I ran over a squirrel today on the way to church. I was driving on Mountain Road and this squirrel did a squirrel thing of running to the middle of the road and stopping and heading back. I slowed down when I saw him/her and then sped up when he started back and then he/she ran right under the car and I heard a terrible thud that was surely enough to brain a pound and a half rodent. I looked in the rear view mirror and imagined he was still standing up, but I know he was dead. I felt awful.
Remember in STAR WARS when the Death Star blows up Obi Wan Ben Kenobi's home planet? The moment it happens though Obi Wan was light years away, he staggered and was helped into a seat. "There has been a disturbance in the Force."
That's how I felt all the way to Waterbury. There was a disturbance in the Force and I had caused it by killing that squirrel.
A friend of mine calls squirrels 'furry tailed, cute rats', which they probably are. But I like them, though they show no sign of intelligence except to run up a tree when danger appears--or, run under a car at any moment, just when you think they know better. Squirrels don't seem to ever 'know better' so they are pretty stupid. Rats are probably, in the long run, smarter than squirrels though without the great tails and the cuteness.
But I felt badly all day, really bummed, for killing that stupid squirrel.
Today is February 2--26 days left in this month, 31 in March and 30 in April. 87 days left before I retire. I'm already feeling a disturbance in the Force. What was I thinking to do this? I'm much like a squirrel that thought it was a good idea at the time to run across the road and then, though it stopped seeming like a good idea at some point, paused and kept running anyway. I thought for a moment that 87 was a prime number but then I realized it could be divided by 3 and 29. Having it be a prime number would have made it more bearable.
I know that 'all will be well' for me and St. John's, but right now I'm in the middle of the road hoping to get across without being brained by the undercarriage of a Hyundai. Or something....
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
relativity
I just took my dog for a walk. The temperature on our back porch is 18 degrees, but it seemed so much warmer than it has for many nights. Temperature, like many things is relative.
A dear friend of mine keeps sending me forwarded emails that are very critical of President Obama. I'm not critical at all of the president--I think he's done a worthy job against the almost unspeakable road-block negativity of the Republicans. My friend, I believe, is a registered Democrat. But, like the temperature, 'democrats' are relative.
I've begun to believe relativity can tell us a lot about most everything--take Christians, for example. I am a Christian and it seems to me that my credentials as a Christian (having been an Episcopal priest for over 30 years) should be unassailable. Not true, beloved. Since I am pro-gay marriage, anti-death penalty, a student of evolution, a defender of Roe vs. Wade and a Christian who believes the Kingdom of God will welcome those of other faiths, I am suspect among other Christians.
The conversation that begins, "How can you be a Christian and believe that?" isn't a conversation at all. It is a conversation stopper.
There is a relativity to being a Christian, I think. And that thought is made difficult since there are Christians who think 'relativity' is anti-Christian. For many Christians of many stripes (not a few of which are in the Anglican Communion!) it is a up or down, right or wrong, true or false world. The world where I live and move and have my being (the same world I think God, in some obscure way 'created') is floating, maybe this/maybe that, gray and paradoxical and, in many ways, inscrutable.
My friend Maner, who is a Southern Baptist, keeps talking about how I'll probably become a Southern Baptist when I retire. Fat chance of that! My theology is so relative and complex and confounding--even to me--that I thank God I found the Episcopal Church before I left Christianity all together for something Eastern or primitive or Druid-like. I AM a Christian, but I'm a Christian with many more questions than answers, many more obscurities than absolutes, many more ponderings than doctrines.
Thirty plus years ago, I truly believed I'd be safe to ask questions, question authority and wrestle with my angels in the Episcopal Church. I still believe that--just not as 'truly'. A lot of my conservative friends think the church left them behind at some point by being too liberal. I think, from time to time, that I have outrun the church because it isn't nearly as liberal or progressive as I believed.
I often hear people suggest that as we get older, we get more conservative, set in our way, all that. What I think is that as people age, they 'become MORE like they always were...."
It's interesting to me that my clergy friends are always looking for and finding ways in which I am much more 'moderate' than they think I am. There is stuff I believe in, like the 'objective reality of the sacraments' (we aren't just 'playing' church--we ARE church--is the way I'd put it). And folks to the right of me theologically and politically and just ontologically, always are delighted to point out how open I am to people who disagree. Well, that is true, even my friend who sends me bull-shit emails about Obama--I'm open to being his friend though his politics are bull-shit! But I would suggest that is a factor of my becoming more liberal and progressive than I was as a younger man. When I was in my 30's I wanted nothing to do with people who didn't agree with me--but that's not a very liberal point of view. Besides, I love a good argument and can talk louder than most people who disagree with me....
I'm a liberal, for example, who thinks we've lost our minds about smoking rules ('course I smoke...) and that everyone in the US should learn English (but only because they don't teach classes in Harvard Law School or John Hopkins Med School in any language but English and every child should have a shot at that rather than being part of an underclass). Conservatives say I'm contradictory in those two stands since I'm willing to let people smoke but not willing to let people speak the language of their choice. Like Walt Whitman (talk about your liberal!) I say: "do I contradict myself? very well, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes...."
I'm actually a 'realist' and 'relativist' as well as a liberal and progressive. People have a right to kill themselves how ever they choose to. But society owes it to everyone to have a shot at being a Harvard lawyer or a John's Hopkins physcian. And people have a right to make all the money they can, but they have a responsibility to share it in a big way. I'd tax the rich back into the middle class because if they were just doing it for the money, they should let someone do it for the joy of a job well done.
Everytime I hear someone say "Obama is a socialist", I say, in response, "Don't I wish!!!"
Truth is, just like me, I think, our president is a liberal and progressive who is washed well in the waters of realism and relativism. For me, that seems about right.
For my email friend, it is apparently a nightmare.
Well, everything is relative, after all....
A dear friend of mine keeps sending me forwarded emails that are very critical of President Obama. I'm not critical at all of the president--I think he's done a worthy job against the almost unspeakable road-block negativity of the Republicans. My friend, I believe, is a registered Democrat. But, like the temperature, 'democrats' are relative.
I've begun to believe relativity can tell us a lot about most everything--take Christians, for example. I am a Christian and it seems to me that my credentials as a Christian (having been an Episcopal priest for over 30 years) should be unassailable. Not true, beloved. Since I am pro-gay marriage, anti-death penalty, a student of evolution, a defender of Roe vs. Wade and a Christian who believes the Kingdom of God will welcome those of other faiths, I am suspect among other Christians.
The conversation that begins, "How can you be a Christian and believe that?" isn't a conversation at all. It is a conversation stopper.
There is a relativity to being a Christian, I think. And that thought is made difficult since there are Christians who think 'relativity' is anti-Christian. For many Christians of many stripes (not a few of which are in the Anglican Communion!) it is a up or down, right or wrong, true or false world. The world where I live and move and have my being (the same world I think God, in some obscure way 'created') is floating, maybe this/maybe that, gray and paradoxical and, in many ways, inscrutable.
My friend Maner, who is a Southern Baptist, keeps talking about how I'll probably become a Southern Baptist when I retire. Fat chance of that! My theology is so relative and complex and confounding--even to me--that I thank God I found the Episcopal Church before I left Christianity all together for something Eastern or primitive or Druid-like. I AM a Christian, but I'm a Christian with many more questions than answers, many more obscurities than absolutes, many more ponderings than doctrines.
Thirty plus years ago, I truly believed I'd be safe to ask questions, question authority and wrestle with my angels in the Episcopal Church. I still believe that--just not as 'truly'. A lot of my conservative friends think the church left them behind at some point by being too liberal. I think, from time to time, that I have outrun the church because it isn't nearly as liberal or progressive as I believed.
I often hear people suggest that as we get older, we get more conservative, set in our way, all that. What I think is that as people age, they 'become MORE like they always were...."
It's interesting to me that my clergy friends are always looking for and finding ways in which I am much more 'moderate' than they think I am. There is stuff I believe in, like the 'objective reality of the sacraments' (we aren't just 'playing' church--we ARE church--is the way I'd put it). And folks to the right of me theologically and politically and just ontologically, always are delighted to point out how open I am to people who disagree. Well, that is true, even my friend who sends me bull-shit emails about Obama--I'm open to being his friend though his politics are bull-shit! But I would suggest that is a factor of my becoming more liberal and progressive than I was as a younger man. When I was in my 30's I wanted nothing to do with people who didn't agree with me--but that's not a very liberal point of view. Besides, I love a good argument and can talk louder than most people who disagree with me....
I'm a liberal, for example, who thinks we've lost our minds about smoking rules ('course I smoke...) and that everyone in the US should learn English (but only because they don't teach classes in Harvard Law School or John Hopkins Med School in any language but English and every child should have a shot at that rather than being part of an underclass). Conservatives say I'm contradictory in those two stands since I'm willing to let people smoke but not willing to let people speak the language of their choice. Like Walt Whitman (talk about your liberal!) I say: "do I contradict myself? very well, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes...."
I'm actually a 'realist' and 'relativist' as well as a liberal and progressive. People have a right to kill themselves how ever they choose to. But society owes it to everyone to have a shot at being a Harvard lawyer or a John's Hopkins physcian. And people have a right to make all the money they can, but they have a responsibility to share it in a big way. I'd tax the rich back into the middle class because if they were just doing it for the money, they should let someone do it for the joy of a job well done.
Everytime I hear someone say "Obama is a socialist", I say, in response, "Don't I wish!!!"
Truth is, just like me, I think, our president is a liberal and progressive who is washed well in the waters of realism and relativism. For me, that seems about right.
For my email friend, it is apparently a nightmare.
Well, everything is relative, after all....
nightmares of reality....
I seldom have 'bad dreams'. Most of my dreams are really ordinary, if obscure, things.
Often I am working real hard on some problem I don't completely understand or am building something though I don't know what it is. I work and work in my dreams, totally at peace, just concerned with putting the next piece in place, not even concerned about the 'final product' but intent of my work. Once, lately, I dreamed about going shopping in some unknown place with Hank and Harriet Fotter for objects de-art for some house they were building. I had no idea what the house was like but I enjoyed the shopping trip (and in real life I hate to go shopping if it isn't for food....)
But last night I had what I'd call a nightmare. It would take me hours to write the whole dream down so I'll give you some details.
I'm out walking my dog in a city that I think I know and somehow, I lose him and I know I can't go home to Bern without Bela--my ass would be grass, so to speak. So, I'm looking for the dog during the dream and I have this big leather folder with lots of stuff in it I need--though I have no idea in the dream what is in it or why I need it...and I keep losing the folder and having to double back, still worried about finding the dog, before I can journey on.
The city I'm in was so familiar in the beginning of the dream but it becomes more and more unfamiliar as the dream goes on. Sometimes it is like the 'old campus' at Yale and sometimes like Cambridge MA and sometimes like a medieval city in some European place I've never been and sometimes like the sound stage for the movie with Robin Williams as Popeye. The territory keeps shifting as does the place I have to find. I need to find my house and then St. John's Church and then other places that I've never been and though the urban landscape is always interesting and could have been fun in another dream of another time, I'm lost...I mean, really lost and keep losing my dog and my folder.
I leave the folder in the apartment of a wonderful family--mother, crippled husband, two kids, the parents of the father--several times and have to wind back through the back streets and thoroughfares of my dream to re-arrive at the apartment and find my folder. Then I leave my folder somewhere because I am looking for the dog and come to a dog park with lots of dogs, a few of which look a lot like Bela but aren't and then go back into an official building and the head of security tells me they found my folder but it is just the stuff in it and the folder and my cell phone is gone, so I can't call Bern or anyone and it's like the 9th cell phone I've lost and I feel guilty and there is still no word of the dog though I keep asking people about him and for directions to wherever it is I'm going (nothing is clear any more) and everyone is friendly and tries to be helpful but nothing I tell them makes sense and some of them begin to ask me if I am crazy and I wish, more than anything besides finding the dog and getting wherever I'm going--that someone would take me to a hospital...somewhere white and quiet and calm, where I could just be for a while.
About that time I realize, even in my dream, that it IS a dream, that none of this is happening but I still can't stop wandering the wondrous streets of places I don't recognize at all and I have on a trench coat and I'm yelling "Wake up!" and "Why can't I find my way?" when I finally do wake up, pulling in and out of the dream for another few blocks of unfamiliar buildings.
Then I feel Bela against my leg in bed and can hear Bern breathing and I know none of it was real and I look at my clock, thinking it will be morning and it is only 1:07. I get up, go to the bathroom and read John Sanford's new novel for 30 minutes or so before I risk going back to sleep and finding myself in those strange, unknown streets that would be interesting if I weren't terrified.
I've thought about it for hours--being the Jungian I am--and realize the dream was about my retirement and how frightened I am about 'what happens next'. In reality, I have some ideas and thoughts about what I will do, but in my unconscious, I am terrified of finding myself somewhere totally unfamiliar where I can't find my way though people are helpful and where I lose the things I love and need.
Jung thought that once you 'got' the Dream-makers point, the dream would not return. I hope so because this was so frightening.
So, Dream-Maker mine, I've got it. I'm terrified of what is going to happen to me after the next (can you believe it? 89 days). And I'll dwell on that and ponder it over and over. Just don't send me that dream again, OK?
I really am moving into a city-scape that will be at once strange, unknown and a bit frightening. I know that...really know it after that dream....I know, OK?
I hope my Dream-Maker believes me....I don't want another night like last night....
Often I am working real hard on some problem I don't completely understand or am building something though I don't know what it is. I work and work in my dreams, totally at peace, just concerned with putting the next piece in place, not even concerned about the 'final product' but intent of my work. Once, lately, I dreamed about going shopping in some unknown place with Hank and Harriet Fotter for objects de-art for some house they were building. I had no idea what the house was like but I enjoyed the shopping trip (and in real life I hate to go shopping if it isn't for food....)
But last night I had what I'd call a nightmare. It would take me hours to write the whole dream down so I'll give you some details.
I'm out walking my dog in a city that I think I know and somehow, I lose him and I know I can't go home to Bern without Bela--my ass would be grass, so to speak. So, I'm looking for the dog during the dream and I have this big leather folder with lots of stuff in it I need--though I have no idea in the dream what is in it or why I need it...and I keep losing the folder and having to double back, still worried about finding the dog, before I can journey on.
The city I'm in was so familiar in the beginning of the dream but it becomes more and more unfamiliar as the dream goes on. Sometimes it is like the 'old campus' at Yale and sometimes like Cambridge MA and sometimes like a medieval city in some European place I've never been and sometimes like the sound stage for the movie with Robin Williams as Popeye. The territory keeps shifting as does the place I have to find. I need to find my house and then St. John's Church and then other places that I've never been and though the urban landscape is always interesting and could have been fun in another dream of another time, I'm lost...I mean, really lost and keep losing my dog and my folder.
I leave the folder in the apartment of a wonderful family--mother, crippled husband, two kids, the parents of the father--several times and have to wind back through the back streets and thoroughfares of my dream to re-arrive at the apartment and find my folder. Then I leave my folder somewhere because I am looking for the dog and come to a dog park with lots of dogs, a few of which look a lot like Bela but aren't and then go back into an official building and the head of security tells me they found my folder but it is just the stuff in it and the folder and my cell phone is gone, so I can't call Bern or anyone and it's like the 9th cell phone I've lost and I feel guilty and there is still no word of the dog though I keep asking people about him and for directions to wherever it is I'm going (nothing is clear any more) and everyone is friendly and tries to be helpful but nothing I tell them makes sense and some of them begin to ask me if I am crazy and I wish, more than anything besides finding the dog and getting wherever I'm going--that someone would take me to a hospital...somewhere white and quiet and calm, where I could just be for a while.
About that time I realize, even in my dream, that it IS a dream, that none of this is happening but I still can't stop wandering the wondrous streets of places I don't recognize at all and I have on a trench coat and I'm yelling "Wake up!" and "Why can't I find my way?" when I finally do wake up, pulling in and out of the dream for another few blocks of unfamiliar buildings.
Then I feel Bela against my leg in bed and can hear Bern breathing and I know none of it was real and I look at my clock, thinking it will be morning and it is only 1:07. I get up, go to the bathroom and read John Sanford's new novel for 30 minutes or so before I risk going back to sleep and finding myself in those strange, unknown streets that would be interesting if I weren't terrified.
I've thought about it for hours--being the Jungian I am--and realize the dream was about my retirement and how frightened I am about 'what happens next'. In reality, I have some ideas and thoughts about what I will do, but in my unconscious, I am terrified of finding myself somewhere totally unfamiliar where I can't find my way though people are helpful and where I lose the things I love and need.
Jung thought that once you 'got' the Dream-makers point, the dream would not return. I hope so because this was so frightening.
So, Dream-Maker mine, I've got it. I'm terrified of what is going to happen to me after the next (can you believe it? 89 days). And I'll dwell on that and ponder it over and over. Just don't send me that dream again, OK?
I really am moving into a city-scape that will be at once strange, unknown and a bit frightening. I know that...really know it after that dream....I know, OK?
I hope my Dream-Maker believes me....I don't want another night like last night....
holy ground
I told this story as the end of my sermon on Sunday. The sermon was on the gospel lesson from Luke when Jesus goes back to Nazareth, his home town, and reads from Isaiah in the Torah and proclaims that the scripture of healing and restoring and bringing the blessing of God is fulfilled.
Then things get dicey. The folks in the synagogue remember Jesus is a hometown boy and what right does he have to speak like God and lecture them on their disbelief? "Isn't he Joseph's son?" the ask each other--where does he come off doing this....? Then they try to throw him off a cliff but he passes through them like fog through the trees and goes on about his work and life.
Then I recalled how Dr. Milchin, who was my doctor as a child, had a son, John Jr., who always went away to school but came back one summer from college and became the laughing stock of the whole community because--before 'running' was seen as something people did for recreation or health--he ran up and down the valleys for hours on end. Everyone laughed at him. "Dr. Milchin's son has a screw loose", they said. "Why doesn't he get a summer job?" they asked. "Who does he think he is?" they wondered while mocking him.
Later I learned John Jr. had been the captain of the Princeton University Cross Country team and was simply training. He went on to be a surgeon and made his GP father proud. But we didn't accept him because we knew him too well...he was too familiar...to ordinary...to commonplace.
So, as Thomas Wolfe knew, it is hard to 'go home again'.
I went on to observe that we often don't honor those things which are familiar, ordinary and commonplace. We usually look for God in the unusual, the amazing, the exotic and strange. In fact, I believe, God's Glory is present in precisely what is ordinary and familiar, we simply need ears to hear and eyes to see,,,,
As I've often said, the definition I know of 'epiphany' is this: 'the sudden, intuitive insight into the deep down meaning of things, usually prompted by what is ordinary, common-place and day to day...'
Then came this story, that I realized I hadn't blogged about on Sat since it was meant to be the end of my sermon:
C was a member of the church I served in New Haven. She is gracious, loving, competent and committed. Her son was the same age of my son and they played together for five of the years of their lives...from 5 until 10. Eric came to an Easter service a few years ago and he and Josh got to connect for a short while. About three years ago, C, who lives in 'the Valley' started coming to St. John's. I hadn't seen her for months, I realized, and was about to call here when she called me.
Her mother has cancer and Alzheimer's and after months of going down to Brooklyn to visit each weekend, C had moved them to CT--her mother to a nursing home and her father to live with her. She called to ask me to come and pray for her mother and anoint her since her life was slipping away.
I got to the parking lot of the nursing home and C was just getting out of her car. We embraced and moved inside, walking behind an elderly black man with a cane who was walking very slowly. I assumed he was a patient, but when we caught up with him, C introduced me to her father. I thought we'd walk with him but C said we should go on, 'he never wants to slow other people down'.
So we were in C's mother's room for a few minutes before C's father made it. Her mother was very non-responsive, in one of those chairs that look comfortable and adjust but roll as well. I talked to her the way I always talk to people who I don't know can hear me 'cause, what do I know about what they hear?
C's sister was there and when the father got in the room, the sister tried to help him off with his coat, but he slipped past her and moved much faster than before to the chair beside his wife's chair. He flopped down, took her thin, veined hand in his own and lifted her fingers to his lips. I was right across from him and saw the moisture in his large brown eyes.
I should have taken my shoes off, being as I was on Holy Ground. I had enough sense not to say anything for a long time. Finally, softly, I said, "a long time...."
"Seventy years," he said, still holding his wife's unresponsive hand to his cheek.
Then we sat in silence for a long time--eyes open to the holiness and glory of the ordinary moment, the familiarity of two people, the love that was there....
So, don't tell me the Glory of God isn't in the ordinary and familiar. Don't dare tell me that!
I was privileged to sit in the profound silence of the Heart of God and of Love.
This is all I know and all I need to know about the presence of God in the familiar and ordinary and so well-known moments of life:
Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.... (I Corinthians 13.4-8a)
Just that moment is enough....
Then things get dicey. The folks in the synagogue remember Jesus is a hometown boy and what right does he have to speak like God and lecture them on their disbelief? "Isn't he Joseph's son?" the ask each other--where does he come off doing this....? Then they try to throw him off a cliff but he passes through them like fog through the trees and goes on about his work and life.
Then I recalled how Dr. Milchin, who was my doctor as a child, had a son, John Jr., who always went away to school but came back one summer from college and became the laughing stock of the whole community because--before 'running' was seen as something people did for recreation or health--he ran up and down the valleys for hours on end. Everyone laughed at him. "Dr. Milchin's son has a screw loose", they said. "Why doesn't he get a summer job?" they asked. "Who does he think he is?" they wondered while mocking him.
Later I learned John Jr. had been the captain of the Princeton University Cross Country team and was simply training. He went on to be a surgeon and made his GP father proud. But we didn't accept him because we knew him too well...he was too familiar...to ordinary...to commonplace.
So, as Thomas Wolfe knew, it is hard to 'go home again'.
I went on to observe that we often don't honor those things which are familiar, ordinary and commonplace. We usually look for God in the unusual, the amazing, the exotic and strange. In fact, I believe, God's Glory is present in precisely what is ordinary and familiar, we simply need ears to hear and eyes to see,,,,
As I've often said, the definition I know of 'epiphany' is this: 'the sudden, intuitive insight into the deep down meaning of things, usually prompted by what is ordinary, common-place and day to day...'
Then came this story, that I realized I hadn't blogged about on Sat since it was meant to be the end of my sermon:
C was a member of the church I served in New Haven. She is gracious, loving, competent and committed. Her son was the same age of my son and they played together for five of the years of their lives...from 5 until 10. Eric came to an Easter service a few years ago and he and Josh got to connect for a short while. About three years ago, C, who lives in 'the Valley' started coming to St. John's. I hadn't seen her for months, I realized, and was about to call here when she called me.
Her mother has cancer and Alzheimer's and after months of going down to Brooklyn to visit each weekend, C had moved them to CT--her mother to a nursing home and her father to live with her. She called to ask me to come and pray for her mother and anoint her since her life was slipping away.
I got to the parking lot of the nursing home and C was just getting out of her car. We embraced and moved inside, walking behind an elderly black man with a cane who was walking very slowly. I assumed he was a patient, but when we caught up with him, C introduced me to her father. I thought we'd walk with him but C said we should go on, 'he never wants to slow other people down'.
So we were in C's mother's room for a few minutes before C's father made it. Her mother was very non-responsive, in one of those chairs that look comfortable and adjust but roll as well. I talked to her the way I always talk to people who I don't know can hear me 'cause, what do I know about what they hear?
C's sister was there and when the father got in the room, the sister tried to help him off with his coat, but he slipped past her and moved much faster than before to the chair beside his wife's chair. He flopped down, took her thin, veined hand in his own and lifted her fingers to his lips. I was right across from him and saw the moisture in his large brown eyes.
I should have taken my shoes off, being as I was on Holy Ground. I had enough sense not to say anything for a long time. Finally, softly, I said, "a long time...."
"Seventy years," he said, still holding his wife's unresponsive hand to his cheek.
Then we sat in silence for a long time--eyes open to the holiness and glory of the ordinary moment, the familiarity of two people, the love that was there....
So, don't tell me the Glory of God isn't in the ordinary and familiar. Don't dare tell me that!
I was privileged to sit in the profound silence of the Heart of God and of Love.
This is all I know and all I need to know about the presence of God in the familiar and ordinary and so well-known moments of life:
Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrong doing, but rejoices in truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.... (I Corinthians 13.4-8a)
Just that moment is enough....
Friday, January 29, 2010
my day off
I took my day off today...I did call the church to see if a repair that needed done got done...but besides that, I took my day off.
I used to brag to other priests about how zealously I guarded my time away--and I did. But over the last few years I've found it harder and harder to 'stay away' on my day off and I've taken less and less of my vacation in large chunks. Part of that was that when a wondrous assistant I had left, it was harder and harder for me to trust the place to another...or even 'others'.
Often, in the last few years, I'd even go to a movie somewhere in Waterbury and then 'drop in' to say hello at the church. Of course, in a church like St. John's there is no such thing as 'dropping in' or just saying 'hello'. Life there is always pretty much teeming. St. John's is the ecclesiastical equivalent of a rain forest. Something is always happening, someone is always passing through, every moment is pretty much pulsating with life. So, 'dropping by' might turn into an hour or so and saying 'hello' meant it was hard to say 'goodbye'.
I do regret the loss of big chunks of vacation time that I gave up because I wasn't sure I wouldn't be needed. That was hubris, by in large, though not completely. I remember times when I took a month long vacation--even at St. John's. But somehow I stopped that in the last 5 years or so. Part of that was the loss of the greatest Episcopal priest vacation destination ever--Block Island, Rhode Island. St. Anne's on Block Island didn't have a full time priest so if you were willing to be available and to do the Sunday services you could stay in their rectory for free. I did that time and again. But they eventually had enough wealthy folks move to the Island, though only part time, that they decided they could afford a full time priest. Bye-bye free vacation spot!
Anyway, part of it is our dog--he's 4 years, 10 months old and Bern loves him so much she can't stand to kennel him for longer than a week or so. That's cut down on leaving for long periods as well. But much of it has been the gathering and expanding need I had to be there.
When people ask me why I'm retiring so young I should probably tell them if I don't do it now I probably would have to be removed from St. John's by the Bishop and Federal Marshals. I'm able to leave now--in another year I'd start wearing out my welcome at the same time it became impossible to leave....Just a thought.
It does occur to me that when I'm taking my 'terminal sabbatical' (that sounds final, huh?) in May, June and July I'll have to begin to adjust to the reality of 'not being there'. It will be, I know, harder than I think it will be. (I only took two months of my sabbatical I earned five years ago and half my vacation for the last few years. I thought about asking to be paid for all that time I 'didn't take' but it seemed silly since I was the one who decided not to....)
I had a long talk with the mail carrier who serves St. John's this week. Everyone, even lots of people I don't know and have never, to my knowledge, know of, is aware that I'm retiring. The thing is I can walk around in downtown Waterbury and 80% of the people speak to me as 'Jim' or 'pastor' or 'Father'. I told John the mailman that I'd given some of the best years of my life to St. John's. Not untrue. I was just 42 when I arrived and will be barely 63 when I leave. For a man, those should be the most productive years of your working life--unless you're Steve Jobs or Bill Gates or a pro athlete. So there is a big piece of me that has seeped into the stone and wood and air and flesh of St. John's. It will leave a gaping open wound in my psyche and heart when I leave. I'm not sure what the cure is, of if there is one.
Mostly I already wonder if I stayed a year or two too long already and fantasize about what it would have been like to stay a year or two longer. All of that is vanity, I know, so don't tell me! But I do hope my decision will be good for me, very good, and, prayerfully, even better for St. John's.
Someday, I know, I'll reflect on what I did and didn't do, what I succeeded at and failed with--stuff like that. But now it is just the reality of the leaving--that it IS going to happen now--that consumes me. I don't expect to be able to be as faithful to my day off in the next three months as I was today--but I'll try. I don't want the last 3 months to be radically different from the 247 months that came before. I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep and, as of today, I have 91 days left to continue to try to be who I have tried to 'be' for these 20 1/2 years....There is world enough and time for other pondering in the months and years to come after April.
For now, I am still the Rector of St. John's on the Green in Waterbury, CT--proud, humbled, challenged, amused, confounded to be so....
I used to brag to other priests about how zealously I guarded my time away--and I did. But over the last few years I've found it harder and harder to 'stay away' on my day off and I've taken less and less of my vacation in large chunks. Part of that was that when a wondrous assistant I had left, it was harder and harder for me to trust the place to another...or even 'others'.
Often, in the last few years, I'd even go to a movie somewhere in Waterbury and then 'drop in' to say hello at the church. Of course, in a church like St. John's there is no such thing as 'dropping in' or just saying 'hello'. Life there is always pretty much teeming. St. John's is the ecclesiastical equivalent of a rain forest. Something is always happening, someone is always passing through, every moment is pretty much pulsating with life. So, 'dropping by' might turn into an hour or so and saying 'hello' meant it was hard to say 'goodbye'.
I do regret the loss of big chunks of vacation time that I gave up because I wasn't sure I wouldn't be needed. That was hubris, by in large, though not completely. I remember times when I took a month long vacation--even at St. John's. But somehow I stopped that in the last 5 years or so. Part of that was the loss of the greatest Episcopal priest vacation destination ever--Block Island, Rhode Island. St. Anne's on Block Island didn't have a full time priest so if you were willing to be available and to do the Sunday services you could stay in their rectory for free. I did that time and again. But they eventually had enough wealthy folks move to the Island, though only part time, that they decided they could afford a full time priest. Bye-bye free vacation spot!
Anyway, part of it is our dog--he's 4 years, 10 months old and Bern loves him so much she can't stand to kennel him for longer than a week or so. That's cut down on leaving for long periods as well. But much of it has been the gathering and expanding need I had to be there.
When people ask me why I'm retiring so young I should probably tell them if I don't do it now I probably would have to be removed from St. John's by the Bishop and Federal Marshals. I'm able to leave now--in another year I'd start wearing out my welcome at the same time it became impossible to leave....Just a thought.
It does occur to me that when I'm taking my 'terminal sabbatical' (that sounds final, huh?) in May, June and July I'll have to begin to adjust to the reality of 'not being there'. It will be, I know, harder than I think it will be. (I only took two months of my sabbatical I earned five years ago and half my vacation for the last few years. I thought about asking to be paid for all that time I 'didn't take' but it seemed silly since I was the one who decided not to....)
I had a long talk with the mail carrier who serves St. John's this week. Everyone, even lots of people I don't know and have never, to my knowledge, know of, is aware that I'm retiring. The thing is I can walk around in downtown Waterbury and 80% of the people speak to me as 'Jim' or 'pastor' or 'Father'. I told John the mailman that I'd given some of the best years of my life to St. John's. Not untrue. I was just 42 when I arrived and will be barely 63 when I leave. For a man, those should be the most productive years of your working life--unless you're Steve Jobs or Bill Gates or a pro athlete. So there is a big piece of me that has seeped into the stone and wood and air and flesh of St. John's. It will leave a gaping open wound in my psyche and heart when I leave. I'm not sure what the cure is, of if there is one.
Mostly I already wonder if I stayed a year or two too long already and fantasize about what it would have been like to stay a year or two longer. All of that is vanity, I know, so don't tell me! But I do hope my decision will be good for me, very good, and, prayerfully, even better for St. John's.
Someday, I know, I'll reflect on what I did and didn't do, what I succeeded at and failed with--stuff like that. But now it is just the reality of the leaving--that it IS going to happen now--that consumes me. I don't expect to be able to be as faithful to my day off in the next three months as I was today--but I'll try. I don't want the last 3 months to be radically different from the 247 months that came before. I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep and, as of today, I have 91 days left to continue to try to be who I have tried to 'be' for these 20 1/2 years....There is world enough and time for other pondering in the months and years to come after April.
For now, I am still the Rector of St. John's on the Green in Waterbury, CT--proud, humbled, challenged, amused, confounded to be so....
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Another day in New England...
The temperature on our back porch dropped 10 degrees F. in the past hour. It went from 24 at 7:25 to 14 at 8:25.
When I woke up this morning nothing was happening. After a shower, the ground was covered by snow.
It took me 25 minutes to go 6 miles on I-84 because there were a slew of accidents.
Schools that opened before the snow were closing early.
Everyone at St. John's was hustling to get home before the expected early afternoon freeze. Before they got in their doors, the sky was blue and the temperature was in the high 30's.
On my way home at 4, it was snowing like crazy.
Now the temperature is dropping 10 degrees in an hour.
People ask me where we're moving when I retire. I tell them we're going to Cheshire. Who would want to miss a day like today?
Got to go. I'm going to Google "North Carolina Shore + Retirement Properties..."
When I woke up this morning nothing was happening. After a shower, the ground was covered by snow.
It took me 25 minutes to go 6 miles on I-84 because there were a slew of accidents.
Schools that opened before the snow were closing early.
Everyone at St. John's was hustling to get home before the expected early afternoon freeze. Before they got in their doors, the sky was blue and the temperature was in the high 30's.
On my way home at 4, it was snowing like crazy.
Now the temperature is dropping 10 degrees in an hour.
People ask me where we're moving when I retire. I tell them we're going to Cheshire. Who would want to miss a day like today?
Got to go. I'm going to Google "North Carolina Shore + Retirement Properties..."
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
irrelevancy isn't so bad....
My last post may have seemed like a bummer of sorts--the church is irrelevant: woe are we!
But it isn't' that bad. In fact, I think being irrelevant to the culture gives the church a wondrous opportunity to play a different role than the church has--in the last 1600 years--normally has played.
For well over a millennium, 'Christendom' meant something. It meant that the Christian Church was 'relevant' to the society and culture of what we somewhat inaccurately call 'the Western World'. All geography depends on where you are standing at the moment. I guarantee you that most people who live in Iraq and Israel places like that, don't think of themselves of living in 'the Middle East'. People who talk about 'the Middle East' are standing somewhere else and looking over there and naming it.
Leaving that strangeness behind, let me share with you a fact: "Christendom" is gone. The church is not 'relevant' to the culture and hasn't been for a good while now.
But that is not bad. I personally think it was a problem for the church to be propping up and legitimizing Western Culture. There was a complicity that I think was unhealthy for the church. So, being 'irrelevant' in what was essentially an compromising and unhealthy connection with the the culture is not a bad thing.
Christianity, in and of itself, is not totally irrelevant in all places. But where it is--oh, take Nigeria where Anglican bishops have done nothing to oppose the criminalization of homosexuality with severe penalties even for those who 'associate' with gay folk--it is not a good idea to my mind. And the 'religious right' plays much the same role in the US. Pat Robertson has publicly stated that the earthquake in Haiti was God's judgment on the 'pact with the devil' that Haiti made 200 years ago by allowing voodoo and Jerry Falwell blamed 9/11 on homosexuals and other sinners. God knows who believes nonsense like that but I'm betting quite a few folks do.
But, for the most part, the so-called 'main-line churches' (and probably the Roman Catholic Church as well) are irrelevant to our American Culture. (How many RC families do you know who have never had a divorce or who all have 6 or 7 kids?--that's the base line of irrelevancy....
None of which is a bad thing. I'm personally pleased that RC couples who are battering each other one way or another no longer feel constrained to stay together because of the the church and that birth control isn't something couples discuss with their priests. (You see, some of the trappings of 'being Relevant' aren't bad things to lose....And that fish on Friday thing was simply a centuries earlier attempt to support Italian fishermen...)
So, being irrelevant as we are...there are remarkable possibilities for the church. Like this--we can be the fool, the jester, the gadfly, the prophet, the shaman, the joker, the wondrous and so needed foil to the nonsense of the culture.
Just one example of how this irrelevant church keeps thinking it is relevant and matters to the culture--the culture, the state of Connecticut, has outrun the Episcopal church by legalizing same-sex marriages. We should have beat them to it as the joker and Trickster of the culture, yet, even though they got there first, our Bishop has yet to even 'catch up'. I still can't sign a marriage license for a gay couple. We should have been out in front, flaunting the culture that takes us as irrelevant and pointing the way for the larger society.
Come on, being on the edges, being loosed to dance and be fools for Christ and to flaunt the eccentricities of a society and culture we are no longer responsible to shore up with our support, that's a remarkable calling for the Church 'to be....'
I love and adore the opportunity to hang out on the limits of the society and the edges of the culture and proclaim, not support of the status quo but an outrageous and Godly alternative to the culture and the society and 'the way things have always been done..."
I'm sure I'll ponder this more in the days and weeks ahead, but know this: retiring from full-time parish ministry will give me the opportunity to be even more irrelevant and irreverent than I already am....Praise be to God....
Fear not 'irrelevancy' doesn't mean the church doesn't matter...it means we "matter" in a way that frees us to be 'of God' rather than a part of the Culture....
But it isn't' that bad. In fact, I think being irrelevant to the culture gives the church a wondrous opportunity to play a different role than the church has--in the last 1600 years--normally has played.
For well over a millennium, 'Christendom' meant something. It meant that the Christian Church was 'relevant' to the society and culture of what we somewhat inaccurately call 'the Western World'. All geography depends on where you are standing at the moment. I guarantee you that most people who live in Iraq and Israel places like that, don't think of themselves of living in 'the Middle East'. People who talk about 'the Middle East' are standing somewhere else and looking over there and naming it.
Leaving that strangeness behind, let me share with you a fact: "Christendom" is gone. The church is not 'relevant' to the culture and hasn't been for a good while now.
But that is not bad. I personally think it was a problem for the church to be propping up and legitimizing Western Culture. There was a complicity that I think was unhealthy for the church. So, being 'irrelevant' in what was essentially an compromising and unhealthy connection with the the culture is not a bad thing.
Christianity, in and of itself, is not totally irrelevant in all places. But where it is--oh, take Nigeria where Anglican bishops have done nothing to oppose the criminalization of homosexuality with severe penalties even for those who 'associate' with gay folk--it is not a good idea to my mind. And the 'religious right' plays much the same role in the US. Pat Robertson has publicly stated that the earthquake in Haiti was God's judgment on the 'pact with the devil' that Haiti made 200 years ago by allowing voodoo and Jerry Falwell blamed 9/11 on homosexuals and other sinners. God knows who believes nonsense like that but I'm betting quite a few folks do.
But, for the most part, the so-called 'main-line churches' (and probably the Roman Catholic Church as well) are irrelevant to our American Culture. (How many RC families do you know who have never had a divorce or who all have 6 or 7 kids?--that's the base line of irrelevancy....
None of which is a bad thing. I'm personally pleased that RC couples who are battering each other one way or another no longer feel constrained to stay together because of the the church and that birth control isn't something couples discuss with their priests. (You see, some of the trappings of 'being Relevant' aren't bad things to lose....And that fish on Friday thing was simply a centuries earlier attempt to support Italian fishermen...)
So, being irrelevant as we are...there are remarkable possibilities for the church. Like this--we can be the fool, the jester, the gadfly, the prophet, the shaman, the joker, the wondrous and so needed foil to the nonsense of the culture.
Just one example of how this irrelevant church keeps thinking it is relevant and matters to the culture--the culture, the state of Connecticut, has outrun the Episcopal church by legalizing same-sex marriages. We should have beat them to it as the joker and Trickster of the culture, yet, even though they got there first, our Bishop has yet to even 'catch up'. I still can't sign a marriage license for a gay couple. We should have been out in front, flaunting the culture that takes us as irrelevant and pointing the way for the larger society.
Come on, being on the edges, being loosed to dance and be fools for Christ and to flaunt the eccentricities of a society and culture we are no longer responsible to shore up with our support, that's a remarkable calling for the Church 'to be....'
I love and adore the opportunity to hang out on the limits of the society and the edges of the culture and proclaim, not support of the status quo but an outrageous and Godly alternative to the culture and the society and 'the way things have always been done..."
I'm sure I'll ponder this more in the days and weeks ahead, but know this: retiring from full-time parish ministry will give me the opportunity to be even more irrelevant and irreverent than I already am....Praise be to God....
Fear not 'irrelevancy' doesn't mean the church doesn't matter...it means we "matter" in a way that frees us to be 'of God' rather than a part of the Culture....
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