I got back yesterday from a Making a Difference Workshop. Those workshops are sponsored by The Mastery Foundation. I was a participant in one in, I think, 1987 (though linear time confounds me). Anyway, I went to it after burning out, like crash and burn to third degree burns, as an Episcopal priest. I went to get my head around renouncing my priestly vows and moving on with my life. And what occurred was that I got my priesthood back, all shiny and new, transformed into something that would, from that time until now and as long as I live, give me joy and wonder and make me better at it than I ever thought I could be.
So I hung around the workshop, being an assistant and making people crazy since there was lots about the workshop that made me crazy. And somewhere in there, I became a leader-in-training and then a leader and now, due to attrition and death, I am probably the Senior Leader of the workshops. I've led more than I can remember (given my linear time problem) in places like Seattle and DC and South Bend and Minnesota and Ireland (half a dozen times) and Connecticut and, this week, in Queens. I can't be accurate but I think I must be around 35 workshops by now (it could be 25 or 45 since I'm so lost in time!)
Here's something you need to know: (I can't produce the workshop for you in print, but I can say this) it begins, after some introductory stuff, with the participants introducing themselves so they can connect and become a community. And it ends with them re-introducing themselves as their declaration of 'who they are in the matter of their ministry. The first time they introduce themselves I am filled with humility and wonder and amazement by 'who they are' and how powerful and important and vital they are and how much difference they make in the world.
The wonder and, mostly, the humility, consumes me over the three days I lead the workshop. And when they re-introduce themselves at the end, given what they've experienced and how they've found transformation, I have goose bumps and tears and can hardly breathe from realizing the honor and grace that I have experienced just being in their presence for those three days.
This one turned me inside out and upside down with joy and humility and wonder. What a privilege and honor it was to be with those 25 people and have a hand, in some way, in the transformation of their lives and ministries.
I've not been good at enrolling people in the workshop. I was hesitant to suggest I had and knew something someone else might long for or lean into or need.
But now I'm ready to share the experience in a way that might enliven and engage and make others curious to know how they might be a part of it.
Every time I lead a Making a Difference workshop, I am made new. And, I believe, those who are participants experience a 'newness' as well.
I want to make that happen for as many people as I can for as long as I live.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Home ain't what it used to be....
I grew up in McDowell County, West Virginia. It was a great place to grow up--wild and untamable mountains to roam. Everyone knew everyone. The schools were full of dedicated teachers. The biggest crime was stealing copper wire from the coal mines storage area. I was safe and looked after by the whole community of Anawalt--Black and White. People were poor but almost no people were rich so the disparity wasn't shocking. I feel lucky and blessed to call McDowell County (we called it 'the free state of McDowell!')
But things have changed since those safe and secure and happy days.
Witness the editorial below from the Charleston Gazette, the most significant newspaper in the state:
May 8, 2013
McDowell: Abandoned colony
Advertiser
McDowell County is a supreme example. In 1950 it had 100,000 people -- but today it has 22,000. An Associated Press report said:
"As the mines that produced $1 billion in coal grew quieter, so did the cash registers. Infrastructure became a luxury. Unemployment rushed in. Alcohol followed. Drugs weren't far behind."
Now McDowell has America's worst rate of painkiller overdose deaths -- averaging 12 per month. One-tenth of teen girls have babies, the state's worst rate.
"Seventy-two percent of [public school] students live in a home where neither parent is working," the AP analysis said. "About 46 percent of students live in a home without a biological parent; many of them are in jail for drugs.... Many of the students have never sat in a dentist's chair to have their teeth cleaned. There is no central water system, so fluoride is not readily available.... Twenty-two percent of the adult population in the county lacks basic literacy skills.... Some children come to school and they've never held a book."
Over the decades, various "war on poverty" crusades attempted to break McDowell's cycle of despair, with little success. Now the American Federation of Teachers is spearheading a mammoth new effort called Reconnecting McDowell. It has 120 partner agencies, groups and businesses.
This all-out effort will use McDowell schools as community betterment centers where adults learn to read, children get health care, drug counseling occurs, food is provided, job training and computer skills are spotlighted, etc.
Earnest commitment by Reconnecting McDowell helped induce the state Board of Education on Wednesday to give McDowell control of its county school system again, after the failed schools spent 12 years under state seizure.
McDowell's people deserve better lives. West Virginia is watching and hoping that the major new drive will begin to begin to resuscitate the county left helpless after coal faded.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
the most important little things....
I spent an hour or so today with a woman in her 90's who had a mastectomy on Monday and is already home and fine.
We talked about how she was 'fine' and her knitting and birds and cats and my daughter's rescuing a parakeet on the streets of Manhattan, and wild birds and then her daughter, who is older than me, came by to check on us and we talked about cancer and the new ownership of the market in the little town where they live and about the churches of the Cluster and priests old and new and the fact that her great-great-granddaughter, age 2, was coming to visit this weekend.
Well, I just don't know how people who have big important things cope with it all. And I know how wondrously privileged I am to be able to talk about little things with sweet and wonderful and normal people.
Being a priest, I once told someone, was 'walking around and talking and listening a lot'. Not a bad job description now that I ponder it.
So, I get to share 'the most important little things' with people and have for 37 years now. We talk about cancer and fear and the cardinal in the bird feeder outside her window and cow birds and her knitting (which to me is on the level of nuclear physics and brain surgery--but is a little thing to her) and about how her cat named 'Peanut Butter' was interested in me this time rather than running to the bedroom and hiding and how rare days in June can truly be.
What I've learned over all those years talking to thousands of people about little things is how important it is to talk about little things and honor them and find wonder and miracle in them and just sit and talk or sit and not talk with unique, but very ordinary people.
I gave her communion and anointed her and prayed with her and drove home wondering what to have for lunch and pondering how humbled and honored I am to spend my life talking about those most important little things with people who fill my heart with joy and teach me how truly marvelous human beings are.
Not a bad way to spend a late morning altogether....
We talked about how she was 'fine' and her knitting and birds and cats and my daughter's rescuing a parakeet on the streets of Manhattan, and wild birds and then her daughter, who is older than me, came by to check on us and we talked about cancer and the new ownership of the market in the little town where they live and about the churches of the Cluster and priests old and new and the fact that her great-great-granddaughter, age 2, was coming to visit this weekend.
Well, I just don't know how people who have big important things cope with it all. And I know how wondrously privileged I am to be able to talk about little things with sweet and wonderful and normal people.
Being a priest, I once told someone, was 'walking around and talking and listening a lot'. Not a bad job description now that I ponder it.
So, I get to share 'the most important little things' with people and have for 37 years now. We talk about cancer and fear and the cardinal in the bird feeder outside her window and cow birds and her knitting (which to me is on the level of nuclear physics and brain surgery--but is a little thing to her) and about how her cat named 'Peanut Butter' was interested in me this time rather than running to the bedroom and hiding and how rare days in June can truly be.
What I've learned over all those years talking to thousands of people about little things is how important it is to talk about little things and honor them and find wonder and miracle in them and just sit and talk or sit and not talk with unique, but very ordinary people.
I gave her communion and anointed her and prayed with her and drove home wondering what to have for lunch and pondering how humbled and honored I am to spend my life talking about those most important little things with people who fill my heart with joy and teach me how truly marvelous human beings are.
Not a bad way to spend a late morning altogether....
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Sleeping atitudes
I watched Maggie, the parakeet sleep for a long time the other day. She had one leg tangled up in one of her bells and stood on the other foot. Her head leaned against the bell. Looked pretty uncomfortable to me but it seemed to work for her. As far as I can tell, birds always sleep standing up. The only time I've seen birds lying down is when they are dead. The Big Sleep.
Bela, the dog, sleeps mostly on one side or the other with his legs straight out. But at night, when it's cool, he climbs into the window at the head of our bed and stretches out on this stomach. From time to time I wake up and find him at the foot of the bed, laying on his back with his back legs down and his front legs folded on his chest.
Lukie the cat has the most variety in sleeping attitudes. I've often seen him on his back like Bela at the foot of the bed. He's so cute like that. But he sleeps stretched out on his stomach too--which makes him look really long since his tail is almost the length of his body. Occasionally I'll find him on one side or the other but not much. My favorite way Luke sleeps in tightly rolled in a ball with his tail wrapped around himself so you can't tell where he begins or ends unless an ear is sticking out.
I normally sleep on my right side with my right arm under the two pillows I use. But more and more these days I find myself sleeping on my left side, almost on my back but with my left cheek on the pillows..
Since I haven't asked her if I could tell you, we'll let Bern's sleeping positions remain a mystery. Suffice it to say, she has almost as many sleeping poses as Luke but not the rolled in a ball thing....
Before I found out I have sleep apnea, I had more sleeping positions, most of them sitting upright, sometimes stopped at a red light in my car. Not a smart attitude for sleep....
I don't know if your posture in sleep tells anything about you or not. I could probably Google it and find 270,000 places that would tell me about that. But I won't, I don't think. I just find it interesting.
Tegan, our grand-daughter, age 3, can go to sleep in almost any position and 'all at once'. I can almost remember that, but I can't do it anymore. Young children, it seems to me, define the term "falling asleep"--it's just like 'falling down': one minute you're upright the next moment you're on your face. Kids really "fall" asleep. Just like that.
I've heard as you age you find sleep harder and harder to find. I'm not that old yet. Eight hours is my minimum. And since I'm mostly retired, I can do that. And I do love to sleep. That's my final attitude about sleep. I love it. And the dreams...oh, my dreams....
Bela, the dog, sleeps mostly on one side or the other with his legs straight out. But at night, when it's cool, he climbs into the window at the head of our bed and stretches out on this stomach. From time to time I wake up and find him at the foot of the bed, laying on his back with his back legs down and his front legs folded on his chest.
Lukie the cat has the most variety in sleeping attitudes. I've often seen him on his back like Bela at the foot of the bed. He's so cute like that. But he sleeps stretched out on his stomach too--which makes him look really long since his tail is almost the length of his body. Occasionally I'll find him on one side or the other but not much. My favorite way Luke sleeps in tightly rolled in a ball with his tail wrapped around himself so you can't tell where he begins or ends unless an ear is sticking out.
I normally sleep on my right side with my right arm under the two pillows I use. But more and more these days I find myself sleeping on my left side, almost on my back but with my left cheek on the pillows..
Since I haven't asked her if I could tell you, we'll let Bern's sleeping positions remain a mystery. Suffice it to say, she has almost as many sleeping poses as Luke but not the rolled in a ball thing....
Before I found out I have sleep apnea, I had more sleeping positions, most of them sitting upright, sometimes stopped at a red light in my car. Not a smart attitude for sleep....
I don't know if your posture in sleep tells anything about you or not. I could probably Google it and find 270,000 places that would tell me about that. But I won't, I don't think. I just find it interesting.
Tegan, our grand-daughter, age 3, can go to sleep in almost any position and 'all at once'. I can almost remember that, but I can't do it anymore. Young children, it seems to me, define the term "falling asleep"--it's just like 'falling down': one minute you're upright the next moment you're on your face. Kids really "fall" asleep. Just like that.
I've heard as you age you find sleep harder and harder to find. I'm not that old yet. Eight hours is my minimum. And since I'm mostly retired, I can do that. And I do love to sleep. That's my final attitude about sleep. I love it. And the dreams...oh, my dreams....
Saturday, June 15, 2013
HAIR
One thing I've never worried about is hair. I've always had a lot of it, enough to make my balding friends resent me for it.
And I've worn it long for decades--since the 60's, my hair has often been shoulder length and because it's very wavy, it has looked amazing--so full and so out of control.
Even today, an aging white man, my hair is several inches below my ears on the sides and below my collar--if I wore shirts with collars, which I don't.
The only two things that have changed is that my hair, which used to be dark, dark brown, is now white and gray and I seem to be going bald right above my nose in the middle of a muddle of hair.
I have been losing hair there--not on top where Male Pattern Balding happens, or through receding hairline (my hairline, as always, is pretty much straight across).
But when I brush my hair I notice spots of scalp in the area right in the front middle of my hair. I imagine it could eventually be like a reverse 'Mohawk' do, with hair everywhere except down the middle of my head.
I'm not so much concerned--I have lots of hair and can grow it long enough that no one would notice unless they're looking....which, it now occurs to me, they may be if they read this blog.....
So it goes.
And I've worn it long for decades--since the 60's, my hair has often been shoulder length and because it's very wavy, it has looked amazing--so full and so out of control.
Even today, an aging white man, my hair is several inches below my ears on the sides and below my collar--if I wore shirts with collars, which I don't.
The only two things that have changed is that my hair, which used to be dark, dark brown, is now white and gray and I seem to be going bald right above my nose in the middle of a muddle of hair.
I have been losing hair there--not on top where Male Pattern Balding happens, or through receding hairline (my hairline, as always, is pretty much straight across).
But when I brush my hair I notice spots of scalp in the area right in the front middle of my hair. I imagine it could eventually be like a reverse 'Mohawk' do, with hair everywhere except down the middle of my head.
I'm not so much concerned--I have lots of hair and can grow it long enough that no one would notice unless they're looking....which, it now occurs to me, they may be if they read this blog.....
So it goes.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Going to Baltimore
We're going to Baltimore tomorrow morning to be with those mischievous and wondrous three granddaughters of ours. Their school is out and they are going to the beach in Delaware with another family next week. But this week they are ours as their lawyer mom and dad work more hours than it is healthy to work.
Oh, what mischief we'll get into with them and what tales will tell them. I'm going to teach them how to count money and play checkers. Bern will entertain them much more than me but I will cook all week and feed them.
I also hope to see two special people while we're there: Sister Jeremy Daigler (who our daughter is named after) and my favorite cousin, Mejol and perhaps her two kids and two grandkids.
Jeremy and I, along with a Catholic priest named Roger (I think) drove each weekday during the summer of 1974 to a mental hospital in Maryland where we did what's called CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). I'd drive from Alexandria each morning and pick up the two of them in DC and then head north. We had a great supervisor, Don Fergus, who was from New Zealand and we learned how to be with crazy people--something very valuable in parish ministry.
Jeremy is a Sister of Mercy and always believed (back then) that women would be ordained in the Roman Catholic Church in her life-time. One thing I want to ask her, now that we're in our 60's, is if she still believes that.
We worked at a huge mental hospital with hundreds of patients, probably closed now since we some where along the line decided to let crazy people be homeless and even more crazy out in the world. One of the patients called Jeremy "Germany" so Roger and I did too. Sister Germany was part of one of the most intense 3 months of my life and I haven't seen her since. I really look forward to that.
I was the youngest of 15 first cousins on my mothers side of the family and the youngest, by far, of 3 cousins on my father's side of the family. And Mejol was the one who mattered.
My parents had decided they weren't going to have children though they wanted them and in a way had adopted Mejol as a companion and surrogate daughter before I was born. Mejol went with us on vacations. We always went to the Smokey Mountains for vacation. Why in hell would people who lived in the mountains go to 'the mountains' for vacation? But we did. Gattlinsburg, TN and Cherokee, NC were where we went and most times Mejol went with us.
Mejol taught me how to be a human being in many ways. One when I was 13 or so, she shut me up in her room with a Bob Dylan album and a copy of Catcher in the Rye and wouldn't let me out until I'd finished both. That was, I believe, the day I grew up.
Also, when I graduated from High School I drove my Aunt Georgia, Mejol's mom and my mother's younger sister, to New Orleans, where Mejol was living. Or maybe we took the train. I don't remember but Aunt Georgie and I traveled a lot together. Anyway, though people who know me now can't believe it, I graduated from high school without ever tasting alcohol. I was the consummate 'good boy' and quite a prude in high school. So Mejol took me down to Bourbon Street and got me stinking drunk in Al Hurt's club.
I've always liked Dixieland and alcohol since then.
Mejol, in many ways, taught the 'too good kid' how to be a bit naughty.
And I've thanked her for it ever since.
So, what a perfect week it could be---Morgan, Emma, Tegan, Josh, Cathy, Jeremy and Mejol!
Though we have to leave Bela in the kennel and Luke and birdy Maggy in the care of Johanna, the high school Junior from next door, it should be wondrous.....
(Johanna, it seems to me, is the kind of 'good girl' that is like the 'good boy' I was. I hope she has an older first cousin to teach her 'naughty'....)
So, I might not blog much next week, if at all. But come back for tales of Baltimore.....
Oh, what mischief we'll get into with them and what tales will tell them. I'm going to teach them how to count money and play checkers. Bern will entertain them much more than me but I will cook all week and feed them.
I also hope to see two special people while we're there: Sister Jeremy Daigler (who our daughter is named after) and my favorite cousin, Mejol and perhaps her two kids and two grandkids.
Jeremy and I, along with a Catholic priest named Roger (I think) drove each weekday during the summer of 1974 to a mental hospital in Maryland where we did what's called CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). I'd drive from Alexandria each morning and pick up the two of them in DC and then head north. We had a great supervisor, Don Fergus, who was from New Zealand and we learned how to be with crazy people--something very valuable in parish ministry.
Jeremy is a Sister of Mercy and always believed (back then) that women would be ordained in the Roman Catholic Church in her life-time. One thing I want to ask her, now that we're in our 60's, is if she still believes that.
We worked at a huge mental hospital with hundreds of patients, probably closed now since we some where along the line decided to let crazy people be homeless and even more crazy out in the world. One of the patients called Jeremy "Germany" so Roger and I did too. Sister Germany was part of one of the most intense 3 months of my life and I haven't seen her since. I really look forward to that.
I was the youngest of 15 first cousins on my mothers side of the family and the youngest, by far, of 3 cousins on my father's side of the family. And Mejol was the one who mattered.
My parents had decided they weren't going to have children though they wanted them and in a way had adopted Mejol as a companion and surrogate daughter before I was born. Mejol went with us on vacations. We always went to the Smokey Mountains for vacation. Why in hell would people who lived in the mountains go to 'the mountains' for vacation? But we did. Gattlinsburg, TN and Cherokee, NC were where we went and most times Mejol went with us.
Mejol taught me how to be a human being in many ways. One when I was 13 or so, she shut me up in her room with a Bob Dylan album and a copy of Catcher in the Rye and wouldn't let me out until I'd finished both. That was, I believe, the day I grew up.
Also, when I graduated from High School I drove my Aunt Georgia, Mejol's mom and my mother's younger sister, to New Orleans, where Mejol was living. Or maybe we took the train. I don't remember but Aunt Georgie and I traveled a lot together. Anyway, though people who know me now can't believe it, I graduated from high school without ever tasting alcohol. I was the consummate 'good boy' and quite a prude in high school. So Mejol took me down to Bourbon Street and got me stinking drunk in Al Hurt's club.
I've always liked Dixieland and alcohol since then.
Mejol, in many ways, taught the 'too good kid' how to be a bit naughty.
And I've thanked her for it ever since.
So, what a perfect week it could be---Morgan, Emma, Tegan, Josh, Cathy, Jeremy and Mejol!
Though we have to leave Bela in the kennel and Luke and birdy Maggy in the care of Johanna, the high school Junior from next door, it should be wondrous.....
(Johanna, it seems to me, is the kind of 'good girl' that is like the 'good boy' I was. I hope she has an older first cousin to teach her 'naughty'....)
So, I might not blog much next week, if at all. But come back for tales of Baltimore.....
Saturday, June 8, 2013
What you can't allow yourself to imagine....
Today I officiated at the funeral and burial of young man--just 27--who was killed in a motorcycle accident.
Here is what I want you to know, if you have children, you cannot allow yourself to imagine what that young man's parents are going though, will go through, can never forget.
My 37 years as a priest tells me this as powerfully as it tells me anything: you cannot allow yourself to imagine what it means to lose a child to death.
I have two children, both older than Nelson, who I helped bury today. And I am hard-wired not to be able to imagine what it would be like if either Mimi or Josh died. My mind and soul shuts down before I can begin to imagine that in any way.
In my 37 years as a priest one thing I have learned, over and over, too many times, is that there is nothing so full of pain and cognitive dissonance as the death of a child of yours.
Nothing to be said. Nothing to do--other than just be there as a non-anxious presence when people go through what you can't allow yourself to imagine.
If you pray, pray for Nelson and Jordie and their daughter Jen as they go through what you and I cannot allow ourselves to imagine.
No one, who has not lost a child to death, has any idea whatsoever what they are feeling or what this all means (or doesn't mean, since 'meaning' doesn't even apply.
Don't even try to imagine what it feels like to lose a child. That way lies madness.
But mourn with Nelson and Jordie. Mourning is what is appropriate.
And probably all we can do....Probably all we can do.....
Here is what I want you to know, if you have children, you cannot allow yourself to imagine what that young man's parents are going though, will go through, can never forget.
My 37 years as a priest tells me this as powerfully as it tells me anything: you cannot allow yourself to imagine what it means to lose a child to death.
I have two children, both older than Nelson, who I helped bury today. And I am hard-wired not to be able to imagine what it would be like if either Mimi or Josh died. My mind and soul shuts down before I can begin to imagine that in any way.
In my 37 years as a priest one thing I have learned, over and over, too many times, is that there is nothing so full of pain and cognitive dissonance as the death of a child of yours.
Nothing to be said. Nothing to do--other than just be there as a non-anxious presence when people go through what you can't allow yourself to imagine.
If you pray, pray for Nelson and Jordie and their daughter Jen as they go through what you and I cannot allow ourselves to imagine.
No one, who has not lost a child to death, has any idea whatsoever what they are feeling or what this all means (or doesn't mean, since 'meaning' doesn't even apply.
Don't even try to imagine what it feels like to lose a child. That way lies madness.
But mourn with Nelson and Jordie. Mourning is what is appropriate.
And probably all we can do....Probably all we can do.....
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