Ever since I agreed to serve the little Pacific UU Fellowship by doing pastoral care as needed plus a sermon every month or so, for a small honorarium, I've been puzzling about what we should call this kind of ministry.
It's not really consulting ministry, it's not exactly part-time (or rather, it is extremely part-time and not anywhere near equivalent to what a quarter-time minister would do), I certainly won't ask for the kind of contract I've had in other, truly part-time/consulting ministries, and so there is a dearth of names for the ministry I'm offering.
As I've thought about what I'm really offering to this small bunch of committed folks, I realized that perhaps the greatest thing I'm doing is being present. I live here. I don't visit for a long weekend into which multiple meetings and classes and services must get crammed. If a pastoral emergency arises, I don't have to drive for hours to see to it; if there is a congregational event, koffee klatch, crisis, I'm present, I'm a resident of the community.
Because I'm a longtime "church-lady" type (thank you, Sarah Schurr for that name), I go to church every Sunday. I'm present at the door saying hi to folks as they arrive, I'm there during coffee hour and the monthly potluck, I bring refreshments when it's my turn, I pledge, I sing with the PUUF "Fab Five". I'm present.
One of the things I learned at a visceral level during seminary, particularly during my Clinical Pastoral Education unit and my internship, is that my presence (probably ought to use a capital P) is my most valuable contribution. Even if I can only hold a hand, even if the person is still going to feel sick, sad, deeply pained, even if I can't change a thing, my presence is valuable.
So it occurred to me to borrow from the Arts community, which uses the term "in residence" to describe visiting artists, writers, actors, and musicians; I will be PUUF's Minister in Residence. For as long as I can.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
What comes around goes around...
and I got caught in that whirlpool a week or so ago. I cringed as I heard from my favorite family member how I had hurt him awhile back by criticizing him at a hard time in his life. I'd spoken without thinking: oh, you shouldn't have done that! I'd said, not remembering how it had felt to me decades ago when my own mother was critical of me over religious issues.
I was the family apostate when I was younger. I still am, I guess, as I have jettisoned much of my childhood faith while others have stayed staunchly traditional in their religious beliefs. But I deeply resented my mother's efforts to tell me I was wrong and I avoided communication with her on all but the most superficial level for a long time.
If she was going to criticize, I was going to withdraw. I'd avoid going to visit, I'd stop sharing the joys in my life, I'd throw away the "helpful" articles and disregard all her advice. So there, Mom! Take that!
My folks mostly avoided criticizing me, but I knew they worried about my behavior---my love life, my religion, the way we were raising our child. When my dad died, my mom lost the anchor that had kept her from being cautious with her words. And when she had recovered a bit from her grief, she turned her sights on me.
I knew she was doing it out of her love for me, but I couldn't tolerate the envelopes thick with clippings from various religious magazines, the leading questions about what I believed, the frequent mention of the prayers she sent heavenward in hopes that I would be repentant and return to the fold.
Eventually my sister told her to quit. "It's not helping, Mom" she said bluntly. "You'll just drive her away." And my mom, to her credit, quit bugging me.
Before she died, my mother and I had reached equilibrium and could share our lives on a much better level, but I had never had the courage to discuss with her what had made me so angry with her.
I must have done something right with my favorite person, as he did have the courage to tell me what I'd done to hurt him. I couldn't hear it at first; it took me awhile to remember and acknowledge what I'd done. But he persisted and I'm grateful.
During the period of reflection which followed our conversation, I came to realize something very important: I am no longer responsible for the choices he makes. That's not my job. That's his job and he does it pretty well. I may not like all his choices, but that's okay. I don't have to like them all. But I do have to let go of any sense of responsibility for them. He can handle them just fine and if he ever wants to ask what I think, I know he will do that. When and if he does, I will listen and offer my thoughts. But criticism is only hurtful. I just hope I can always remember that!
I was the family apostate when I was younger. I still am, I guess, as I have jettisoned much of my childhood faith while others have stayed staunchly traditional in their religious beliefs. But I deeply resented my mother's efforts to tell me I was wrong and I avoided communication with her on all but the most superficial level for a long time.
If she was going to criticize, I was going to withdraw. I'd avoid going to visit, I'd stop sharing the joys in my life, I'd throw away the "helpful" articles and disregard all her advice. So there, Mom! Take that!
My folks mostly avoided criticizing me, but I knew they worried about my behavior---my love life, my religion, the way we were raising our child. When my dad died, my mom lost the anchor that had kept her from being cautious with her words. And when she had recovered a bit from her grief, she turned her sights on me.
I knew she was doing it out of her love for me, but I couldn't tolerate the envelopes thick with clippings from various religious magazines, the leading questions about what I believed, the frequent mention of the prayers she sent heavenward in hopes that I would be repentant and return to the fold.
Eventually my sister told her to quit. "It's not helping, Mom" she said bluntly. "You'll just drive her away." And my mom, to her credit, quit bugging me.
Before she died, my mother and I had reached equilibrium and could share our lives on a much better level, but I had never had the courage to discuss with her what had made me so angry with her.
I must have done something right with my favorite person, as he did have the courage to tell me what I'd done to hurt him. I couldn't hear it at first; it took me awhile to remember and acknowledge what I'd done. But he persisted and I'm grateful.
During the period of reflection which followed our conversation, I came to realize something very important: I am no longer responsible for the choices he makes. That's not my job. That's his job and he does it pretty well. I may not like all his choices, but that's okay. I don't have to like them all. But I do have to let go of any sense of responsibility for them. He can handle them just fine and if he ever wants to ask what I think, I know he will do that. When and if he does, I will listen and offer my thoughts. But criticism is only hurtful. I just hope I can always remember that!
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Where is my chalice? and the candle? and the...
other accoutrements of ministry? I unearthed my tattered copy of the grey hymnal and its mates, the teal one and the explanatory one, but I couldn't find the tallow-bedecked porta-chalice which I always use at "away" teaching gigs. "Away" means, of course, not at my home congregation, not using my home congregation's chalice and other worship aids.
But now the Pacific UU Fellowship IS my home congregation and its chalice and candles are upstairs in the sanctuary and awkward to carry down to the fellowship hall, where I will be teaching UU 101 for the first time to this congregation. I hadn't expected to get back into ministry activities so soon, but when six or seven new members showed up and were welcomed in without knowing a lick about Unitarian Universalist history, theology, or anything else, I volunteered to teach the class. And that's today.
I have no idea what has happened to my own set of worship aids, but I suspect that when I packed up for my move last summer, they either were donated to the Whidbey folks or stored so deeply that they just haven't surfaced yet. I wasn't thinking clearly about what I might need in the future. I think I assumed that I would never need them again and so it didn't matter where I left them. Folly!
I couldn't even find my packet of UU101 materials and have had to recreate them from a folder on my laptop which still existed. Luckily, dear Mavis at UUCWI had made jpgs of some of them, so I have a copy of each document we used there. Whew! Thank you, Mavis!
We have ten people signed up for this UU 101 session and I just hope we have enough chili to feed everyone plus any visitor who decides to stay this afternoon. The session will be held right after the worship service, starting with lunch and the sharing of spiritual journeys before we get into the nuts and bolts part of the session.
I am looking forward very much to teaching this class, but it makes me very aware of the danger of stepping on toes when doing things differently from how they've always been done. Fortunately, so far I have managed to walk the tightrope between tradition and innovation and haven't fallen off onto some sacred cow. We'll see how today goes.
The contrast between this tiny fellowship of 30 members and my former congregation of 100+ members is dramatic, but that ancient bugaboo of all institutions remains: a handful of people do all the work.
But now the Pacific UU Fellowship IS my home congregation and its chalice and candles are upstairs in the sanctuary and awkward to carry down to the fellowship hall, where I will be teaching UU 101 for the first time to this congregation. I hadn't expected to get back into ministry activities so soon, but when six or seven new members showed up and were welcomed in without knowing a lick about Unitarian Universalist history, theology, or anything else, I volunteered to teach the class. And that's today.
I have no idea what has happened to my own set of worship aids, but I suspect that when I packed up for my move last summer, they either were donated to the Whidbey folks or stored so deeply that they just haven't surfaced yet. I wasn't thinking clearly about what I might need in the future. I think I assumed that I would never need them again and so it didn't matter where I left them. Folly!
I couldn't even find my packet of UU101 materials and have had to recreate them from a folder on my laptop which still existed. Luckily, dear Mavis at UUCWI had made jpgs of some of them, so I have a copy of each document we used there. Whew! Thank you, Mavis!
We have ten people signed up for this UU 101 session and I just hope we have enough chili to feed everyone plus any visitor who decides to stay this afternoon. The session will be held right after the worship service, starting with lunch and the sharing of spiritual journeys before we get into the nuts and bolts part of the session.
I am looking forward very much to teaching this class, but it makes me very aware of the danger of stepping on toes when doing things differently from how they've always been done. Fortunately, so far I have managed to walk the tightrope between tradition and innovation and haven't fallen off onto some sacred cow. We'll see how today goes.
The contrast between this tiny fellowship of 30 members and my former congregation of 100+ members is dramatic, but that ancient bugaboo of all institutions remains: a handful of people do all the work.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
A thrilling moment in time...
Yesterday's momentous and historic marriage of my friends Dave Bieniek and Ervin Knezek, at Freeland's Trinity Lutheran Church by the Rev. Jim Lindus, brought back to me one of the most exciting and meaningful times of the whole Marriage Equality campaign, the Town Hall meeting with Senator Mary Margaret Haugen of District 10, who had come to Whidbey to listen to her constituents about the issues that concerned them.
The hall was packed for the 2 p.m. Saturday meeting, about a year ago, and early topics included education, ferry policies, budgetary issues. But the hall's occupants were largely gay and lesbian citizens who had come to ask her to be the 25th "yes" vote on legislation before the Senate which would give all loving couples the right to marry, regardless of gender.
I had scribbled a few notes because it felt important, as the UU minister in town, to make a religious statement about the issue. I didn't know if there would be detractors or other ministers opposing marriage equality, but I wanted to support my friends in the gay/lesbian community. So when the topic arose, I asked to be recognized and stood to speak. The response from the gathered body was unexpected and gratifying. See the video here: http://www.streamica.com/#v/p2pD1W9uVbg
Senator Haugen, later in the legislative session, did become the 25th senator to sign onto the legislation, which became law, was challenged, survived a referendum vote in November 2012, and became Washington State Law.
Yesterday, at the wedding, I sat in tears remembering the long years of hard work by the Religious Coalition for Equality, of which I was a charter member, Equal Rights Washington, Pride Foundation, Human Rights Campaign, Washington United for Marriage, PFLAG and others. We managed to get legislation okaying domestic partnerships, increasing those initial benefits to full-marriage-type benefits, and then to a bill signed by our governor Chris Gregoire authorizing marriage equality in the state. It was, of course, challenged by its opponents, but Referendum 71 passed a state-wide vote in November 2012 and became the law of the state.
So as I sat in the Trinity Sanctuary, my tears were joyful and reverent. The men and women who packed the house yesterday afternoon were there to celebrate Dave and Ervin's marriage, of course, but also to celebrate Hope, hope that perhaps the bad old days of ridicule and shame and secretiveness and fear were receding into the past, that anyone in that room now might have this civil right and privilege to marry the partner they loved so dearly.
I felt pleased that I had been part of this grand design and when the two young women sitting next to me introduced themselves and I spoke my name, they recognized me from the town hall meeting. What a thrill to find that my words that day had meant so much to them, had perhaps turned the tide for Senator Haugen, and had left a lasting impression on Whidbey's bglt community. It made the wonderful day of this marriage even sweeter.
And when Rev. Lindus spoke those final, cementing words "by the power invested in me by the state of Washington, I pronounce you partners for life", the tears on my face were of awe and wonderment that this day had truly arrived.
Now, on to Oregon where the issue of marriage equality will likely be on the ballot in November 2013.
The hall was packed for the 2 p.m. Saturday meeting, about a year ago, and early topics included education, ferry policies, budgetary issues. But the hall's occupants were largely gay and lesbian citizens who had come to ask her to be the 25th "yes" vote on legislation before the Senate which would give all loving couples the right to marry, regardless of gender.
I had scribbled a few notes because it felt important, as the UU minister in town, to make a religious statement about the issue. I didn't know if there would be detractors or other ministers opposing marriage equality, but I wanted to support my friends in the gay/lesbian community. So when the topic arose, I asked to be recognized and stood to speak. The response from the gathered body was unexpected and gratifying. See the video here: http://www.streamica.com/#v/p2pD1W9uVbg
Senator Haugen, later in the legislative session, did become the 25th senator to sign onto the legislation, which became law, was challenged, survived a referendum vote in November 2012, and became Washington State Law.
Yesterday, at the wedding, I sat in tears remembering the long years of hard work by the Religious Coalition for Equality, of which I was a charter member, Equal Rights Washington, Pride Foundation, Human Rights Campaign, Washington United for Marriage, PFLAG and others. We managed to get legislation okaying domestic partnerships, increasing those initial benefits to full-marriage-type benefits, and then to a bill signed by our governor Chris Gregoire authorizing marriage equality in the state. It was, of course, challenged by its opponents, but Referendum 71 passed a state-wide vote in November 2012 and became the law of the state.
So as I sat in the Trinity Sanctuary, my tears were joyful and reverent. The men and women who packed the house yesterday afternoon were there to celebrate Dave and Ervin's marriage, of course, but also to celebrate Hope, hope that perhaps the bad old days of ridicule and shame and secretiveness and fear were receding into the past, that anyone in that room now might have this civil right and privilege to marry the partner they loved so dearly.
I felt pleased that I had been part of this grand design and when the two young women sitting next to me introduced themselves and I spoke my name, they recognized me from the town hall meeting. What a thrill to find that my words that day had meant so much to them, had perhaps turned the tide for Senator Haugen, and had left a lasting impression on Whidbey's bglt community. It made the wonderful day of this marriage even sweeter.
And when Rev. Lindus spoke those final, cementing words "by the power invested in me by the state of Washington, I pronounce you partners for life", the tears on my face were of awe and wonderment that this day had truly arrived.
Now, on to Oregon where the issue of marriage equality will likely be on the ballot in November 2013.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
The Re-Call to Ministry
When I retired from my ministry at the UU Congregation of Whidbey Island after 9 years of satisfying and useful service to those lovely folks eight months ago, I had in mind to wait a couple of years before I offered to be helpful to the lovely folks at the local UU fellowship in Astoria. I was pretty sure I needed to really wind down, have fun, make new friends outside the UU community, and distance myself from ministry for a good long time.
Maybe I'd never go back. Maybe I'd really served my call and the Power Beyond Human Power would let me be. I'd done various kinds of ministry for almost fifty years by that point, assuming it's okay to count my four previous careers (welfare caseworker, home missionary, junior high school teaching and school counseling) as ministries of sorts. Maybe it would be most satisfying to be involved with non-human-services as a volunteer, for a change.
Maybe. Or maybe not.
I've lived here in Gearhart for almost six months now, enjoying every minute of it, making new friends, getting involved with the local Land Conservancy, going to presentations about the coastal environment, walking the beach, joining the locals at the little bakery in town for Saturday morning coffee, taking classes in the community college's seniors division, and going for hikes with the hiking club. I have even been keeping company with a very nice man, to some extent, and experiencing the joy of being with a man who is not off-limits.
And every Sunday I'd get up, dust off one of my Sunday outfits, and go to church at PUUF, aka Pacific UU Fellowship. I've known this congregation for a long time and have preached there several times over the years. It's a strong little group, very informal and mom-and-pop-ish, but good leadership, good UU identity, very active in the community's social justice work. And no minister, over the years, except for one experiment with a setup whereby a UU colleague came for a long weekend every month and crammed in as much ministry as possible in a few days or, in another setup, a colleague would visit one Sunday a month for preaching services only. Other Sundays were covered by lay leaders and other visiting speakers, primarily UU colleagues. They did their best with their resources and their contacts within UUism and have provided meaningful worship for members and friends for several years. But they had no pastoral care available and several members whose health and lives were getting iffy. But for awhile, I was happy just to sit in the pew and be served. For several months, at least.
My first clue that the ministry seed had not gone totally dormant was shortly after Christmas when a traditionally low-attendance service turned out to have quite a lot more people present than expected and the plan to just sit and talk casually over coffee wasn't going to be enough for the 30 or so who showed up. I found myself unable to keep from throwing a conversational gambit on the table and encouraging people to take part. I was almost embarrassed that it came so easily and I worried that I was being inappropriate. But nobody seemed to mind and everyone seemed to enjoy a more directed conversation.
It made me think. It made me wonder how long I was going to try to suppress the ministry seed, because it was clear from that moment on that it wasn't dormant any longer. I started thinking about whether the congregation might be interested in my help at some point---maybe an occasional sermon, maybe a little pastoral care. Oh, and maybe a couple of coffee klatches, like I'd done on Whidbey to reach members who lived at quite a distance from the meetinghouse. And gee, there were several new members---maybe I could offer a new members class.
You're getting the picture, I'm sure. Eventually I wrote out an actual proposal, bounced some ideas off our DE and another colleague who had been coming once a month for a few years to preach and was ready to lessen her involvement, and I presented my proposal (with many caveats about not wanting to work very hard) to members of the leadership.
To make a long story short, in March I will begin officially offering pastoral care, a membership class, and maybe those coffee groups, for a small monthly stipend. In September, I'll add preaching once a month for an additional stipend. PUUFers are thrilled and so am I.
Maybe I'll even have something to write about at Ms. Kitty's again!
Maybe I'd never go back. Maybe I'd really served my call and the Power Beyond Human Power would let me be. I'd done various kinds of ministry for almost fifty years by that point, assuming it's okay to count my four previous careers (welfare caseworker, home missionary, junior high school teaching and school counseling) as ministries of sorts. Maybe it would be most satisfying to be involved with non-human-services as a volunteer, for a change.
Maybe. Or maybe not.
I've lived here in Gearhart for almost six months now, enjoying every minute of it, making new friends, getting involved with the local Land Conservancy, going to presentations about the coastal environment, walking the beach, joining the locals at the little bakery in town for Saturday morning coffee, taking classes in the community college's seniors division, and going for hikes with the hiking club. I have even been keeping company with a very nice man, to some extent, and experiencing the joy of being with a man who is not off-limits.
And every Sunday I'd get up, dust off one of my Sunday outfits, and go to church at PUUF, aka Pacific UU Fellowship. I've known this congregation for a long time and have preached there several times over the years. It's a strong little group, very informal and mom-and-pop-ish, but good leadership, good UU identity, very active in the community's social justice work. And no minister, over the years, except for one experiment with a setup whereby a UU colleague came for a long weekend every month and crammed in as much ministry as possible in a few days or, in another setup, a colleague would visit one Sunday a month for preaching services only. Other Sundays were covered by lay leaders and other visiting speakers, primarily UU colleagues. They did their best with their resources and their contacts within UUism and have provided meaningful worship for members and friends for several years. But they had no pastoral care available and several members whose health and lives were getting iffy. But for awhile, I was happy just to sit in the pew and be served. For several months, at least.
My first clue that the ministry seed had not gone totally dormant was shortly after Christmas when a traditionally low-attendance service turned out to have quite a lot more people present than expected and the plan to just sit and talk casually over coffee wasn't going to be enough for the 30 or so who showed up. I found myself unable to keep from throwing a conversational gambit on the table and encouraging people to take part. I was almost embarrassed that it came so easily and I worried that I was being inappropriate. But nobody seemed to mind and everyone seemed to enjoy a more directed conversation.
It made me think. It made me wonder how long I was going to try to suppress the ministry seed, because it was clear from that moment on that it wasn't dormant any longer. I started thinking about whether the congregation might be interested in my help at some point---maybe an occasional sermon, maybe a little pastoral care. Oh, and maybe a couple of coffee klatches, like I'd done on Whidbey to reach members who lived at quite a distance from the meetinghouse. And gee, there were several new members---maybe I could offer a new members class.
You're getting the picture, I'm sure. Eventually I wrote out an actual proposal, bounced some ideas off our DE and another colleague who had been coming once a month for a few years to preach and was ready to lessen her involvement, and I presented my proposal (with many caveats about not wanting to work very hard) to members of the leadership.
To make a long story short, in March I will begin officially offering pastoral care, a membership class, and maybe those coffee groups, for a small monthly stipend. In September, I'll add preaching once a month for an additional stipend. PUUFers are thrilled and so am I.
Maybe I'll even have something to write about at Ms. Kitty's again!
Thursday, December 27, 2012
What the "Christmas Season" means to me these days
I've been thinking a lot, during these weeks of Christmas fervor, about what Christmas means to me, not only now that I'm not in active ministry but also now that I am a UU, a "scientist", a theologian, a scholar, in my thinking. I've been trying to discern just what Christmas actually means to ME, not the hyped up portrayals of "the Christmas spirit" or the "giving season" or the legends and stories associated with the season.
What are my Christmas habits? I no longer give extravagant gifts to family members; I don't decorate the house; I don't increase my charitable giving except with the donations I make to selected charities in my siblings' names. I don't go shopping in busy places. I don't worry about what gifts I might get. I am always very happy on Dec. 26 that the season is over and we have a week of relative quiet before the new year begins.
What do I believe about Christmas, now that I know that Jesus undoubtedly wasn't born on Dec. 25, that the legends that surround his birth, life, and death are mostly romantic stories designed to put forth various doctrinal agendas, that the actual history around his birth, as best it can be discovered, has been subsumed by the cultural need to dress it up in miraculous terms. What do I actually believe?
I believe the things I know to be true, true by rational standards such as critical thinking, scientifically gained knowledge. I am skeptical about hyped-up dramas about giving or miraculous events or "wonder" or the value of maintaining the Santa fiction for children. I resist looking at red and green and gold decor in the stores; I don't want to hear carols on loudspeakers; I don't want to hear or read sappy mawkish writings about Christmas spirit, though I must admit there are a few that tickle me or put a lump in my throat.
Yet I don't feel like Scrooge. This time of year is precious to me and it has nothing to do with a doctrinally-induced religious season. It is precious and even sacred to me because of what the earth is doing, what human beings are experiencing, what the tide is bringing up on the shore, where the birds are going, how the constellations wheel in the night sky. It matters deeply to me that the sun sets early and rises late, because that's true, a faithful repetition of nature's patterns that we can count on.
It matters to me that the rains and snows come because they represent the season we're cycling through; I don't need constant sunshine nor do I resent the water in the air and the slush on the roads (unless I have to drive in dangerous conditions!). I like it that the leaves have left the trees and are rotting on the ground. That's the way it's supposed to be, according to the winter season. I like it that we have weird weather at the times of seasonal change; it's like nature's adolescence as it readies for the next stage of earth's life.
For me, the earth is the sacred story. Its rhythms and processes and regeneration are the miracles, the dependable, eternal faithfulness that no home-made deity can reproduce. The earth has taught humankind everything we know, from how to survive in harsh conditions to the most intellectually difficult imaginings of the theoretical scientists. We learned it all from studying the world around us and applying what we learned to our dreams.
More valuable to me than all the lessons and carols, the lights and the merrymaking, the giving and the receiving of gifts, is the chance to be still, to witness the earth moving as the stars revolve, to be part of the grand cotillion of the universe as it wheels throughout space and time.
My small human life is expanded by this experience and I offer to the universe my contributions: walking along the tide line and seeing the new gifts of the sea, gathering friends for a meal and conversation, giving tenderness to those I meet and receiving their warmth in return. These times are real. They mean something true. This is the meaning of the season for me.
What are my Christmas habits? I no longer give extravagant gifts to family members; I don't decorate the house; I don't increase my charitable giving except with the donations I make to selected charities in my siblings' names. I don't go shopping in busy places. I don't worry about what gifts I might get. I am always very happy on Dec. 26 that the season is over and we have a week of relative quiet before the new year begins.
What do I believe about Christmas, now that I know that Jesus undoubtedly wasn't born on Dec. 25, that the legends that surround his birth, life, and death are mostly romantic stories designed to put forth various doctrinal agendas, that the actual history around his birth, as best it can be discovered, has been subsumed by the cultural need to dress it up in miraculous terms. What do I actually believe?
I believe the things I know to be true, true by rational standards such as critical thinking, scientifically gained knowledge. I am skeptical about hyped-up dramas about giving or miraculous events or "wonder" or the value of maintaining the Santa fiction for children. I resist looking at red and green and gold decor in the stores; I don't want to hear carols on loudspeakers; I don't want to hear or read sappy mawkish writings about Christmas spirit, though I must admit there are a few that tickle me or put a lump in my throat.
Yet I don't feel like Scrooge. This time of year is precious to me and it has nothing to do with a doctrinally-induced religious season. It is precious and even sacred to me because of what the earth is doing, what human beings are experiencing, what the tide is bringing up on the shore, where the birds are going, how the constellations wheel in the night sky. It matters deeply to me that the sun sets early and rises late, because that's true, a faithful repetition of nature's patterns that we can count on.
It matters to me that the rains and snows come because they represent the season we're cycling through; I don't need constant sunshine nor do I resent the water in the air and the slush on the roads (unless I have to drive in dangerous conditions!). I like it that the leaves have left the trees and are rotting on the ground. That's the way it's supposed to be, according to the winter season. I like it that we have weird weather at the times of seasonal change; it's like nature's adolescence as it readies for the next stage of earth's life.
For me, the earth is the sacred story. Its rhythms and processes and regeneration are the miracles, the dependable, eternal faithfulness that no home-made deity can reproduce. The earth has taught humankind everything we know, from how to survive in harsh conditions to the most intellectually difficult imaginings of the theoretical scientists. We learned it all from studying the world around us and applying what we learned to our dreams.
More valuable to me than all the lessons and carols, the lights and the merrymaking, the giving and the receiving of gifts, is the chance to be still, to witness the earth moving as the stars revolve, to be part of the grand cotillion of the universe as it wheels throughout space and time.
My small human life is expanded by this experience and I offer to the universe my contributions: walking along the tide line and seeing the new gifts of the sea, gathering friends for a meal and conversation, giving tenderness to those I meet and receiving their warmth in return. These times are real. They mean something true. This is the meaning of the season for me.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Conversations and the significance of Nov. 18.
My dad, Merritt Bernhardt Ketcham, was born in Missouri on this date in 1907, so he would be 105 today. He died way too young, before he had a chance to meet his grandson Michael Gilmore or granddaughter Susanna Martin, my sister's daughter, though his death in 1970 meant that he had time with his first grandchild, Joel Martin. He would have enjoyed knowing Tennyson Ketcham, my brother's daughter, born several years after his death. Happy Birthday, Daddy, wherever you are. Your spirit remains with us.
Saturday mornings, if I feel I can afford the carb splurge, I stop by the local bakery/coffee shop on my beach loop walk. It's about 10 minutes from my house and only open during the off-season on Saturday and Sunday mornings. I had the good fortune to be introduced to this local gathering spot by a new friend, Pat, who is a longtime resident. We met there for coffee shortly after we connected at a North Coast Land Conservancy event and have been meeting there almost every Saturday morning ever since.
Yesterday, I got there a little early and took a seat among these new acquaintances, chiming in on the conversation occasionally. It was all guys when I got there and I've noticed that conversations tend to change when women show up, but I like hearing the things men talk about (if not locker-room type stuff), so I asked a few questions about the topic (the non-existence of frost heaves at the coast) and learned a few things in the process.
After awhile, I heard a couple of guys at the next table talking about something interesting; a guy I didn't know was telling his friend the geologist (whom I did know) that what he was learning about rocks and geologic time was making him wonder about the theology of his Missouri Synod Lutheran congregation. At a lull in the conversation, the geologist guy introduced me to the MSL guy and I joined them.
This led to a sharing of stories about our experiences growing up in various churches and the events that had brought us to the current religious (or non-religious) place we are today. It was rich and revealing and I've been thinking about it ever since.
I notice that many times my best conversations are with men. For sure that was true yesterday. I often have good conversations with women as well, but they are different. We have different topics---relationships, news about each other, our creative efforts, our personal lives. With men, I've noticed that the topics are often about technology, science, and, of course, sports. I can hold my own with science and technology, even if it's just listening and asking questions; sports----gag! Not interested.
Yesterday, I noticed that MSL guy and geologist guy stayed pretty superficial on the topic until I joined them and injected a personal story into the mix---how I moved from a conservative religious upbringing to a very liberal religious stance. Then their stories came out as well.
I think men are slow to tell their personal stories until they have heard someone else's story and since women are quicker to do this, women often start this thread of conversation.
I think hearing personal stories gives people a chance to think of their own stories and link to the one they're hearing. But you have to have an invitation to tell your story; it's hard to just burst into a story that nobody has asked to hear.
A preacher has been given an open invitation to tell his/her own story---I think it's why I was a pretty good preacher, because I shared my own stories, and many people commented that they appreciated my openness. All my sermons had a personal connection.
As a listener to sermons, I hope for a story that will tell me how my life is related to the speaker's life. It makes the sermon more engaging for me. It's important, however, for the story not to be self-serving or insensitive. You can't boast or appear arrogant unless you acknowledge it and resolve it in a sensitive way, a fact I've learned the hard way.
As I get more comfortable with new friends, I find I'm not as averse to their knowing that I'm a retired minister. I really avoided identifying myself in that way for several weeks; now I'm not so shy, though I only reveal it if asked. I was initially afraid people would jump to stereotypical conclusions, but I'm finding that's not happening. Most are only mildly interested. Guess it's not really about who I WAS, but who I AM. Nice.
Saturday mornings, if I feel I can afford the carb splurge, I stop by the local bakery/coffee shop on my beach loop walk. It's about 10 minutes from my house and only open during the off-season on Saturday and Sunday mornings. I had the good fortune to be introduced to this local gathering spot by a new friend, Pat, who is a longtime resident. We met there for coffee shortly after we connected at a North Coast Land Conservancy event and have been meeting there almost every Saturday morning ever since.
Yesterday, I got there a little early and took a seat among these new acquaintances, chiming in on the conversation occasionally. It was all guys when I got there and I've noticed that conversations tend to change when women show up, but I like hearing the things men talk about (if not locker-room type stuff), so I asked a few questions about the topic (the non-existence of frost heaves at the coast) and learned a few things in the process.
After awhile, I heard a couple of guys at the next table talking about something interesting; a guy I didn't know was telling his friend the geologist (whom I did know) that what he was learning about rocks and geologic time was making him wonder about the theology of his Missouri Synod Lutheran congregation. At a lull in the conversation, the geologist guy introduced me to the MSL guy and I joined them.
This led to a sharing of stories about our experiences growing up in various churches and the events that had brought us to the current religious (or non-religious) place we are today. It was rich and revealing and I've been thinking about it ever since.
I notice that many times my best conversations are with men. For sure that was true yesterday. I often have good conversations with women as well, but they are different. We have different topics---relationships, news about each other, our creative efforts, our personal lives. With men, I've noticed that the topics are often about technology, science, and, of course, sports. I can hold my own with science and technology, even if it's just listening and asking questions; sports----gag! Not interested.
Yesterday, I noticed that MSL guy and geologist guy stayed pretty superficial on the topic until I joined them and injected a personal story into the mix---how I moved from a conservative religious upbringing to a very liberal religious stance. Then their stories came out as well.
I think men are slow to tell their personal stories until they have heard someone else's story and since women are quicker to do this, women often start this thread of conversation.
I think hearing personal stories gives people a chance to think of their own stories and link to the one they're hearing. But you have to have an invitation to tell your story; it's hard to just burst into a story that nobody has asked to hear.
A preacher has been given an open invitation to tell his/her own story---I think it's why I was a pretty good preacher, because I shared my own stories, and many people commented that they appreciated my openness. All my sermons had a personal connection.
As a listener to sermons, I hope for a story that will tell me how my life is related to the speaker's life. It makes the sermon more engaging for me. It's important, however, for the story not to be self-serving or insensitive. You can't boast or appear arrogant unless you acknowledge it and resolve it in a sensitive way, a fact I've learned the hard way.
As I get more comfortable with new friends, I find I'm not as averse to their knowing that I'm a retired minister. I really avoided identifying myself in that way for several weeks; now I'm not so shy, though I only reveal it if asked. I was initially afraid people would jump to stereotypical conclusions, but I'm finding that's not happening. Most are only mildly interested. Guess it's not really about who I WAS, but who I AM. Nice.
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