to understand what an epiphany is. Is this language that you use often? For some of us it is. I bet many of you have had an epiphany or two. So what is it? 

An epiphany is an event or person that shows us the deeper meaning of life. We might hear God speak to us in an epiphany through a friend or a dream. We might be carrying in a bag of groceries from the car when something inspires a new understanding about that problem at work. When I am working on a sermon I don’t feel like it has completely come together like I want until I have that “epiphany” moment. For those of us who are intuitive and pay attention to the nuances of the world, the idea of epiphany might make more sense than it does to those of you who are hard-wired for the facts. 

This is where our Biblical story today can really speak to all of our different personality types. The wise men in the East were mystical characters. They were astronomers looking for meaning in the night sky stars. They paid attention to the patterns of healing and miracle. They valued a good spiritual epiphany. So we can imagine that when they saw this super nova of a star in the Western sky they wanted to travel and see why it was there. However, even they were mystified by its presence. Here is this magnificent GPS star-light system guiding them to the new born baby... but first the wise men followed it to Jerusalem. Jesus is not in Jerusalem is he? Where is he? Bethlehem.

But who is in Jerusalem? Herod. Who is Herod? ...(Did you know you were going to get a quiz today?) The Israelite King. He would have known well the Hebrew prophecies about a baby who will be born in Bethlehem, the land of Judah. The prophecies that foretell the birth of a new shepherd to the Israelite people. So when these wandering wise men, who were not Jewish, who were not from Israel, but far East, these men who were pagans, when these mystics met Herod because they were following a Star in the night sky, and when the pagan, wandering, Eastern wise men asked Herod, “Where is this child born king of the Jews?” Herod’s hackles popped out on his neck. Don’t you think? 

Herod thought, “I’m the king!” And he was. In his fear, Herod assembled the religious leaders to help him understand what the wise men were after. They wanted to see the Messiah. The anointed one. The one who will save the people. Herod wonders if it could really be true? Is this the baby of whom the Scriptures speak? 

As the scribes and priests pointed out to Herod in the Scriptures, the wise men had not misspoken after all. There really was a new king. And the star marked the place of his birth.

  

Whether or not we are mystics, monks or nuns who live in an abbey of prayer, and whether or not we are busy with work and running errands and paying the bills, God understands that we need help experiencing our own epiphanies. That’s why God gave the wise men and the shepherds a star to follow. 

The star lighted the path to Jesus. So what’s our star? Where do we look when we need more light on our path? 

When the wise men finally arrive and see Mary holding the infant, the text tells us they were overwhelmed with joy! They immediately worshipped him, forgetting about their gifts for a moment, all they could do was worship. It’s not the star that is the epiphany, but the child. When they see Jesus everything changes. The light shines brighter. What was once an external star transforms to an internal light. When the wise men met Jesus they discovered that internal power of revelation. It is the same power that we know because we follow Jesus. 

When their visit with the royal family concluded, the pagan wise men were warned in a dream not to return to Herod who was waiting on them. So they went home by another road. Yet they returned home a changed people. They had seen the light of Jesus. No longer needing the light to shine from the stars in the sky, their epiphany let them see the light inside them that was salvation from a new born baby. This is the zinger. 

These pagan, star-following, Eastern mystics were the first people to experience the saving grace of Jesus. From the beginning, even before he could do anything but sleep and cry, Jesus welcomed everyone into his royal family regardless of race or creed or color.  

Imagine a giant axis, like a globe. Everything around the center of the axis is moving. In our story we see the wise men moving from the East to the West. We see King Herod manipulating things and people to secure his leadership. We see the star moving in the sky to highlight the right spot. Everything is moving forward constantly. In our own lives this movement might overwhelm us at times. 

For me I see this movement most at about 5pm when my three children are hungry, the older two have homework, Tyler is tired from having taught classes all day, we need to fix dinner, complete our nighttime routine of baths and toothbrushing, clean-up the kitchen after dinner, and this doesn’t include an unexpected news like someone might need 30 cupcakes for a school project the next day. Everything orbits threatening to lose control. Perhaps you are thinking of your own lives orbiting. Do you know chaos right now? 

And yet...right at the center of it all, both in our story and in our lives is this image of a small baby resting in his mother’s arms in an obscure Bethlehem village. Everything in motion, rotating around the axis, and the child is the one, unmovable, fixed point. The light of the child is the epiphany that saves all of us from the mayhem of life.

My most recent epiphany involves you as a congregation. I want you to know this. My life was moving on a really exciting journey. We had just moved here to Louisville from New York City for both Tyler and I to begin working at Louisville Seminary. All last year, I was the chapel coordinator helping students plan the weekly chapel services and it was great part-time work while Taft was an infant. Then last semester the Women’s Center on the Seminary campus was looking for a new part-time director. “This is great,” I thought. “I can direct the Women’s Center and coordinate the chapel while I finish my ordination requirements.” And this is exactly how the movement of life progressed. 

I was meeting fantastic people in the broader Louisville community through the Women’s Center job. People who are running non-profit ministries to stop violence against women, to house shelters for families, and many other worthy missions that I highly value. But then I received a phone call from my pastor at St. Andrew United Church of Christ asking if I would ever be interested in offering pulpit supply around town. “Sure!” I said. I love to lead worship. After I joined you in September, and then gathered with the designated pastor search committee, and accepted this position to serve as your designated pastor, I had an epiphany! 

Three kids + three jobs = one insane woman. Who needs a star to see that? Not me! The light of Jesus was going to go out faster than a match in a wind storm if I didn’t resign from one of my campus jobs. After just a few months at the Women’s Center, I decided to journey with God here to Lynnhurst. It was a deliberate decision when I considered my own calling to pastor. That inner revelation, the epiphany of my call and interests as I considered Jesus points here. And I am so thankful!

And so you see, the epiphany doesn’t need to be a lightening bolt, or a overwhelmingly bright star, or anything else jolting, but when you realize that the epiphany comes because you celebrate the birth of a new infant king, everything else changes. Everything moving around the axis of life might stop for minute while you worship and remember the point of life. And then it moves again, and you move forward with it trusting that Jesus is indeed the anointed one.

So where are you Lynnhurst Church on this road to epiphany? You have recently said good-bye to a well-loved pastor. You have been busy the last few months “stepping up to the plate” filling in the gaps with your strong lay-leadership. You have welcomed my family and me for the next six months. What is next? 

There is no bright star in the sky anymore making clear the way. I imagine it kind of like driving down a country road when the GPS on the windshield doesn’t recognize the road. So it has your car image in the middle of a giant field, or a river. You have experienced this GPS confusion, right? You look lost on the GPS monitor. And while you wait on the satellite to catch up, you keep moving forward, trusting that you are still on the right road. It’s right there, under your moving car, but you cannot see where the road leads. 

Let’s wait for your next epiphany together. I will do all that I can to help us together follow the light of Jesus. It is a light that will not blow out. Or lead you off the grid. Though, the inner revelation of this church might challenge and provoke us as we consider the new roads we must walk. Just as the kings returned by a different path, so too, might the path for Lynnhurst evolve to us in divine dreams to new places. Together we can prepare for something new. Something that when it comes, you will know that it is right. The world will stop moving for a moment so that we can bow down and honor the Holy One who guides us along the journey. How exciting to be traveling this road together. Amen. 

Transition

This could end up a dangerous posting since I've just sat down to my two hours of free time while the kids sleep, and I don't have any real agenda with my thoughts right now. And I don't feel like doing laundry or writing a cover letter. (Any shout-outs on those options?) Tyler and I engaged in a fairly heated dialogue this morning about transition, expectations, and family. Yeah, I know--he was about two hours late getting to his office, the kids were desperate for some attention, and I am still not dressed for the day. So what! I'm such a fan of putting the relationship first. And Livia had a fabulous time clomping around the house in my sequin heels during the parental distraction. Our neighbors below already resent us, I'm sure.

Anyway, here's what I finally and triumphantly laid down for him while simultaneously throwing my hands from the football touchdown cheer to the exasperated side dangle, "I suck at transition!" In more words or less. It's so hard and exhausting for us introverts. Does it have to be?

Tyler grooves on it almost (therein destructing my introversion theory), which perhaps only makes my inability to warmly embrace it fester. In a nutshell: I miss In-n-Out, and PMC. I miss my friends from California, Connecticut, Alabama, and Kentucky (even though they, too have all moved elsewhere). I miss the neighbors that I know, the routines that were in place, and more generally, the ease of familiarity. Not necessarily in that order. (wink.)

I hate to admit it, but I'm a relatively unmotivated person when pursuing my dreams because I find the initiation process daunting and myself too insignificant. (Go ahead, I'll pause for you to get some tissues.) Let's be honest, it's so much simpler to bash and rest in cynicism than it is to continually balance out on that damn limb, risking rejection (for various reasons), or worse yet, failure, or even worse, the reality that we aren't really perfect (Insert stunned gasp here). So that when the assertions of trying new things for just one more day feel totally insurmountable, I resign myself to actually rest in the ambiguity of new places, relax about the fact that our latte factor is zilch so the sheer ubiquity of Starbucks has still gone untouched, and well, fuck taking the stroller down the subway stairwells by myself--kids you're learning to walk! Hear me roar! And yet, and still, once more, I simply and pathetically arise to one more inevitable new day and once again find it time to analyze and reassess what it is I'm actually trying to accomplish.

Right now, I have no clue. Which then finding myself in a circular, yet completely circuitous route, not unlike the book, "If you give a mouse a cookie," I can only conclude with the harsh reality, I suck at transition. (And unfortunately, this isn't anything a cold glass of milk and a crisp straw is going to cure.)

Oh when will I be discovered and my natural talent demanded by others?

Here ends the pity party.


Come Holy Spirit, Come.
Come winds of peace, Come.
Aright this course within me.

Creator of goodness and ultimate guru of complete health,
dharma,
karma,
and sanctuary, I am your Bodhisattva.
Teach me your stillness.

May your comfort call us to action
Your tenderness to wholeness
Your discipline to an end of suffering
Your compassion to a cessation of selfishness.

Then we can freely set-forth through dangerous waters
Seeking that which demands us to relinquish hesitation,
yet embrace frustration,
so that fresh elixirs brewed in your laboratory of love,
might be consumed by willing and thirsty souls who,
in their new strength,
will bring change.

Transition us from a place of woundedness and isolation
to safety and completion,
from a place of misunderstanding and vehemence
to grace and acceptance
from a place of sarcastically jovial, dysfunctional jokes
to inspired flames of justice and service.

We are your servants. May we never grow full of your mercy while you bless us to bless.

What goes around comes around

Whenever I take the time to reread some of my earlier posts on here I am always amazed at how when I am a few months removed from their original publication date (because I am a slacker at staying disciplined with my writing), the earlier thoughts seem more like prophetic predictions rather than a rambling. I almost say out loud, "Yes! That's so true! I had no idea I have been feeling this way for so long." Or instead, I think, "You're just figuring this out? You said the same thing like two years ago."

The bit that just knocked me over with accuracy this time is the comment from an April posting where I casually said that I'm done with church. I said it in the April post more as a demonstrative, provocative thought that challenges even me, but stands actually, I guess now, as an inner leaning. I still struggle to readily confess it. (I'm not being very clear right now.) But today, July 13th, 2010, I really mean it, I think. (At least let me still claim somewhat of a modifier, errr, reluctance in naming it.) I am done with church!

It feels bogus.
It feels insincere.
It seems to be more a place of hurt and isolation rather than healing and wholeness.
I struggle to find community within its walls.
I hate the male leaders behind the pulpits of power and prestige
I hate what conservatives have made the cross mean to people in other traditions, or in no tradition.
(I also think it should be illegal for crosses to be suspended over an interstate or erected in ridiculously oversized proportions!)
What are considered to be stunning and beautiful cathedrals represent to me only modernity/analytical approaches to apologetics/rational and intellectual descriptions that erase the mysteries of faith, men on power trips, and quests for more status, money, baptisms, staff, volunteers, etc. all in the name of Jesus.
I am royally pissed by all of it today.

In case you couldn't read that into the above gerunds.

I'm ticked because for the last few years I've been longing to engage in urban ministry. To find space creatively where there is not enough to go around. To promote greener ways of living with rooftop gardens, shopping locally (easy enough in the city with local farmer's markets--no Target in Manhattan), among other things. Here I am living in Morningside Heights, Manhattan. An area that bridges everything I oppose--the divide between rich and poor. It falls between the limits of the Upper West Side where many of the creme de la creme of NYC reside and the boarders of Harlem, one of the countries largest ghettos. Liv plays soccer on one of the Cloister's lawns--a beautiful area owned by the Metropolitan Museum of Art that lies even farther north of Harlem and Washington Heights. To get there, we pass through a social justice nightmares. Hundreds of high rises that are subsidized and I imagined to be rat and insect infested beyond recourse. Plus, I live on the same property/block as one of the most gorgeous and emphatic churches in the country. This church was built by Rockefeller at the turn of the century intentionally in Morningside Heights to bridge this economic and racial divide in the city. The steeple stands several stories high so that it can be seen still in the every growing NYC skyline. It has a lovely social ministry to the people of the area who are in need. (Or at least that's what I hear and have read about earlier times in the history of the church). I literally see the gorgeous stained glass windows that line the aisles of the sanctuary from my bedroom window first thing every morning.

This church is hiring a minister right now. The cover letter sat on my desk for WEEKS. Finally I had a huge meltdown with Tyler about it a few days ago b/c I need a job and we need some money. (Sallie Mae is on a manhunt for me!)

Here it is. My dream practically being served to me on a silver platter.
New York City
Riverside Church
Morningside Heights
Urban Ministry

And yet...
And yet I'm too angry.

I can't apply, and I won't apply. I refuse to contribute to the institutionalization of the family of God. (So there, says the four year-old inside of me.)

When I look at the towering steeple all I can think of is that line from Shrek when Shrek and Donkey encounter Lord Farquard's gigantic castle. The Lord is a dwarf standing only 2.5 feet tall when at attention. Shrek sarcastically mutters to donkey, "Think he's trying to compensate for anything?"


So now, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with all this finally admitted anger, hurt, and frustration. I have never felt so cynical before about anything, much less, one of my greatest loves--the church. Can it still find ways to be the people of God?

If so, then why the fuck are there so many highrises of poverty just blocks away this famous institution? Did I mention that is famous for defending civil rights in the '60's, laying the foundation of American homiletics in the '20's and '30's, and finding a way to merge races in their own pews in the '70's and '80's. Why are there still so many tires floating in the Hudson river near the church's property? Why does the subway leave her underground tunnel to face the light of day on a rusted bridge just two blocks north of said steeple? (How kind of those engineers to leave the exhaust and pollution from the train in the air for the poor people instead of building them a tunnel through their city blocks.)

Okay, I'm shutting up now. I'm ticked. I'm tired of the bullshit of just talking about social justice in the church and then nothing ever really gets accomplished because the rich white people are too busy laying out and itemizing all of their principles and beliefs and ideals instead of going to fish some tires out of the river. And if there are people fishing tires out of the river, where the hell are they? I want to help.

The End.

Eulogies and Homilies

When I first realized that I seemed created to work in the church on a vocational path I did not trust that I liked, erh, loved people enough to really be any sort of meaningful pastor. But with my comfort in front of a large group could I not just hide my apathy for the congregants and their struggles behind the pulpit of a fantastic preaching career? Hmmmm... Then I tried preaching a few times in college and realized that it was a bit more challenging that I originally anticipated and consequently decided that I hated writing sermons. (It's an arduous task that still leaves me anguished.)

It never caused an sort of existential crisis, I still knew I would work in the church, but as I matured and realized all that ministry entailed, I also sobered a tad and confessed that I had no idea what sort of ministry I imagined. For the two years that I lived in CT and took classes at Yale, I grew into a fairly avid follower of the emerging church scene. Perusing blogs, purchasing books by B. McLaren, D. Paggit, P. Ward, T. Jones, C. Seay, R. Bolger, E. Gibbs, and others, and dreaming about contemporary venues in which to house sacred spaces that celebrate the arts and capture the intellectual, liturgy-bound folks as well became time consuming and inspiring projects. Still, I was unsure how my impatience for people's issues fit into all of that.

Then came my first pastoral theology class, my first quarter as an official seminarian. I was skeptical of the Presbyterian professor. (Who really believes all of that reformed shit anyway? And this was before I officially joined an Anabaptist community. ha.) Never will I forget sitting there, notebook open, and it wasn't a Mac, but a real spiral bound Five Start beauty, pen at attention, and the excitement that comes with the certainty that you are just where God wants you for a given moment. As we navigated our way through the curriculum I felt a greater and stronger pull from some Other transcendental force, urging me out from behind my metaphorical pulpit, aka my hiding space, and into the messy, detailed lives of parishioners. How else does one know what to preach if they are not adequately immersed into the daily happenings of their flock?

But the unit that really cinched up the knot of pastoral care for me was funerals. The opportunity to meet people in moments of crisis, especially the ones that are unexpected like when the community teenager is killed in the car wreck, when words only feel trite and inadequate, and when pain is too palpable and severe, when the shock reverberates still, and when questions of faith and spiritually are pushed to extreme limits means an opportunity to bring the presence of the divine into places of isolation, loneliness, despair, and fragmented marginalization--the places God loves most to be with people. The opportunity to bring comfort, hope, or love or not, but instead simply and silently to sit and represent the permission to still dream despite the heartache inspired me. What a humbling and surprising gift. The expectation and anticipation of one day getting to offer that gift to parishioners often led me to tears in class. Yes, I cried in class. Quite a bit depending on the class actually (or in what stage of my pregnancy I currently existed). Next came the art of crafting a good eulogy. How best do you celebrate a life, honor the deceased, and offer hope to those who are grieving? What a commission. One that makes me jealous when I see other people doing it well and angry when such times for care are abused or neglected. Maybe I do love people enough to be their pastor--not just their preacher.

Fast forward three years, Jude is new, and Livia is not yet two. After taking a one quarter hiatus from school to acclimate to my knew set of circumstances and life pace, I soon realized that I missed the world of academia too much to stay away for long. So, a few months into mothering two, wife-ing one and figuring out when there was time or room for reading and paper writing, I started to wonder what it was I was actually doing. Is this degree really necessary? Is the M.Div necessary? Can I not just love my friends and family enough on interpersonal levels through situational relationships? Do I really need to pastor? The pace was hard. Let's be honest, I was exhausted.

Then came two dear friends with the invitation to perform one of two homilies at their wedding. The memories of my pastoral care class inundated my honored mind. OF COURSE I will help officiate at your wedding! OF COURSE this will fill me up beyond overflowing. (Who says the wedding is about the bride and groom?) This outdoor ceremony in latent May arrived at a personally critical juncture. To marry or not? As the pre-ceremony butterflies fluttered around in my post-natal, fatigued gut, and as I later stood before the bride and groom offering to them words of encouragement, mutual enjoyment, and hope for a married life well lived under the cornerstone of Christ, I could not help but think by the time the reception rolled around, that again, Yes! This is why I am here. To bless people in the name of a loving God on one of the most meaningful and significant days of their lives. Truly, this too, is a gift beyond measure.

So then, herein lies my new confession (I think this is a tangent regarding my original purpose in this post) as I experience more closely the theological dilemma and blinding pain of lost love (not in my own marriage, however): is the presentation of Mr. Tyler and Mrs. Lauren Mayfield (hypothetically speaking) a ridiculous announcement doomed to failure? Marriage between the greatest of two lovers is not a guarantee, no matter how much we claim that divorce is not an option. We freakin' live in a world of prenuptial agreements!!! And yet, death is certain. Death is not to be avoided. The allure of marital bliss ebbs and flows, while the certainty of death remains constant.

I'm not sure if I believe in marriage anymore. This concerns me. I used to be so excited to continue in the tradition of marrying dear friends and parishioners alike. But it feels disloyal to do so at this point when I am no longer sure of the legitimacy of the covenant.

Perhaps what I am trying to say is this:
That the opportunity to perform my friends' wedding reminded me of why I wanted to pastor and minister in the first place--to serve people in times of need, be they positive or negative. Again, what a gift to stand at the alter with them as a way of blessing and sharing such holy and intimate moments.

However, life's moments of celebration and joy used to thrill me beyond measure and leave me with an excitement to be felt for days. And when I realized that it was so exciting to be the minister in such instances because I really do love people enough to share such intimate moments with them, I never dreamed that it could get any better.

But now, in general, joyous moments make me feel cautious, trepidatious, and even a bit foolish for hoping in their continued joy. I'm thinking of births, dedications, baptisms, homecomings, weddings, etc. This bums me out and does make me wonder if I write tonight from my own depression rather than joy.

Whereas, the darker moments of life, those crises that are inevitable but unexpected, the experiences that shake us to our core and force us to question our very existence are where I long to minister. Is that dark and morbid?

Maybe.
Maybe not.

Right now it feels incredibly real and honest. It is what is secure and what I know.

I find it easier to bless a prematurely birthed baby resting in the NICU and her tender-hearted parents who struggle to process the ordeal and minutia of medical details in the road ahead of them, than I do the vibrant, healthy, breast-feeding newbie who knows no struggle until later times. (Not that I'm not rejoicing over a healthy birth, don't misread me.) Because the fact of the matter is, we are all going to mess up our kids. We are all going to need a good therapist. And those of us in the trials of life are usually more perceptive to and ready to acknowledge this truth than those of us who move through life migrating from one celebration to the next.

Is this my cynicism or my authentic and growing love for the realities of life and the people who are forced to experience them?

Despite my questions, I can claim that I long to pastor in such ways that enable people to confess the traumas of life while still giving themselves permission to hope for joy and something more fulfilling. And this is only because I long for them to know that they are loved by a Creator and Caring God who promises time and again to never leave for forsake...when we feel happy, but even more so in extreme seasons of depression and oppression. Even more now I realize just how much I love God's people. We all hurt. We all need pastors. We all need to be reminded that God loves us. Amen? Amen.

Now What?

Okay. Since May I have graduated from seminary, celebrated my daughter's third birthday along with our sixth wedding anniversary, along with the completion of Tyler's Ph.D., received the most dramatic and gorgeous gift of all time (thank you Laura James), ministered as a hospital chaplain for ten weeks, attended just part 1 of a ten-year high school reunion, learned that I currently know three people who are going through or are on the brink of divorce, spent considerable time talking to my husband about our dwindling finances, and have transitioned into life as a stay-at-home mom. My brother migrated from the couch in our small apartment (read: the live-in Mexican nanny I will never afford) to London, and my parents have made a bed in their own home for Ronald, a Rwandan studying at a nearby university. Oh, and I died my hair, (re)pierced my nose, gave up eating red meat (except for Dixie Chili) and fell in love with Tim Gunn.

I have had so much to process (like the models of various body piercings on display in the piercing parlor which are still ingrained in my mind--OUCH) and so much I've been wanting to write (I think I've learned how to pray again), but now that I am here, I'm not quite sure what to say.

A few things have not changed.
I still find contemporary church settings (on the whole) theologically and practically unsatisfying and socially exclusive. (How's that for some negativity right out of the gate?)
I still wonder how my call to mother and pastor are going to collide.
And despite my seemingly stronger introversion, I love hearing the stories of people that contribute to their make-up and personhood.
My friends are completely amazing.
Lastly, parenting is still really difficult and even more rewarding.
I'm perpetually tired, but my spleen is normal-sized therefore ruling out mono. (wink).

So, this next season of blogging is going to be fairly narcissistic as I process the above. If you think I'm annoying, you may want to let this cite be. Since I have a tendency to live out of my emotion and experience my relationships accordingly, I'm going to (hopefully and therapeutically) wade through the feelings that have accompanied and even dominated my last few months as a wife,
mom,
daughter,
sister,
friend,
minister,
secret-holder, gossip-er,
pray-er,
woman,
worship-er,
reader,
traveler, critic, and celebrator.

So, in the spirit of my new love (note the photo), this is about making it work. Life, that is.
.

A Buzz Word about God

Since I am graduating in seven weeks, yes, seven weeks (!!) I have been entertaining off-and-on a resurgence of life questions. What is my denomination? Do I believe in denominations? Why am I not already on a path to ordination? Should I not have an ordination service following the week of the commencement festivities? Where will I pastor? In what context? Shouldn’t God have already worked all this out?! I am twenty-eight, after all!?

Birthing two kids in the middle of my degree has offered me a bit of permission from God (myself, really) to let up on the how’s, why’s, and when’s in place of some more favorable peace. Surprisingly, as life grew busier, the peace became more present. When all of the above questions were hovering around like a poisonous bee at the start of my seminary tenure I thought I was going deaf from the numbing ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz of where is this education leading? The loud buzzing never really went away, but as life progressed, it did drop down to a low dull so that I could proceed through life. Now that damn bee is back and the buzzing can be heard at decibels so electrifying I wonder when our nosy neighbor is going to call the cops for noises in our apartment louder than city ordinances permit. (Maybe I just have mental illness.)

Anyway, I have initiated several conversations with various people in the ministry and my family with the hopes that their guidance will numb the sound. They are people whom I trust and consider wise on such subjects like what the hell is God doing with my life. Their opinions have slightly varied and their ideas of what would be best for me are even sundry, yet one element of the dialogue has remained consistent amidst all my questions and anxiety (again, mostly self-imposed).

God loves you.

Hurumph. I usually huff a little and slightly audible sigh, feeling perplexed wanting more clarity about the here-and-now and not really wanting to continue such an esoteric line of thought. Then I think, actually God’s love is extremely tangible. That’s when my shoulders relax a smidgen. My breath comes a bit deeper on the next inhale, and I reluctantly remember this profound reality. Yes, God loves God’s people.

God did not bring me this far in life, with a husband, two kids, an (almost) advanced degree, various life experiences across the country, etc. to suddenly say, “ummm…yeah, good job on the grades at seminary, Lauren. You’ve arrived. You are now a Master of the Divine. So….yeah, good luck with all that. See you in a few years at the next resurrection.”

Sometimes I tend to think that’s the case, given what I’ve learned and misunderstood about process theology and practical theology and everything in-between that discusses how God may or may not interact in the world. However, everything inside me screeches (or wants to stand) against that.

Liv loves the book “Moo, Baa, La La La” by Sandra Boynton. (A great children’s poet!)
It goes:

A cow says, “Moo!”
A sheep says, “Baa!”
Three Singing pigs say, “La! La! La!”
“No, no,” you say. “That isn’t right.”
The pig says, “Oink!” all day and night.

Rhinoceroses snort and snuff
Three little dogs go, “ruff, ruff, ruff.”
“Quack,” says the duck and a horse says, “neigh.”
It’s quiet now.
What do you say?

No! No! I say to God, “This isn’t right!” you love us still, to our delight.
(Sorry, I suck are rhyming.) Which is code for, God’s not going to forget about us (i.e. me). Or anyone for that matter, even if you are marginalized and deprived of certain human rights. (Do I even have the right to say that? That’s a whole ‘nother post for a later time. We’ll see if I still believe that after a trip to Cape Town later this year.) even if you are in the midst of foggy transition that rates low on the frontal visibility scale.

So yes, my life seems to be transitioning, the bee is buzzing, and yet “it’s quiet now.” What do I say? The opportunities are many and the possibilities somewhat limitless. What a tremendous, inexplicable, unmitigated gift! Truly. Who am I to query about it being otherwise simply because it’s a bit vague and full of ubiquitous ambiguity right now?

It’s quiet now. What do I say?

Well, I’m a bit too overwhelmed really to say much at all. I speculate that my husband is as well since he’s on a parallel existential track of life-purpose. Good timing we’ve got, eh? At least one of us in the marriage could be a stabilizing force. Oh well. ☺

Instead, I think I will permit the golden Barbara Brown Taylor to once again, use her magical powers of clear and metaphorically enhanced articulation to speak for me.

In response to Terry Gross’ inquisition about her underlying assumptions of the word/image of “God,” as she perceives and believes it to exist, Taylor inspires me with this.

“When I say the word, “God,” I am so aware that I’m using a code word…I suppose my own image, my own idea of God as imperfect and evolving as it is, right now, would be the glue that hooks everything together. The consciousness that moves between all living things…I do not envision a large person…I envision instead some (a slight pause) presence so beyond my being. A presence that both knows the stars by name and knows me by name as well. That is not here to be useful to me, that is not here to give me things as much as to ask me to give myself away for love …but when I say I believe in God, I trust. I trust in the goodness of life, of being. I trust that beyond all reason. I trust that with my life.”

To give myself away for that love…That love which is God’s-self. So then I think, duh. I can do that. What’s so hard about that? And then I’m awake all night wondering about that. Geesh (wink, wink).


(I wrote this on my flight to DC. Expect a follow-up soon, post-trip.)