Words from The Crone

This morning I attended one of those “Community” churches that is out of the mainstream and not denominational. I was accompanied by my spouse, R, and another friend. Being very interested in the emerging/emergent church movement, I thought maybe this was one of those kind of churches. I’m not sure if they are emerging or not, but I know that our experience sparked a lively discussion on the car in the way home!

For a liturgical person like myself, the service was well, not really a service and it was not in what I would consider a church. The setting was more like a high school auditorium with two small crosses on the side, no altar, and the stage was primarily for the band which consisted of four guitarists, a keyboard, a drummer, and a soloist. The format was three songs (projected on two screens) which entailed 20 minutes of standing, the offering and another song, and, finally sitting, a forty-minute talk by the pastor sitting on a high chair at one of those tall cocktail type round tables in the middle of the stage. Since the topic was on healing, which I did like, there was also anointing and healing prayer for those who wanted it when the talk was over. Then a three sentence blessing prayer and a “Thanks for coming folks, see you next week.” No vestments, no processions, no scripture readings, no communion, no creed, not much of what I am used to seeing in a worship service. The good news was that about 400 people attended this service and hopefully were spiritually fed in some way. Most of them were most assuredly under 40.

One of the conversations this service sparked was a comment that the song lyrics and sermon message seemed to be “all about me.” Some call it the “feel good” theology about how God loves us and how Jesus will take care of us and how happy we would be if we only trust in the Lord. My friend was concerned about this “all about me” focus and said it should be all about all of humanity and the good of the entire creation, not just “all about me.” I commented that maybe it was “all about me” for we are all God’s creatures and in order for humanity to be whole in a collective sense perhaps it starts with each one of us. We ended the conversation as it was evident we didn’t completely agree.

As I thought about “all about me” during the rest of the afternoon I thought about the people who were at that service. What brought them there? Why did they stay? Why did they come back? What fed them? Was it really “all about me?” And, then, I thought about our busy hectic lives, our fear of harm, our fear for our children’s safety, our fear of losing our jobs, our caring for elderly parents while trying to raise a family, our fears of losing our homes, the pressure of working, making deadlines and schedules, and much, much more. No wonder it is “all about me.” It truly is “all about me” in the sense that every once in a while it is really good to hear that God does love us and that in our darkest hours God will be there to comfort and care for us and to calm our fears. Maybe those people have no one else to lean on for strength and wholeness and this message feeds them from one week to the next.

Sometimes it is really difficult to see the all inclusive message of the Gospels calling us to be concerned for all of humanity, for taking care of our neighbors, for praying for, or working for, world peace, or universal love, or the end of poverty and hunger, or any of those really big ticket items. Sometimes, we just need some personal love and reassurance. And maybe, in the greater scheme of life, that is okay for one hour once a week. And maybe, if God takes care of me, I’ll have the time, strength, and the motivation to think about others in a bigger more blessed way. I do know for a fact that this particular church has a “Corporate” project each year where, in the name of Jesus, they all come together to do good for the community. One year they paid for and built a Habitat house and supplied some 240 volunteers.

Sometimes, I wish my liturgical church would make me feel whole and loved rather than always focusing on the big picture and what I should be doing to help others. Sometimes that big picture is just too overwhelming. Sometimes, I think it’s okay to be “all about me” one hour once a week.

Well, today was the first Sunday in Lent. The reading was the temptation of Jesus in the desert. It’s all about this really devilish Devil offering Jesus all kinds of power and goodies if only he would bow down and worship him. Hah. Of course, our Jesus is smarter than that and finally sends the Devil packing “until an opportune time,” ends the gospel. Hummph. Opportune time, I think? That clever spirit isn’t about to go away forever, I surmise. But, the opportune time turned out to be closer than I imagined!

We buried the “Alleluias” and said our penitential confession at the beginning of the worship service. We heard about the temptation of the Devil and while Sunday is supposed to be exempt from penitential things, it is rarely observed that way during Lent. I was raised that Sunday was always a celebration of the resurrection. Penitence and lenten prayer, fasting, and meditation was for the other six days. I wonder why we don’t do that anymore?

At any rate, here we were steeped in resisting temptation, giving up sweets, or some other delightful food or fun thing to do. And then came coffee hour. We all trudged up to the parish hall, full of penitence, ready to resist temptation. And, there was the Devil in all the dazzling glory a spirit of evil can muster. It was really hard to resist the coffee hour spread before us.

And what, you ask, was that? Power? Empire? Wealth? Aha, No, none of that. Something much, much, better and harder to resist. It was three tubs of ice cream in a variety of flavors. Ok, so no big deal, only ice cream. Aha. No, more. There were waffle cone dishes to serve this sugary, delightful, icy treat. Yummy, big, waffle cone dishes! Resistance is getting harder now.

No, no, no, no! Got a cup of decaf coffee with cream. Turned my back to the ice cream table, and what to my wondering eyes did I see? More temptation. Temptation in a sparkling array of goodies impossible to ignore. There on the second table were the following accompaniments to the ice cream and waffle dish: Chocolate syrup, caramel syrup, sprinkles, chocolate bits, maraschino cherries, whipped cream, marshmallow cream, rainbow sprinkles, chocolate sprinkles, walnuts, crushed nuts, oh my, I am sure I missed something. It was an ice cream sundae Sunday temptation of unimaginable magnitude. And, almost everyone was indulging and indulging.

My eyes were popping out, my heart was beating faster, my mouth was watering, my stomach was growling, and I struggled even harder to resist. That little devil voice in my head kept saying, Go for it, Go for it! But, aha, I grabbed my cape (I hate coats), my purse, and my spouse, and ran for the door! This coffee hour temptation was simply not fair! But, in the end I too managed to send that Devil packing until…..another opportune time.

I remember in one of my Theology classes a student asked the question, “Does God bestow evil as well as good?”  The professor took a long time to answer while fifty students waited.  Finally, he said, “Yes, I suppose so.”  He then went on to defend his position that if God was omnipotent – all powerful; and if God was well, just “Omni” – all, then yes, God must be the purveyor of good and evil.  It doesn’t seem to make sense.

Another professor expounded for weeks on the nature of evil, but attributed it to the failings of us poor miserable humans who were somehow disconnected from God.  I can understand that position when people treat other people with evil and malice.  After all, we do know (most of us) the difference between behaving well and behaving badly toward each other.  I guess that makes some sense.

 Then I think about Katrina and the tsunami and Haiti and a myriad of other disasters – natural disasters we call them – that wreak havoc and chaos and death on hundreds of thousands of people.  This is not people being evil to others.  In fact, it is during these times that people somehow put down their mantles of prejudice and egocentrism and reach out to help everyone.  No matter what race or creed or religion or anything.  We help each other.  What doesn’t make sense to me is why we don’t do that as a natural way of being humans every day, all the time.

 But getting back to natural disasters.  Some blame God saying it was to wipe out evil people or payback for some evil sin of the people.  Nonsense.  If we believe the Biblical scriptures that say God is Spirit, life, truth, light, love, creation….then maybe it does make sense that these events come from God.  But not in the sense of punishment.  All kinds of people, good, bad, indifferent, young, old, black, white, yellow, Christian, Voodoo, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, pagan, men, women, children – died in these disasters.  God didn’t kill the bad guys and save the good guys.  It just doesn’t make sense.

 What does make sense is that our planet, our universe, all of creation, is a living, moving, dynamic work of the divine, and fair winds and sunny skies don’t always prevail.  We have storms and floods and quakes and hurricanes and fires.  They are part of the nature of God’s creation.  We humans are simply part of the landscape like the animals and the plants that lie in the path of these disasters.  That makes sense.

And still we ask, “Where is God in all this?”  Somehow we humans feel some entitlement that God should protect us from such disasters.  And that doesn’t make sense.  What does make sense is that God is in every single human being that responds to these disasters with love and help and compassion and caring.  God is in the heart and soul and mind of each person who has survived and has the courage and strength and determination to pick up and rebuild and to make the best of life on God’s fragile planet earth.  Thanks be to God, that is where God is!

Every year on this day, and sometimes for a few days before, my mind wanders to the heart of Mary, mother of Jesus.  All through the year we focus on her son, Jesus, and his teachings.  But, for one day a year we focus on this mere slip of a girl, maybe as young as 12 years old, walking or riding a donkey 70 miles or so, nine months pregnant only to give birth in a barn with only a manger for a bassinet.  We don’t really understand the dirt and filth and ugliness of a manger because we don’t call anything by that name anymore.   It isn’t as bad as a rat-infested dumpster, but if you have ever seen those feeding troughs in a cow field or a horse barn, that’s it.  No amenities, no inside plumbing, no heat, no lights, no turned-down bed with a chocolate mint ready for her pleasure.  A manger is a dark, dank, smelling pit of a place, not fit for a freshly born baby.

 By comparison, the comforts of my life, which are modest by many standards, seem like the most luxurious trappings.  But it isn’t the surroundings of Jesus birth that draws my soul to Mary.  It is the fact that I too have given birth and understand what it feels like to be nine months pregnant.  It is uncomfortable at best.  My eldest was born in the middle of a snowstorm in winter.  I try to imagine me riding a donkey or walking in the dark on a rough road to a place where I would give birth, not even knowing if I might have this child in a ditch along the way. 

Any mother who has given birth knows that childbirth is accompanied by pain, lots of it.  Labor pains, because we labor to bring a new life into the world.  Mary must have had labor pains but no one ever talks about it.  Surely, Luke didn’t.  But I think about it.  I think about not being 21 when my firstborn arrived but, 12, or 13, or 14.  I wasn’t even mature enough to care for a child at that age.  They’ll say “Well, girls had babies at a younger age back then.”  Sure, I know that.  But still, so young, so inexperienced, so innocent, this Mary.  I would be scared, maybe Mary was too.  So far from home, no mother to comfort her or wipe her brow.

And exhausted, probably dirty, maybe thirsty, discouraged that no inn had a bed for them.  Perhaps Mary was crying, maybe even sobbing as she told Joseph that the pains were getting worse, closer together.  Closer.  Closer.  Finally, sometime after midnight, in the cold, damp night air, a barn with a manger is all that awaits this Mary, this mere slip of a girl, about to give birth on the streets of Bethlehem.  Maybe the straw on the barn floor was fresh and fragrant.  I certainly hope something was clean.

And then, to the cadence of Mary’s screams this special child is born; the screams of his first breath melding with those of his mother.  Then, then…silence…as the pain subsides and the babe, wrapped in one of Mary’s scarves, begins to suckle her warm, life-giving mother’s milk.  And, I like to think, Mary forgets about the manger and the filth and the exhaustion as she cuddles her newborn son, names him “Jeshua,” and snuggles closer keeping them both warm with God’s almighty, everlasting love.

Yesterday the Episcopal Diocese of Delaware ordained six deacons.  Count them, six!  For some diocese this is not a remarkable event – there were nine of us when I was ordained to the diaconate.  But, this was different and very special because in it’s over two-hundred some odd year history, there has never been a vocational (that is a deacon not transitioning to the priesthood) deacon ordained in this diocese.  Don’t ask me why, I wasn’t there and I don’t know.  All I know is that, as the Diaconate program chair, developer, coordinator, director, pastor, den-mother, event planner, shoulder-to-cry on, you name it……I was ecstatic and floating on the same high clouds as the diaconate candidates cum Deacons!

 Even church seemed different for me today – it was actually joyful.  It was so joyful that at the dismissal the congregation said three Alleluias not two.  The day at home seemed different too.  It was cold and wintry outside, but inside it was warm and calm and so, so peaceful.  I guess you could say I was “basking” in the afterglow of the spiritual presence of the event.  Still am! I hope those six Deacons are too.  Thanks be to God!

It has been over a year since I left active parish ministry and I have been a pilgrim on a journey to find a “joyful” worship experience.  Well, not just any joyful experience, but one where the theology is not way off to the right or the left.  A joyful worship experience where I will have my abundance and joy at being a Christian confirmed and not be continually reminded that I am a sinner or that there is suffering in the world.  I remind myself that I am a sinner the other six days of the week and suffering is everywhere I turn.  I am seeking a joyful worship time when the word “Celebrate” is recognized and taken seriously.

 And, speaking of seriously.  It seems to me that somewhere in the grand scheme of gathering on Sunday to give thanks and praise the Lord, we thought it had to be done without joy.  We worship somberly, without cracking a smile, down on our knees, heads bent, whispering, not singing, mumbling responses.  I keep thinking of that Psalm that says something like “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.”  Joyful.  Noise.  Or that Psalm that speaks to me when it says “Praise his Name in the dance; let them sing praise to him with timbrel and harp.”  Or, what about “Praise him with the blast of the ram’s horn.”  This just doesn’t sound like a worship experience that resembles a funeral or a “dirge sing.”  Even when they sing “Joyful, joyful we adore thee….” it slows down and well, falls flat.  No energy, no spirit.

 Way back in the early 1980’s I remember a parish priest telling the congregation that they should be coming up for Eucharist with a smile on their face.  That they should be singing with joy, enthusiasm, and happiness.  He reminded us that we should be happy being a Christian and that our Sunday celebration should be just that, a celebration full of joy.  It worked for a while, but before long we were back to our old, gloomy selves.  And, the smaller the congregation, the worse it is.  So, so sad when we should be spirited and invigorated.

And, when the officiating clergy has a low-key, dour presentation it makes it difficult for those worshiping to be up and lively.  Further, when the communion prayers are offered by a priest delivering it in a monotone it is fatal.  Organists too can lead a congregation down a path of less than joyful singing.  Too often they try to keep pace with the congregation rather than leading the congregational singing.  Consequently, the hymns get slower and sl-ow-er and s-l-o-w-e-r until one barely recognizes the tune.  It is amazing how un-amazing “Amazing Grace” can be, depending on how it is played and sung.

Enough said.  My journey continues for “Joyful.”  In my heart, I know it is out there somewhere, even if I have to do it myself – a Sunday morning full of joy.  We should all remember that there is a time to be joyful, a time to remember suffering and sin, and a time for service to others, but not necessarily together at the same time.

The first time I had a lovely electronic voice directing me was in my brand new 1986 Maxima sedan.  Her voice was calming and assuring.  She told me several very useful things like, “buckle your seatbelt, please,” and “a door is open.”  She also told me when lights were left on or the brakes were set (anyone remember setting the brakes in a car??).  We didn’t have any voices in our next car, a Chrysler mini-van, only annoying lights, loud dinging tones, and cars that wouldn’t start if you ignored those error messages.  I missed my polite lady.

And then came the advent of GPS in my car.  My polite lady was back.  I named her “Gypsy” because we wandered all over the planet together and she keeps me right on track!  Do you remember that ad a few years back when a guy in a car made a right hand turn right through the plate glass window of a store because his GPS had said “Turn right………..in 50 feet?”  Well, I am happy to say they have corrected that problem.  My Gypsy says, “In 50 feet turn right” so I know it is not immediate.  My new Gypsy Nuvi now also tells me the name of the street where I should turn right and bless her little heart, yesterday she even let me know that I was not on the road.  Well, of course I wasn’t, I was in the middle of the self-storage unit area.  Furthermore, my Gypsy shows me roads and road names, water, and watering places, hospitals, shopping, car repair service and a host of places I never even knew existed.  When traveling in a metro area she will even give me traffic alerts and show me how to detour around them.  She is simply the best.  I feel safe and secure with her guiding me as we wander together.

I often wish that my Christian life could be so ordered and so directed.  I wish the Bible would say things to me like, “and this passage means that you should do…fill in the blank,” or maybe “the kingdom of God is within you means…fill in the blank.”  But alas it doesn’t and so I am often left to wonder things like “What would Jesus do?” or “What did Jesus mean?”  And when I ponder these things I also wonder if maybe what I’ve discerned is wrong?  It can be so confusing from time to time.  If only I had a Bible Gypsy!

And then I recall my favorite Psalm 62 verse 1 – “For God alone my soul in silence waits; from God comes my salvation.”  In silence my answers will come.  Silence is hard for me.  And what if God won’t let me in on the secrets of the universe or the words of the Gospel?  Or, heaven forbid, I don’t understand the message?  I could wander around in spiritual ignorance forever.  It is at these times that I hear my spiritual Gypsy saying, “Trust in God…in 50 feet turn right!”  AMEN!

From time to time I ponder what this world would look like if I were God.  I have even toyed with some thoughts on Facebook, but still, I ponder.  Of course, if I were God there would be no evil, no war, no abuse, no poverty, boundless love, and on and on with all the good stuff.  That is something I believe that we would all like to see on this fragile planet.  But, what I think about are the little things.  Those nitty, gritty, nasty little things that get in the way of a perfect moment or a perfect day.  Like, why does my dog always have to poop all over himself every time I take him someplace special (that is, not to the vet or the groomer)?  So, here are a few things I would change if….I…were….God:

• No one would ever have a bad hair day.
• It would never rain on a picnic or a parade.
• Telemarketers would never call at dinner time.
• Mice would stay outside.
• Everyone’s breath would always be clean and fresh.
• Spaghetti would never dribble down on a white shirt, blouse, or dress.
• All teen-ager’s rooms would be neat and clean.
• A pencil and paper would always be handy when you needed it.
• No one would ever misplace their keys or their eye-glasses.
• Weeds would only grow where they were wanted.

Well, I could go on and on and on, but I think I’ll save some for another blog.  For now I will just go on believing in miracles, loving life, laughing much, living well, and trusting that my friend, Jesus, will keep me and my family healthy, happy, and able to give what we can to make this a better world.