Creative Christmas for the Craft-Challenged

Those of you who know me in real life know that I am not at all crafty. I appreciate beauty and creativity, but often have difficulty putting them together in a visual medium myself. But, I am a smart woman and I can follow directions. So, wanting to be one of those moms who does those things with her kids and wanting to create something meaningful for James’s grandparents and great-grandparents, I pinned a couple of simple looking crafts and got to work.

I am grateful for Pinterest. I am a better cook for it and now I’m a better crafty mama. It all started with pin about salt dough Christmas ornaments from Creative Playhouse. It looked great (i.e. easy but still pretty), but I was very glad to find this link on making salt dough in order to get started.

So, here’s our wonderful, messy process, annotated for those who are craft-challenged like me. I combined 1 cup salt (the Morton’s in the cupboard), 2 cups flour (the all-purpose in the freezer), and around 1 cup cold water. I worked with it in a bowl until it felt like dough. I will say, though, that this made a ton of dough. We only used probably half to make 12 ornaments, so I think you could safely half the recipe and still have plenty. I stuck the other half of my dough in the fridge, hoping to use it for something else another time.

Then I stuck the dough in front of James, hoping for some of that sensory learning to happen that all the moms seem to be going on about. He seemed interested, but confused about why we were sitting at the table playing with something that looked like food but obviously wasn’t food.



So we got down to business, rolling out the dough. 


This was more fun, but I was constantly flouring the table and the rolling pin to try to keep it from sticking and I have one of those supposedly nonstick pins. Ah well. If I had it to do over again, I may have skipped to the painting part for a 2-year-old, but he seemed to humor me.










Then we used some thematic cookie cutters to cut out some shaped. We did butterflies, trees, and stars.

This is where I lost him for the day. It took too long for me to pull the dough away from the shapes, get them to the cookie sheet, and reroll the dough. He did a few, then I finished up. To make a nice hole for hanging, I used a plastic straw to punch a hole in the soft dough. That worked surprisingly well!

The instructions say to bake them for a couple of hours at 100°. Since my instructor is in the UK, I figured this was Celsius, so it would be 212° Fahrenheit. My oven, thinking it knows better, wouldn’t do anything less than 300°. Since this is a craft and not food, I figured I couldn’t overbake them, since the whole point was to dry them out. I left them on one side for a couple of hours, then took them out to let them cool so we could paint. Unfortunately, my husband ruled that the pan side of the ornaments still seemed doughy, so they went back in for a couple of hours on the other side. The ornaments are done when they feel hard and a little brittle.

The next day we started painting:

 

I also bought glitter, which we applied directly to the still-wet paint to help it hold on. Here are our almost finished products:
 

I really liked the way the butterflies turned out. I was less controlling about what James did, letting him mix colors of paint and glitter. I’m constantly relearning that life turns out more textured, beautiful, and amazing when we relax our grip on our façade of control, and just let things be what they are.
 

A few days later, I was telling some coworkers about our craft project and how it just didn’t seem finished. After all, we had basically made a kind of food. Sure, it had paint and glitter on it, but if it was going to last from year to year, it seemed like there must be another step. The experienced mamas advised me to buy a spray sealant. (One of them asked me if we had used acrylic paint to which I didn’t have an answer. I used the paints that James got at some point. They had good colors.) I went to Michael’s, told the helpful clerk what I needed, and left with a Krylon crystal clear acrylic coating.

I put the ornaments on paper plates (for easy transport), took them out front, sprayed them down, then let them dry for a day. The coating did modify the colors, but I think they still looked nice.

The next day, I flipped them over, wrote my son’s name and the year with a Sharpie, then sprayed them with sealant. I’m not sure if it was the Sharpie spreading on the dough or the wet coating being applied too soon, but some of it smeared. Those I kept for myself. But some of them turned out just fine.
 

Finally, when all was dry, I tied red ribbon hangers on each one and parsed them for giving. If I were to do this again, I might make more effort with coordinating ribbon or whatnot, but I was up against a deadline.

Here’s one of the keepers on our tree:

 

I hope your Christmas was merry and bright! What traditions did/do you have as a family?

Revelation at the Rail

I was serving communion on Sunday. I had half a loaf of bread in my right hand, swaddled like a newborn, and I was tearing pieces to give to the people worshiping with us. Pinch, tear, give, cover, “The body of Christ, broken for you.” It’s a powerful moment; one of the reasons I pursued becoming an elder in the United Methodist Church. The sacraments are holy, mysterious things in which bread, water, and other common elements become conveyors of grace. Good stuff.

Now for my confession – even extraordinary means of grace can become routine in the life of a pastor. I know – you’re shocked and appalled. I wonder of ob’s and midwives would confess the same thing about birth. In any case, on Sunday, I was a little distracted. I was doing a very un-choreographed dance with my partner, who had the tray of shot-glass sized juice cups – to the rail, around the Advent wreath, around the lectern, avoid the other servers! Bend, serve, watch, move, repeat.

There are a lot of mundane things I think about as I serve communion. Are her hands open? Is he ready to receive? Do I have enough bread left to manage this group, or should I signal for more? How many folks to go? Watch me, juice server, so we make sure that everybody gets both. Is she going to be able to get up from kneeling? The juice cups are stacking up there. Who left some bread on the rail? Seriously.

Then I noticed a pair of older adults making their way to the rail with their granddaughter. The grandmother, a tall, slender, stately woman, carefully knelt at the rail, arranging her skirts. The granddaughter, who’s maybe 3 years old, watched and stepped up onto the kneeling cushion before kneeling, too. The grandfather knelt on her other side. Then the little girl realized she couldn’t see over the rail, so she stood back up. She was very cute – all blue eyes and blond hair and sweet expression. The grandparents cupped their hands, the signal that they were ready to receive, and she followed suit.

I smiled, a little wistful. I haven’t figured out how to worship with my family much yet. My son is at the church all morning, most of the time. He comes in for children’s time, twice, but then is whisked away by the childcare staff before communion, which is probably for the best for a very wiggly 2 year old. And if my husband is in church, he’s usually running the sound board, which puts him across the sanctuary and up a floor from me.

So I savored the sweetness of this family moment, of a child being brought to taste and see faith. I felt such love within me – a love that started with my child, but which, more and more, is being grown by God. And I realized that this is who I am to be as a pastor. I am called to love each and every person who comes to the rail, who comes through the door, who is a part of my community, like I am able to love this child. God continues to teach me, even when I’m not expecting an epiphany. What has God taught you lately?

Spiritual Discipline (Is not Ought!)

I met with a couple of members of SPRC today. For the non-UMC folks, that’s our Staff Parish Relations Committee – lay folks who serve 3 year terms functioning roughly as an HR department for a local church. I was meeting with them at my own request. A year ago, a new evaluative tool was put out from our Conference office and, with a deadline looming large, they did what they could and submitted evaluations of the four clergy at our church.

Unfortunately, from my perspective, there was no opportunity for us to address any concerns that arose or even just offer insights into our ministry, so many things were marked NO, as in “not observed.” Seriously, a lot of the best stuff clergy do is invisible. I can’t tell you about the amazing counseling session or the powerful moment of confession and transformation. And that’s as it should be. I trust that my God “who sees in secret” knows the ministry I am doing (Matthew 6).

The first section in this evaluation had to do with my personal life – fiscal responsibility, emotional health, physical fitness, spiritual disciplines, etc. I confessed quickly that I usually stink that these things and I have scored myself the lowest in these areas both years we’ve been using this tool. I thanked them for scoring me higher than I scored myself last year.

 

But then one of the SPRC reps said the most profound thing – “Forget about the ought’s. What do you do?” And after thinking a moment, and forgiving myself for not fasting or searching the Scriptures (except when there’s a sermon to prep) or only praying in traffic, I realized I do have a spiritual discipline that is life-giving and beautiful and perfectly tailored to me.

The time I spend with my son, as I have explosive epiphanies about the nature of God’s love for me in the experience of my love for my child, is a constant spiritual discipline. I could never forget my nursing child or show no compassion for the child of my womb (Isaiah 49:15). He has made my heart grow, he has made me more mindful of all God’s children, he has inspired new mission efforts. These are fruit of a spiritual discipline.

This was my epiphany for today. I pray that you are released from your ought’s, too, so that you might embrace and rejoice in what is already beautiful, powerful, and grace-filled in your life. God’s fingerprints are everywhere, we just have to let go of ought’s and embrace what is (as in I AM).

Can anything good come out of Halloween?

Halloween was just a couple of days ago. And as I saw the advertisements featuring scantily clad women and devil babies, I got to thinking what good could possibly come out of Halloween.

It certainly doesn’t do anything for women’s equality since most ladies see it as an excuse to get away with wearing as little as possible and calling it a costume. I’m not throwing stones; I owned pleather pants and corsets at one point in my life. And I know it didn’t help anyone see me as a smart, strong, capable woman.

It certainly doesn’t do anything for our selfish American tendencies or our national bent toward obesity. Lots of folks have lamented the folks who came to their door with a sense of entitlement, whether it’s teens without costumes expecting candy in their pillow cases or the family that asks for water and then fusses that they each didn’t get a bottle.

It certainly doesn’t bring out our best selves, for the most part. Halloween is a holiday that glorifies fear and gore. Maybe I’m extra fussy because I don’t like being scared. I don’t like scary movies (although I have seen more than my share since I do like having friends). It really did bother me that one of my neighbors had skulls on stakes in their yard as well as a gravestone with a skeleton resting in the dust. Ugh.

I was wrestling with this since my mom loves Halloween and always has for as long as I can remember. She keeps a stuffed leg, knee to shoe, around all year long so that in the weeks prior to Halloween, she can dangle it from her trunk. And since I love my mom and she loves Halloween, there must be something redeeming about it. 

So I kept my eyes open this Halloween. I saw lots of new things, especially since my son is old enough to be exploring this holiday on his own for the first time. We went to the fall festival at the church, which I know is a safe and secure place, but he was scared of many of the people in costume. Not that they were “scary” costumes, but they obscured the people he may have otherwise recognized. Oh, I had forgotten that. And asking for candy, receiving it, but not eating it didn’t come naturally to him. Some sense of entitlement is a learned behavior, in the same way we teach children not to play with the gifts they open on birthdays or Christmas, but to set them aside and eagerly open more and more. 

But, finally, on the way home, I saw one good thing that comes out of Halloween. My neighbors were out of their houses, sitting in lawn chairs waiting for trick-or-treaters or moving with their families up and down the sidewalks. And porch lights were on, more than I've ever seen, lighting the way to a welcoming house. Wow. It was stunning to see this kind of warmth and hospitality. My neighborhood is fairly new, so there are no front porches. Most days, most of my neighbors and I never set foot outside, let alone linger there, beyond checking the mail (and some even do that from their cars).

I’m outside more nowadays because I want James to play out there. And I delight in how he finds so much to do with leaves, acorns, and other free toys. So I see my neighbors arrive home in the evenings, open their garage doors, pull inside, and close the door behind them. It’s sad. There’s not much that feels neighborly for most neighbors, and I have a feeling I’m not alone.

But on Halloween, we have an excuse to break our well-worn habits, put on silly costumes, and act like neighbors. Thanks be to God.

Because I love you, I may not always agree with you

Well, that’s putting it simply. I may not agree with lots of folks, but if I love you, you’re very likely to know it. I’m thinking about this in light of my own experiences and the political atmosphere of our country at the moment.

A few days ago when I was acutely feeling a lack of local friends, I asked my husband what the difference was between me and another acquaintance of ours, who makes friends easily wherever she goes. Not just run of the mill friends, either – these are feed you dinner, watch your kid, more like family friends. And my husband, who has made vows to be my loving friend for life, said, “You don’t suck up to people.” Pressed to explain further, it turns out that I’m honest with others; I don’t always say what they would like to hear (or keep my mouth shut to leave it a lie by omission).

So I’ve been mulling this over. A couple of weeks ago, I was teaching one of our older adult Sunday school classes at their invitation. The lesson was on Stephen, the first Christian martyr, one of the men chosen to help distribute food to widows when the apostles were getting too busy to make sure this was happening fairly (Acts 6-7). The account the author gives us of Stephen echoes that of Jesus in some powerful ways – a person doing good, witnessing to the good news of God, brought up on false charges and put to death.

The emphasis of the lesson was on being a witness. Now these folks are such excellent evangelists exhibiting such marvelous hospitality, that their problem is that their room is too full. So what could I say about being a witness? So I asked this question: Are there ever times when our positions on issues, the way we are witnesses for the smaller things, clouds the way we may be a witness for God?

And then I did it. I crossed the boundary. I named the elephant (and donkey) in the room and wondered aloud how our words and attitudes during a political season might undermine our witness to the good news. Are there things more important (namely, the reign of God) that should trump and inform how we are who we are in the world?

Afterwards, many of the class members thanked me, probably as much for my presence as for my lesson. I found myself saying that I wasn’t afraid to talk about hard issues with them because they know I love them and I know they love me.

So I guess that’s where I find myself today. When I love someone, when I really love them, I’m going to share all of myself with them. All of my thoughts, all of my feelings, all of it! Those who know me know that I have an independent streak a mile wide and another mile deep, but that’s, hopefully, balanced by my fierce loyalty. When I love someone, I love them for who they are and who they might become. I will defend them and pray for them. I will bring casseroles or watch your child or visit you in the hospital. Because I love you.

And because I love you, I may not always agree with you.

I’m working this out because I can point to an example right now of a wonderful couple that we know. And I love them. I’ve known them for years, but I know that they are never going to be the friends that I long for. Because I can’t keep my mouth shut, and even if I do, what I’m thinking is probably all over my face. And if I have to keep my mouth shut, for fear of offending or challenging, that’s probably not the friendship I really need.

So, in a season when tension and fear and anxiety are high while the outlets of social media feel anonymous, making it safe to be tacky and rude, let's try to be loving instead. Love your neighbor as you love yourself  (Leviticus 19:18, Matthew 19:19 and 22:39, Mark 12:31, Luke 10:27, Romans 13:9, Galatians 5:4, James 2:8). And as often as you may disagree with them, let them know/see/feel that you love them first.

Be Where You Are

I noticed it first at the Olympic Games in a way I’d never noticed it before. I was sprawling on my couch with my husband, watching the parade of nations. We had DVR’ed the opening ceremonies so we could really watch them in that sweet time after the chores but before bedtime. I’ve liked this part since I was a kid. I can still hear my mom saying, “We’re watching the Olympics because they only happen every four years!”

So I grew up watching hours of sports we never knew were sports, admiring the dedication athletes put into their chosen field, cheering for our country, and hoping against hope that this gathering might truly work toward an expanded sense of what we all have in common in the face of all that divides us.

And the parade of nations is just fun. You see styles of dress from all over the globe as the athletes beam with hope and expectation. But then I noticed something else, something I see all the time…

...they were on their cell phones. Oh, blessed technology that is such a curse! I wondered how any of these athletes could truly be where they were, in that moment in time, walking in as representatives of their nation, while simultaneously trying to record it.

There are so many amazing moments in the time I spend with my son. And many times, I’ve been grateful for my smart phone’s ability to snap pictures and shoot video. But I’ve also noticed how, as he grows older, he tries to look around the phone at me.

The very act of trying to capture a moment takes me out of the moment. I become the photographer-director, trying to get the perfect shot, instead of being mommy. And if these pictures are for our family, regardless of how much I enjoy the likes on Facebook and Instagram, maybe I can just trust our memories and leave the phone in my pocket more often.

The way my son does many things jars me out of preoccupation and back into my life. Like the way he eats. My son has not learned the habit of scarfing down his food yet. I don’t know where I learned it, to be honest. I just realized recently that I don’t really taste much of it most of the time because I’m already thinking about what I need to do, what comes next. I’m so busy preparing for the next thing, I’ve missed the thing right in front of me.

On the other hand, James eats like a connoisseur. It can be cold green peas, factory-shaped meat sticks, yogurt, or something we've actually cooked, but he’ll take a bite, stop, look at me and make this heart-felt yummy noise. "Mmmm!" As if to say, “Mom, this is so good! I am enjoying this!” And I look down at my plate, which is usually empty already, and wonder if I pause to savor, not just my food, but my life.

So I’m trying to slow down and be a little more intentional. I’m trying to be where I am, not anywhere else. I’m trying to remember what I did before my smart phone was an instant gateway to things that are interesting, but not always good or helpful or healthy. And I challenge you to do the same.

As Ferris Bueller said, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in  a while, you could miss it."

Growing in Love

My son is 2 years old today. He’s talkative and challenging, fun and amazing. He’s the most clarion call I have to be where I am, but that’s a topic for another post. I could go on and on about him, like most moms, but today, the most astonishing thing I’ve discovered in reflecting on 2 years of life is how becoming a mother has helped me grow in love.

That may not seem strange, because we would all hope that the hormones of the mother and the smell, facial structure, and other things of the baby, would create that indestructible bond that ensures that another generation rises from the one before. And, of course, that all happened. My first sight of him overwhelmed my senses; I tugged the blanket back from his face to admire those newborn grey-blue eyes that looked so solemnly into mine. I took a big sniff of his newborn scent and planted kisses all over his face.

But looking back with some perspective, I wonder if my love has grown in other times and why it didn’t grow more, sooner. I know my love grew a bit when I became a Christian. I felt the assurance of God’s love for me and it inspired me to be a bit more fearless in loving others. But as powerful as a dark night of the soul then mountaintop experience was, it became a thing of a particular time and place that faded like a mile marker in the rearview mirror. And while I followed God intensely, running the gauntlet of seminary, candidacy, and residency, God became more of the subject of my work and less the love of my life. (It’s sad, folks, really, but it happens.)

The other mile marker that stood out to me was the day I married my husband. We were young, foolish, and full of love. In retrospect, I know it’s not important that the flowers didn’t show up on time or the photographer kept fussing about my make up or that we ended up cleaning up after the reception. We stood under a banner proclaiming “Amazing Love” and promised to be partners in this thing called life. Ten years later, I know our love is a deep bedrock for whatever else may come, but my husband and I have both shared how, in the birth of our child, the priorities shifted.

It is in my love for my son that I was able to outgrow Grinch-iness most fully. “And what happened, then? Well, in Whoville they say - that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day.”

Or, as Elizabeth Barrett Browning, put it, “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight” (“How Do I Love Thee?").

Or, from Scripture, “A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh” (Ezekiel 35:26).

It’s a strange thing, to grow in love. Most might think it’s a cliché, rather rosy statement. But, for me, I tell you it’s something vast and daunting. As I have grown in love, I realize that I have a strength and courage I never knew. I have the strength to work long days on little sleep, to tolerate things as they are for the hope of how they might become, to nourish another from the store of my own body. I have the courage to place another ahead of myself, consistently and always, denying my own selfish desires and claiming my place in any harm’s way, and by this example, to give that same love to others.

As I have grown in love, I have become terribly vulnerable. It started with episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. I would sob during every episode that had something tragic to do with a child. And my sensitivity kept growing! I have to gird up my loins just to watch the news or to embrace my everyday vocation as a pastor.

I think this growth is unique because my son is ever before my eyes and on my heart. While there was one glorious moment at 3:04am two years ago, there is now constantly with me a bright, wonderful, playful little boy who calls me to challenge my assumptions and grow in love. Praise be to God!

Ordinary Thoughts on Keeping an Orderly House



So just recently a friend of a dear friend start pinning things regarding a weekly cleaning schedule. I have a feeling I must be a slob, because most of this stuff I wouldn’t even think of tackling weekly. I grew up in a house that was often messy, but never dirty, and I like to think I live by the same philosophy. I would rather spend the time I have after my 50ish hour work week with my family actually engaging with them. Sometimes this is getting down on the floor with my little boy and sometimes it’s vegging out in front of an episode of Hell’s Kitchen with my husband. Not that I don’t admire the folks that clean more, it’s just not who I am.

I want to live life! But with all that said, I also realized, especially when I became a mommy, that while everything washes (and if it doesn’t, do you really need it?), I also wanted to create a safe, clean environment for a my child. I didn’t want to constantly worry about what his mouth was making contact with as he learned to crawl or what he might be putting in his mouth that he found around the house.

So, with that in mind, I give you what I consider a more practical, working person’s guide to keeping house in a decent manner (this is assuming that you can’t afford other people to come do it for you or you just don’t prioritize your income that way)

My methodology is simple – do stuff right and you don’t have to do it that often. So, I’m giving you 28 things to do each month. If it’s a month with more than 28 days, you get 3 days to choose your own adventure – you can take them as a bye or you can choose something from the “occasional necessities” list. Or you can be a total stud, knock out a bunch of stuff at once, and then coast a bit (like during VBS week, or camp week, or weddings and funerals week in my experience). And, of course, since your house and my house differ, you might have things to add, delete, or change. This is just something I’m developing to help my household and if it helps you, too, bonus!

Daily Stuff You Can’t Escape

Dishes
Quick Tidy (no tripping hazards, no bug magnets, no underwear where guests might see)
Mail (open it, put it where it goes, recycle as possible)

As Necessary

Laundry
Garbage, Recycling (walk the house, grab it all!)

Monthly Stuff

1. Bathrooms – toilets
2. Bathrooms – tubs, showers
3. Bathrooms – floors, baseboards
4. Bathrooms – countertops, sinks, mirrors
5. Bathrooms – clean out/reorganize cabinet space
6. Bedrooms – dust (presupposes clearing clutter, don’t forget fans), change sheets
7. Bedrooms – vacuum, baseboards
8. Closets – vacuum, tidy up
9. Closets – go through clothes and shoes, retire/donate/rotate
10. Kitchen – floor (sweep/swiffer, mop)
11. Kitchen – sink, countertops (especially random crumb traps), wipe down appliances
12. Kitchen – organize pantry, clean out fridge/freezer
13. Living Room – floor, baseboards
14. Living Room – dust
15. Living Room – put accumulated cluttery things away
16. Laundry Room – sweep, mop
17. Dining Room – clear table, dust/clean
18. Dining Room – vacuum or sweep/mop, baseboards
19. General House – dust light fixtures
20. General House – spot clean carpets, walls, and baseboards
21. General House – clear all horizontal surfaces of clutter
22. Garage – clean out cars
23. Garage – wash cars
24. Garage – sweep, organize
25. Outdoors – mow grass, trim shrubs
26. Outdoors – mow grass, trim shrubs (might wait a couple of weeks from the other)
27. Outdoors – gutters, play equipment
28. Outdoors – intense weeding

Occasional Necessities
Appliance Care – microwave, stove, oven
Appliance Care – washer, dryer
Kitchen – check garbage disposal and related plumbing
Computers – check security software, back up stuff you want to keep, etc.
Storage – go through old boxes, etc. and label/donate

Why I can’t believe everything happens for a reason…

Recently there has been a pile up of grief and sadness in my extended family. Marriages in crisis, impending deaths (yes, plural), relationships fractured, persons feeling lost, hurt, isolated, strained, etc. Being who I am, I am simultaneously a member of the family and the pastor for the family. To me, it’s no different than the lawyer in the family who gives legal counsel for free or the nurse in the family who listens, pokes, and prods to see if someone really needs to go to the doctor. I am a pastor and I might as well put my training to good use whenever and wherever I can, especially for the persons I love most.

So here we are, walking through this valley of the shadow of death (see Psalm 23), and I’m having deep conversations with loved ones – on the phone, in person, via text message and Facebook and e-mail. One of these beloved family members talks about how he deals with all of this is because he knows everything happens for a reason. He shares his experience of another family member who should have died a few times, but didn’t, and here we all are today.

I understand where he’s coming from, but I can’t agree. There are many days when I would like the world to be straight-forward, trusting that God’s purposes are being worked out according to God’s plan. But I just can’t. So I’ll write here, with a little more context, what I shared with my family member.

I just can’t believe that everything happens for a reason. Out of my experience, in my line of work, I get to walk alongside pain and death because those are often the places where people remember they need God the most. So I’ve seen the family that has nearly nothing because the system is broken. I’ve seen the children who have lost their parents because someone else chose to drink and drive. I’ve seen the baby who dies for no known reason. I’ve seen the child, parent, grandparent with cancer. And I can’t – don’t – WON’T believe that this is what God had in mind.

I believe God had in mind an idyllic paradise, something like what’s written in Genesis, a garden where we walked with God and talked with God, where the food was so bountiful that you just had to reach out your hand to take it, and we all lived in harmony – the people and the animals and the earth.

But I also believe that God gave us a generous portion of the imago Dei, and for me that looks like creativity and free will. So we used our free will, we made choices and screwed it up (sorry for not being gentler with that), and now here we all are – daughters and sons many generations removed dealing with the great snowball of corporate sin – the bad decisions and the hurtful actions and all the greater evils of leaving the right things left undone. So no one starts at 0 in life when it comes to good and evil; we all start in negative numbers because we all own this evil that is.

But I also believe that God is working mightily to bring about God’s purpose for creation. I don’t know why God created all this; I only know that the God I come to know through the Spirit as I read scripture is a God who will bear all kinds of pain to be in relationship with us. Jesus tells a story, a parable, about a father who forgives his sons who do all kinds of stupid stuff – one squandering his inheritance and distancing himself from his family, the other failing to really be in relationship even when he’s at home and then refusing to forgive his brother (see Luke 15). The father in the story runs to his son. He runs, rejoicing that there is the opportunity to be in relationship, to love one another again.

So God bears with us in our decision-making, even when it is obviously not what God would want for us. It’s like when my son decides to run full speed down the driveway and I hold my breath, hoping he doesn’t fall and split his lip or worse. I imagine God watching all of creation with bated breath, wanting to reach out to steady us, but at times holding back, knowing that we are created imago Dei, we have to make our own choices, our own mistakes, so that we can enter into the love of God of our own free will. That is how it means something.

And when we line up our lives with God’s hope for our lives, it doesn’t mean there won’t be pain and suffering. As Westley says in The Princess Bride, “Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” Even as good and faithful people, we are still going to be impacted by other people’s bad choices. We get to deal with that, too. But for us, as persons who believe in the love and grace of God through Jesus Christ and stand in the power of the Holy Spirit, we are those who are built on a solid foundation (see Luke 6). The winds come and howl about our ears, the rains come and we sway with the mighty current, the earth trembles and shakes everything we’ve built our life upon, but this one thing, this one relationship, can endure and never disappoint.

I feel all of this because I’m in the boat with my family, too. Even as I struggle to stand apart just a little bit, offering a listening ear, a loving heart, and very little advice, I feel every bit of it. And it’s so much harder, dearer, and awe-full because it is my own family. I tremble, shake, and cry, but keep leaning on the grace of God. While I don’t believe everything happens for a reason, I know God will make the best of it all, working with creation, with each and every one of us, until we are reconciled and made new (see Revelation 21:5). Glory be to God.

Leaving Las Vegas, or Sex and the Pastor

Recently my husband and I took a few days and headed to the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas to celebrate 10 years of marriage. I booked the trip since we take turns planning anniversary celebrations and I have to confess that I was giggling as I thought about the possibility of renewing our vows in a drive thru.

We arrived, picked up a little red Hyundai rental, and opted to drive down the Strip to our hotel to enjoy all the famous neon sights. After checking in, we decided to walk down to the Bellagio to see the fountains which were highly recommended and free. It was a longer walk than we thought and gave us time to see a number of things:

·         people dressed up as creepy, off-brand children’s characters who pose for pictures (for tips)

·         people handing out playing card-sized ads for female escorts

·         scantily dressed women (bachelorettes, bridesmaids, etc.) stumbling down the street

·         very drunk men (bachelors, groomsmen, etc.) stumbling down the street

·         families taking in the sights with their infants, toddlers, and preschoolers

It was the last one that really bothered me. Las Vegas is something to see – a wonderland carved out of the desert with neon, water, steel, concrete, and a lot of performing talent. But it’s not for children. It’s an adult playground, with all the temptations that includes – drinking, gambling, and sex are all available in exchange for money. There’s a lot of smoke in the casinos, there’s a lot of danger in the streets. And I worried every time I saw a child whose parents were trying to take in the sights while exposing them to the same.

Anyway, I’ll get off that soapbox. On the way back, a friendly, off-duty flight attendant sitting near us tried to make small talk with me to take my mind off how my stomach was not being a good flyer. She noticed the book in my hands, a romantic piece of fluff perfect for flying, and she asked about it. I replied, “It’s pretty hot.” She said, “Is it explicit?” “Yes...” And for a moment I think I blushed. I wondered why. Why am I ashamed for reading someone’s imaginative rendering of intimacy between consenting adults?

I am convinced that our embodied existence is a good gift from God. We are dirt creatures, made from dust and God-breath, yet just a little lower than angels. What is it that God is mindful of us? We are indelibly the image of God, yet broken and fallen.

In Las Vegas, my stomach turned as I realized the ways in which women and men are seeking to earn a living. I don’t condemn them, knowing that if there were no demand for it, there would be no supply. And in Las Vegas, it’s just that it’s obvious – the city makes no apology for what it is, incorporating rules and regulations designed to keep persons safer and healthier.

When the Super Bowl came to North Texas, where I live, I was shocked to hear about the underground sex trade that would come with it. This is the sin that lies beneath, secret, taboo, and horrific. As faithful people, we are called to do better – not by passing laws that are simply evaded, but by encouraging one another to hold to higher standards and kicking the legs out from under these trades.

But I continue to wonder why I was embarrassed by my reading material. These were just words on a page, not objectifying a living, breathing child of God. And, in my reflection, I think it’s because discussion of sexuality finds no safe haven in the church. We try not to allow our faith to inform our embodied existence in its totality. We like to tell God, “Ok, you can reign here and here in my life, but not over here - this part is for me.”

As we drove home from Love Field, leaving Las Vegas behind us, my eyes rested as they gazed on the subdued landscape, mostly flat, still paved and developed, but different. Less neon, no showgirls, but still the reality of silence and shame.

So, sisters and brothers, I invite you to find your voice. Speak for those who have been taken captive in the sex trade. Speak to those who have been taken captive by addiction to sex, drugs, alcohol, or pornography. Speak to your brothers and sisters in Christ about how it is we can live faithfully in and through our bodies, enjoying all the good pleasures God has given us in ways that respect the other. It might feel strange, but God has gifted us with so many things, including our bodies and sexuality. Lived out well, it is a great gift indeed.

Clergy are like a box of chocolates…

…you never know what you’re going to get. We were in worship planning today with the new senior pastor who will be coming to our church on July 1, and this is maybe the funniest thing I said. Forrest Gump was on TV the other night, but this comment came after our new SP said something about him being “plug and play.”

I’ve been keeping my head down when it comes to General Conference. It’s a paradox in my mind – there’s so much at stake / there’s so little at stake. How will things that change in that stratosphere of polity really affect the day to day life of ministry and mission that I know best? This is the first General Conference to occur since my ordination last summer, so I thought I would be more engaged, not less.

But in this information age, I feel myself glutted and gagged by the constant influx of information via Facebook, Twitter, and even the weekly United Methodist Reporter that lands in my physical inbox. It’s just so much to process, changing by the second, and all second-/third-/fourth-hand from folks who know more than I do. I feel paralyzed in the land of unknowing, fearful to put a toe in the riptide of legislation.

I broke this relative silence today when I saw a couple of Facebook friends (read: not real friends, not people I would call in the middle of the night with a problem, or even during the day for a ride to the airport – really colleagues, one of whom is being considered to be a bishop…) posting about the guaranteed appointment legislation. Apparently, the more acceptable way to talk about it is in regard to the security of appointment for elders. While this made good sense a few years ago, to keep bishops and cabinets from benching ordained women and persons of color, it is now keeping ineffective clergy shuffling around from church to church, leaving a trail of dysfunction behind them. Or so that seems to be the thought process to one who, admittedly, is not following the news closely.

This morning, legislation was passed that means that ordained elders, who have agreed to go where they are sent by the bishop of their conference (i.e. that they will itinerate), are no longer guaranteed an appointment. Of course, since we are Methodists and still fearful of the human element of divine discernment, there are a couple of checks to balance and affirm the process of putting an elder on transitional leave, approval by the Board of Ordained Minitsry and clergy session of the annual conference.

I don’t know how I feel about all of this. I still wonder how “effectiveness” is measured – “in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure a year in the life?” I wish it could be measured in love. During the last round of annual evaluations, I was teary-eyed as I told my SPRC chair that the best ministry I do is stuff that no one usually sees. And I’d love to tell a story here, but most of it is also held in holy confidence between the parties involved, me, and a loving God.

I guess the worry I have is that we, as clergy, at least as elders, are expected to be “plug and play.” While what we do is deeply relational ministry, at least if you’re doing it right in my mind, you’re supposed to be willing to be uprooted for the sake of the Gospel and bloom in unfamiliar, perhaps even hostile, soil. It’s scary. I’m watching as our current SP untangles his life from the life of our church. It’s not overt and it’s not wrong, but I can see the leaning away as conversations drift to the time in just a few weeks when he will not be playing a part in this family of faith.

A few weeks ago, we met with our new SP for the first time to begin planning worship for his first few Sundays with us. Afterwards, my clergy sisters and I were reflecting on the time together. They have seen senior pastors come and go before, at this church and others. This is new to me. I was baptized at a Wesley Foundation, but didn’t join a local church until 2003. My first appointment was set in 2009 at the church I currently serve. So maybe I was the one struggling to navigate the unfamiliar waters the most as I said it felt like trying to do marriage work when you’re on your first date. Here we were, trying to collaboratively and creatively plan worship that would glorify God even as I realize this relative stranger across the table doesn’t know anything about me. Not that it matters, I guess, but it feels weird all the same.

I was talking to a confirmand today, a 7^th grader who has completed 2 years of study and has come to the point to decide wheter or not she will join our church. We went over the renunciation of sin and confession of faith in the liturgy. I asked her what each section meant, as though she were explaining it to a 3^rd grader, which goes something like this: 1)  Don’t do bad things; 2) God gives us power to not do bad things; and 3) We believe in and follow Jesus, along with anyone else who wants to be a part of the church. We went over the 5 parts of the vows of membership – prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness.

At the end of our time together, I asked her if she had any questions and she thought a long time before asking me when our current SP was leaving. I gave her the date of his last Sunday. She asked me if I knew who our new SP was. I told her his name, his current church, his wife’s name and profession, his kids’ names and the schools they attend. I stopped there, figuring that was probably more than she would remember and less than she wanted.

Then I told her the same story a very wise district superintendent, who is now a bishop, told me. This was the DS I met with the share my call to ministry. He told me that in some churches, the people center around the pastor, which usually doesn’t end well when that pastor is no longer there, for whatever reason. Our church, the United Methodist Church, is structured so that the people (hopefully!) center around God and the pastor circles the outside parameter, encouraging and redirecting.

All I can figure is that clergy exist in paradox. We engage in deeply relational ministry to build the trust necessary for growth in holiness. And yet we must be “plug and play” components, possessing the deep personal reserves to serve a variety of appointments with grace, spreading scriptural holiness across the land. Clergy are as clergy do. I pray we do well, no matter the under/over-lying structure.

Unity with Country, a Lenten Sermon

An introduction, then a sermon…

Our church has Wednesday evening communion services during Advent and Lent. You may recall that we just passed through Lent on our way to Easter. So, prior to that, I got a call from one of our lay leaders who was helping to organize the services, wondering if I would come preach and preside one evening. I checked my calendar and found I was only available on one Wednesday - March 28. She said that sounded great and we put it on our calendars.

Later, I talked with my pastor colleague who is the liaison for these services. She shared that the theme for the series was “Unity.” We’d be hearing about unity with our selves, unity with others, etc. I asked her what I had drawn by virtue of the day. My topic – Unity with Country. So here goes...

Scripture – Luke 20:20-26 (see also Matthew 22:15-22, Mark 12:13-17)

So they watched him (Jesus) and sent spies who pretended to be honest, in order to trap him by what he said, so as to hand him over to the jurisdiction and authority of the governor. So they asked him, "Teacher, we know that you are right in what you say and teach, and you show deference to no one, but teach the way of God in accordance with truth. Is it lawful for us to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?" But he perceived their craftiness and said to them, "Show me a denarius. Whose head and whose title does it bear?" They said, "The emperor's." He said to them, "Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's." And they were not able in the presence of the people to trap him by what he said; and being amazed by his answer, they became silent.

This is a really hard subject for me. How are you supposed to be united with something that is so divided? Now, especially, as 4 Republicans seek a presidential nomination and 1 Democrat seeks re-election, we get to witness just how divided we can become as Americans. How is it that our states hold together? How do California and Mississippi agree to co-exist under one set of laws? How does Texas find common ground with New York except that we share semi-common geography?

I will confess that I don’t enjoy election years. It’s just plain unpleasant. It’s tempting to duck my head down, ignore what’s happening in the stratosphere of politics, and just go about my everyday life. But I know that we have a unique challenge and calling as Americans who find their identity in Christ.

When I first felt called by God to serve in some way, it was through the ministry of a military chaplain. It was right after the war in Afghanistan started and I realized how far from God that could feel, far from friends and family, being asked to do the things you had done in training, but never imagined really doing.

I don’t know why I pursued this form of ministry, except that it was the open door that I could see. Having not seen many women in ministry in the local church, I had a hard time seeing myself as a pastor. So, I served 2 summers as a chaplain candidate, learning about the Air Force, its mission, and how to minister to airmen. It was a powerful experience to see the young men and women who had dedicated their lives to this way of life. And I also knew it wasn’t for me.

I chafed against so many rules. Now, I’m not naïve – I know why they’re there. They need folks to obey because in many circumstances it could be life-saving. But I have a hard time in such an authoritarian structure. I realized I really didn’t like being away from my family for long stretches of time. And I realized that I deeply missed the local church.

I feel like I have a great appreciation for the structure of our country, even with all its very human failings. Even without the butter bars of a second lieutenant on my shoulders, I have a certain amount of power based on nothing I’ve done but be born here. I am an American adult in 2012. That gives me access and voice that most people around the world will never know.

I had a conversation with a First Meal guest this past Sunday. His name is John. He is African-American and an actor who regularly appears at the theatre in town. He was expressing his dissatisfaction with the events surrounding the death of Trayvon Martin. Outside the justice issue at the heart of this, he said, “I get so tired of black people stopping at city hall.”

I heard what he was saying – he was tired of actions that gain media attention for a while, but ultimately do nothing. So I did something that I rarely do – I owned my white-ness. This is something we rarely talk about, but I will tell you now what I told him then – I know I’m white. And I know that that’s not right, but it’s the way it is in this time and place. So I vowed to him as I’ve vowed to God many times - to do whatever I can to work for justice.

When I was at Perkins School of Theology, one of the capstone projects of a seminary education there was writing your credo – your masterpiece of 30 pages or less that sums up your understanding of Christian doctrine. I recall that in my section on God, I focused on 2 attributes among the many available – omnipotent, eternal, omniscient, etc. etc. In my understanding of God, 2 attributes were most real to me – God’s love and God’s justice.

They really are just flipsides of the same thing. God loves us. God loves us all. And unlike human parents who may not be able to help but love one child a shade more or differently than another, God loves us all the same. Which is abounding, outpouring, and free.

But God is also just. God wants us all to have enough. And in our Scriptures we can see those times when God shakes things up for those who have hoarded away too much while denying those who have too little.

In our Scripture reading for today, Jesus neatly sidesteps a clever trap set for him by the religious authorities. He’s made his triumphant entry into Jerusalem and now the Pharisees, the Herodians, or the chief priests and scribes (depending on if you are reading Matthew, Mark, or Luke) are looking for a reason to take him down because he is a threat to their power.

So they’ve created a trap. These spies come with flattery that is actually true – Jesus is right in what he says and teaches. He shows deference to no one, but teaches the way of God in accordance with truth. Literally, the idiom here is that Jesus doesn’t “receive faces” – he makes no distinction between persons. God is loving and God is just.

As it says in Matthew 5 - "You have heard that it was said, "You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others?”

So Jesus offers them an answer that amazes them, silences them, and (according to Matthew), makes them leave him and go away. Jesus says, “Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's.”

I can’t help but love Jesus a little more at this point. You give the emperor what is the emperor’s and God what is God’s. It begs the question – and what is God’s?

It’s such a wonderful answer because it sidesteps the trap – if he had said you don’t pay taxes he would have been a popular revolutionary of the people and if he had said you do pay taxes, he could have lost his following and looked like a Roman lackey. Instead, he questions our priorities and true allegiances.

We have a unique challenge and calling as Americans who find their identity in Christ. We put on Christ in baptism. That’s why we only use our first and middle names in baptism – our family name becomes Christian.

And as members of the family, we are called to be loving and just. In following this calling, I refuse to be silent or ignore the things outside my ordinary sphere. I’ll pay taxes and serve on a jury and obey the laws, all the while working for change in the things that are not loving or just.

I pray God gives me the strength and courage to speak for the marginalized and oppressed when they are too scared or powerless to speak for themselves. And I pray fervently that there will be day when our country and all others experience God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven – even if it means giving away some of my power and privilege that I enjoy today. Because it’s loving and just.

That’s who we are called to be as God’s sons and daughters. Let us remember who we are and whose we are this Lent and always.