I think birthdays are to be celebrated, even my own. Even my (gulp) 50th! It's a pretty miraculous thing for us to even come into being from a bunch of random cells. For us to then survive and, hopefully, thrive is an achievement worth acknowledging. In my case, I can honestly say that, with every year, my life becomes more fulfilling and more meaningful. If I could somehow disregard that my son died at 24, my life would be just about as perfect as it could be. That's an impossible "if," I'm afraid.
I had long planned that for my 50th birthday, Tim and I would take my children Rachel and Seth and their significant others and/or spouses to Disneyworld for a week. I love that happiest place on earth and have been known to open the gates in the morning and lock them up at night. So this was something that I looked forward to with great anticipation. Seth's death changed all of that. There would be no going to Disney to celebrate my birthday, nor would Seth be around for any other celebrations at which his absence looms overwhelmingly large.
My husband, Tim, knew that he could not possibly replace Seth or my birthday plans. What he could do is to make sure I would be surrounded by those who love me on this momentous occasion, so he threw me a wildly surprising party and invited people that I love and that love me, and we ate and drank and many said some very, very nice things about me, and my tears of joy mixed with my tears of sadness. And best of all, Rachel flew home from San Diego to surprise me, too, and my joy was complete, or at least as complete as it will ever be on this side of heaven.
This may not sound much like church to you, but to me, this is what church is all about - people supporting each other and loving each other through thick and thin, helping to celebrate through the loss and finding joy in the presence of each other. If you want to know why I want to serve the church, this is why. At its best, the church is the kind of place where tears of joy mix with tears of sorrow, and we are all uplifted in love and a holy friendship.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The $64,000 Question
"So, why do you want to be a priest?" This question actually has a corollary that goes something like, "What makes you think you're called to be a priest?" I guess we really have two $32,000 questions, neither of which has an easy, elevator speech answer.
As to the first, I want to be a priest because I love God and I love the Church. I know, there are an awful lot of people out there who share these loves, so I suppose the real question is: what is it about my love for God and the Church that goes beyond being satisfied with engaging in the wide range of ministries in which I have been active for years? That answer gets into the whole 'call' business.
In the Episcopal Church, the role of the priest is to be a pastor, priest and teacher, to bless, absolve and administer the sacraments, and to participate in the counsels of the Church. It's not a particularly detailed job description. However, knowing what the expectations are requires the suspension of self-effacement and the ability to state my strengths - a good preacher and teacher, administrative competence, and the ability to identify with people in all states of their life - birth to death and everything that falls in between.
But the real answer to this 'call' question flows from what I believe the Church to be. It's not a place. It's not a building. The location is simply where the Church gathers. And we gather there in community, just as Jesus' first act of ministry was to call together his community. We do this to hear the Word proclaimed, to learn, to worship, and to be strengthened for our service as the Church in the world. A central part of this takes place when we gather at the holy table and celebrate the Eucharist with our brothers and sisters. It is here that we partake of the mystical body and blood of Christ, an act of remembrance as well as a celebration of Christ's presence with us here and now. And it is from here that we are sent "out to do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord" (BCP p. 366).
It is the priestly function to preside at this table, to baptize, to bless, and to pronounce the forgiveness of sins. My greatest desire, which I believe God has placed within me, is to be the one who holds this sacred story, proclaims it, lives it, and passes it on. It's not easy to actually say that because it is an awesome responsibility in the grandest sense of that word - it inspires awe in me.
Fortunately, this priestly call is not just up to me to identify. The traditions of the church require that this 'call' also be identified by the community in which I work and worship. I am blessed to have two parishes that are sending me forth into this ordination process, even though only one of them can be the official sponsoring parish. I am humbled to have so many believe that I am, indeed, called by God into service in the church. Thankfully, my bishop and his commission on ministry are also affirming of me, that I continue in the discernment process, attending seminary and continuing to meet with them as I move forward.
So, as difficult as it is to publicly talk about all of this (and believe me, I didn't let Tim even mention it for years as I was just beginning to think maybe I might be called into ministry!), don't let anyone tell you that there isn't some ego involved in this whole process. No one could possibility think that she is suitable for holy orders without having an inordinate amount of confidence in her abilities. The balance to this is that awe-struck humility that constantly whispers in my soul of the solemn and sacred obligation that comes with this calling. I still wrestle with all of this everyday and imagine that I will for the rest of my life. But for now, I am moving forward, heading off to my postulancy conference with the bishop and commission on ministry next week and then seminary in another month.
$64,000? That doesn't even come close to the value of this, so I'll steal a line from MasterCard: priceless.
As to the first, I want to be a priest because I love God and I love the Church. I know, there are an awful lot of people out there who share these loves, so I suppose the real question is: what is it about my love for God and the Church that goes beyond being satisfied with engaging in the wide range of ministries in which I have been active for years? That answer gets into the whole 'call' business.
In the Episcopal Church, the role of the priest is to be a pastor, priest and teacher, to bless, absolve and administer the sacraments, and to participate in the counsels of the Church. It's not a particularly detailed job description. However, knowing what the expectations are requires the suspension of self-effacement and the ability to state my strengths - a good preacher and teacher, administrative competence, and the ability to identify with people in all states of their life - birth to death and everything that falls in between.
But the real answer to this 'call' question flows from what I believe the Church to be. It's not a place. It's not a building. The location is simply where the Church gathers. And we gather there in community, just as Jesus' first act of ministry was to call together his community. We do this to hear the Word proclaimed, to learn, to worship, and to be strengthened for our service as the Church in the world. A central part of this takes place when we gather at the holy table and celebrate the Eucharist with our brothers and sisters. It is here that we partake of the mystical body and blood of Christ, an act of remembrance as well as a celebration of Christ's presence with us here and now. And it is from here that we are sent "out to do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord" (BCP p. 366).
It is the priestly function to preside at this table, to baptize, to bless, and to pronounce the forgiveness of sins. My greatest desire, which I believe God has placed within me, is to be the one who holds this sacred story, proclaims it, lives it, and passes it on. It's not easy to actually say that because it is an awesome responsibility in the grandest sense of that word - it inspires awe in me.
Fortunately, this priestly call is not just up to me to identify. The traditions of the church require that this 'call' also be identified by the community in which I work and worship. I am blessed to have two parishes that are sending me forth into this ordination process, even though only one of them can be the official sponsoring parish. I am humbled to have so many believe that I am, indeed, called by God into service in the church. Thankfully, my bishop and his commission on ministry are also affirming of me, that I continue in the discernment process, attending seminary and continuing to meet with them as I move forward.
So, as difficult as it is to publicly talk about all of this (and believe me, I didn't let Tim even mention it for years as I was just beginning to think maybe I might be called into ministry!), don't let anyone tell you that there isn't some ego involved in this whole process. No one could possibility think that she is suitable for holy orders without having an inordinate amount of confidence in her abilities. The balance to this is that awe-struck humility that constantly whispers in my soul of the solemn and sacred obligation that comes with this calling. I still wrestle with all of this everyday and imagine that I will for the rest of my life. But for now, I am moving forward, heading off to my postulancy conference with the bishop and commission on ministry next week and then seminary in another month.
$64,000? That doesn't even come close to the value of this, so I'll steal a line from MasterCard: priceless.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The grass withers and the flower fades
When I was 9 years old, my dad gave me a bible for Christmas. It was a white leather-bound King James Version in which he inscribed "May the meaning of this book be dear to you always." I think his own father, a Southern Baptist pastor, had inscribed those exact words in his childhood bible. This bible still sits on my bookshelf, a special connection between my dad, who died in 1997, and me.
I can't remember if my 5 siblings also received bibles at some point in their young years. I suppose they probably did, but I've managed to imagine this as some unique aspect of my relationship with my father. He was not an especially faithful man, if by 'faithful' you mean going to church every Sunday and saying prayers every night. But I don't think he ever lost that memory of his upbringing of church twice on Sunday and on Wednesday night, to boot. He could still belt out old Gospel hymns when I'd sit at the piano to play, and he knew every word of every stanza.
His father, my grandfather, died just 20 days before I was born, but I feel a special connection with him, too. Several years ago, my Uncle Jack (dad's brother) put together a collection of sermons from a 3-ring binder Grandaddy kept that he labelled "My Best." Forty-three of these 'best' sermons were edited from his abysmal hand-typed manuscripts and bound into a beautiful black volume that was presented to each of the grandchildren. It is a book that I treasure.
Grandaddy was a scripture-based preacher but he was not what I'd call a fundamentalist. He preached against the Scopes trial in 1925 and condemned the 'heinous act' of the lynching of a black man in Sherman, Texas in 1930. His was a prophetic voice of which I am vicariously very proud! I'll never forget my first time in a pulpit and - I know this sounds cracked - felt as if his mantle were laid upon my shoulders like Elijah and Elisha. I told you it sounds cracked. All the same, that's how it felt and it was a humbling, transcendent moment for me.
I don't recall my dad talking much about his childhood. Maybe he got tired of talking about it by the time I came along as the youngest of 6! But there is a story about him in one of Granddaddy's sermons that I love. The text is from 1 Samuel 30:6 - David strengthened himself in the Lord his God and is a portion of the story of David's exile among the Philistines when Saul was threatening to kill him. He writes:
We were blessed with four children in our home, two girls and two boys. When the youngest one, a boy (my dad, Leland), was eight years old, the back yard was full of boys at their games. Of course they were making a lot of noise, as boys should do. But all of a sudden, there was a calm. Mrs. Ellis (my grandmother) suspected that something had gone wrong and she went immediately to investigate. When she arrived upon the scene she saw her baby boy standing in a belligerent attitude with a rock in his hand and one of his little playmates was making a hurried exit out the back gate. She soon calmed the storm and they were back at their games again as though nothing had happened. She said nothing to Leland at the time, but that night before she put him to bed she had a little heart-to-heart with him. She explained that she was so happy for him to have his friends over and play in the yard or in the house. It was just what she wanted him to do. But she suggested that he did not want to be losing his temper and throwing rocks at his little friends. She said that would hurt her and his father and said, "Do you think that will please the Lord?" He said, "Well, if one of these boys hits me, the Lord is not going to find me standing there doing nothing." So the Lord did not find David standing around there long, doing nothing.
Isn't that great? He refers to my dad as my grandmother's "baby boy" and uses this illustration to enflesh the story of David before he was king, fighting for his life. I wonder how Daddy felt hearing this story told about himself from the pulpit? I can just see him feeling the need to protect himself, not taking abuse from other kids, and I'd be very surprised if he had apologized. We youngest children have to learn how to take care of ourselves!
So does any of this have anything at all to do with my great love of scripture? I like to think that it's part of a common thread that runs through my spiritual genetic code. There was a time when I would not have believed that, having grown up in an Episcopal Church that did not see much need in emphasizing scripture in the formation of children. It was actually when I went to the Presbyterian Church as an organist and choirmaster in my 30s that I realized what a biblical illiterate I was, and I had a lot of catching up to do! I have been a student of the scriptures ever since, having fallen in love with the great story of God's love for his people which we Christian's believe was brought to fulfillment in Jesus the Christ. I hope to preach that word as faithfully as my grandfather did for so many years.
I can't remember if my 5 siblings also received bibles at some point in their young years. I suppose they probably did, but I've managed to imagine this as some unique aspect of my relationship with my father. He was not an especially faithful man, if by 'faithful' you mean going to church every Sunday and saying prayers every night. But I don't think he ever lost that memory of his upbringing of church twice on Sunday and on Wednesday night, to boot. He could still belt out old Gospel hymns when I'd sit at the piano to play, and he knew every word of every stanza.
His father, my grandfather, died just 20 days before I was born, but I feel a special connection with him, too. Several years ago, my Uncle Jack (dad's brother) put together a collection of sermons from a 3-ring binder Grandaddy kept that he labelled "My Best." Forty-three of these 'best' sermons were edited from his abysmal hand-typed manuscripts and bound into a beautiful black volume that was presented to each of the grandchildren. It is a book that I treasure.
Grandaddy was a scripture-based preacher but he was not what I'd call a fundamentalist. He preached against the Scopes trial in 1925 and condemned the 'heinous act' of the lynching of a black man in Sherman, Texas in 1930. His was a prophetic voice of which I am vicariously very proud! I'll never forget my first time in a pulpit and - I know this sounds cracked - felt as if his mantle were laid upon my shoulders like Elijah and Elisha. I told you it sounds cracked. All the same, that's how it felt and it was a humbling, transcendent moment for me.
I don't recall my dad talking much about his childhood. Maybe he got tired of talking about it by the time I came along as the youngest of 6! But there is a story about him in one of Granddaddy's sermons that I love. The text is from 1 Samuel 30:6 - David strengthened himself in the Lord his God and is a portion of the story of David's exile among the Philistines when Saul was threatening to kill him. He writes:
We were blessed with four children in our home, two girls and two boys. When the youngest one, a boy (my dad, Leland), was eight years old, the back yard was full of boys at their games. Of course they were making a lot of noise, as boys should do. But all of a sudden, there was a calm. Mrs. Ellis (my grandmother) suspected that something had gone wrong and she went immediately to investigate. When she arrived upon the scene she saw her baby boy standing in a belligerent attitude with a rock in his hand and one of his little playmates was making a hurried exit out the back gate. She soon calmed the storm and they were back at their games again as though nothing had happened. She said nothing to Leland at the time, but that night before she put him to bed she had a little heart-to-heart with him. She explained that she was so happy for him to have his friends over and play in the yard or in the house. It was just what she wanted him to do. But she suggested that he did not want to be losing his temper and throwing rocks at his little friends. She said that would hurt her and his father and said, "Do you think that will please the Lord?" He said, "Well, if one of these boys hits me, the Lord is not going to find me standing there doing nothing." So the Lord did not find David standing around there long, doing nothing.
Isn't that great? He refers to my dad as my grandmother's "baby boy" and uses this illustration to enflesh the story of David before he was king, fighting for his life. I wonder how Daddy felt hearing this story told about himself from the pulpit? I can just see him feeling the need to protect himself, not taking abuse from other kids, and I'd be very surprised if he had apologized. We youngest children have to learn how to take care of ourselves!
So does any of this have anything at all to do with my great love of scripture? I like to think that it's part of a common thread that runs through my spiritual genetic code. There was a time when I would not have believed that, having grown up in an Episcopal Church that did not see much need in emphasizing scripture in the formation of children. It was actually when I went to the Presbyterian Church as an organist and choirmaster in my 30s that I realized what a biblical illiterate I was, and I had a lot of catching up to do! I have been a student of the scriptures ever since, having fallen in love with the great story of God's love for his people which we Christian's believe was brought to fulfillment in Jesus the Christ. I hope to preach that word as faithfully as my grandfather did for so many years.
The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. (Isaiah 40:8)
Friday, July 16, 2010
With gladness and singleness of heart
47 days and counting. That's how much time I have remaining before classes begin. Only 13 working days left at the place I've worked for the past 10 1/4 years. Just 7 days until my 50th birthday. I'd say I need to have my head examined, but I just took care of that for the bishop and have been pronounced sane.
Welcome to the world of my blog. This is for all of you who have loved and prayed for and supported me these past years - many, many years - as I've discerned and run into brick walls and persevered and grieved and loved and laughed, in short, lived a life much like most of you. And now, finally, I am on the verge of beginning the realization of the the vocation to which I believe that I am called, priesthood in the Episcopal Church, heading off to Berkeley at Yale Divinity School to begin studies in a 3-year Master of Divinity degree program.
The title of this entry is taken from a post-communion prayer in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. I've been planning to write a book by that title for a very long time, but, like my seminary studies, it's taking longer to get around to that than would seem reasonable, but I've discovered that there's really nothing very reasonable about matters of faith and the heart. This title, though, describes very well what my life, for all its twists and turns and detours, has been about. This is not a gladness that manifests itself as a perpetually cheery outlook, because any one who knows me could easily put the lie to that! Nor is the singleness of heart about having no other interests or outlets than a calling in the church. No, I'd say that gladness and singleness of heart are the overarching position of my heart and mind as this life has unfolded.
Some of you know a great deal about me and how this mid-life change of course has unfolded. Some of you may just know bit and pieces. As I prepare for my studies to begin, I will try to unpack some of how I came to this place by way of providing background for what is to come. When classes begin, I have no idea how much writing I'll be able to do amidst my studies, but I hope to provide updates, not that I think anyone will hang onto my every word, but because I know that many of you are interested and supportive and may just want to know how I'm doing from time to time.
And for that last bit, let me express my gratitude at the outset. So many of you have believed in me even when I wasn't sure that the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't an oncoming train. You mourned with me over the death of my son, Seth, and rejoice with me in the unfolding life of my beautiful Rachel and her husband, Yohann. When the way was blocked in one diocese, some of you had to bid me farewell while others have welcomed me with open arms and heaped grace upon grace on my life. So, before I forget, I will say thank you to all of you who have walked this walk with me and will continue to do so as this new adventure begins.
Welcome to the world of my blog. This is for all of you who have loved and prayed for and supported me these past years - many, many years - as I've discerned and run into brick walls and persevered and grieved and loved and laughed, in short, lived a life much like most of you. And now, finally, I am on the verge of beginning the realization of the the vocation to which I believe that I am called, priesthood in the Episcopal Church, heading off to Berkeley at Yale Divinity School to begin studies in a 3-year Master of Divinity degree program.
The title of this entry is taken from a post-communion prayer in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. I've been planning to write a book by that title for a very long time, but, like my seminary studies, it's taking longer to get around to that than would seem reasonable, but I've discovered that there's really nothing very reasonable about matters of faith and the heart. This title, though, describes very well what my life, for all its twists and turns and detours, has been about. This is not a gladness that manifests itself as a perpetually cheery outlook, because any one who knows me could easily put the lie to that! Nor is the singleness of heart about having no other interests or outlets than a calling in the church. No, I'd say that gladness and singleness of heart are the overarching position of my heart and mind as this life has unfolded.
Some of you know a great deal about me and how this mid-life change of course has unfolded. Some of you may just know bit and pieces. As I prepare for my studies to begin, I will try to unpack some of how I came to this place by way of providing background for what is to come. When classes begin, I have no idea how much writing I'll be able to do amidst my studies, but I hope to provide updates, not that I think anyone will hang onto my every word, but because I know that many of you are interested and supportive and may just want to know how I'm doing from time to time.
And for that last bit, let me express my gratitude at the outset. So many of you have believed in me even when I wasn't sure that the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't an oncoming train. You mourned with me over the death of my son, Seth, and rejoice with me in the unfolding life of my beautiful Rachel and her husband, Yohann. When the way was blocked in one diocese, some of you had to bid me farewell while others have welcomed me with open arms and heaped grace upon grace on my life. So, before I forget, I will say thank you to all of you who have walked this walk with me and will continue to do so as this new adventure begins.
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