Struggling with Athalia

Reading:   2 Kings 11:1-20

At a recent Education for Ministry (EfM) mentor training we were talking about recruiting and how to reach to people who might find the course of study interesting and/or helpful to their lives and ministries. Usually during recruiting events we have a few current or former students present to testify to the value of the program to them and their ministries. One mentor at training told of such a meeting where there was one lady very eager to share. When her turn came, she said, in her Southern drawl, "I never knew there was so much in the Old Testament. Why, it's all full of SEX and MURD-AH." Needless to say, the mentor had a bumper crop of students sign up for the year.

It is surprising how much sex and murder and all manner of connivery are in the Old Testament. David and Bathsheba come to mind, and probably every young person who has perused the Bible while the sermon was going on has found the eroticism of Song of Songs. But there is a lot of dark stuff there too, including rape, suicide, murder and slaughter on a massive scale. Whole cities, kingdoms and even families have been wiped out, often because they opposed the Israelites or were considered enemies of God but sometimes it was just convenience or revenge. It's dark stuff indeed.

The reading from 2 Kings seems to illustrate the violence and the lengths to which people will go to seize what they see as theirs. Athalia was the daughter of King Ahab and his queen Jezebel. Her husband had been King Joram (also called Jehoram). Athalia's son, King Ahaziah, was dead and Athalia wanted to make sure she was going to rule even if it meant exterminating the rest of the whole royal family. This plot has more twists and turns than any Hollywood movie but we seldom read it unless we follow the Daily Office or some other whole-Bible reading program. We certainly never hear it read on Sunday!

In the six-year reign of Athalia, she definitely did not make points as what would be considered a good Queen. I wonder what she was thinking, especially when she ordered the death of what appeared to be her own family. She thought she had gotten them all, but she was wrong. As a worshiper of Baal, she never went near the temple dedicated to God; had she done so, she might have discovered that a small boy and his nurse had been secreted there, safe from Athalia’s murderous machinations.  Jehosheba, another daughter of Joram, and her husband, Jehoiada, the high priest, had spirited the child, Joash, out of the palace and into the temple for safety and where he remained for the next six or seven years.  Imagine Athalia’s horror when, one day, she heard a commotion and saw a larger and more vocal than usual crowd at the temple. Curious, she went in to see what was going on and saw a small boy wearing the crown of Israel and being hailed as the rightful king. She wasn't happy -- not at all. She was downright rend-your-clothes-and-scream-treason unhappy. Jehoiada, the chief priest, gave the order for the temple guards to take her out and execute her, just as she had ordered the slaying of so many people herself. She was escorted out through a gate normally used by horses to a place where her execution would not soil or compromise the holiness of the temple of God. The people were happy and Joash ruled as a good king and true son of David for the next 40 years so there was a sort of happy ending to the whole miserable story.

There are a lot of stories like this in the Bible, and when reading through the Old Testament book by book and chapter by chapter, it’s amazing to see how few really familiar stories there are compared to the total number. Among the unfamiliar are murders done for political gain, out of jealousy, even on God’s orders.  It’s those stories in the last category that are the hardest ones to read much less understand. It doesn’t square with the God we want to believe in, the God of love and justice and mercy. It’s not that God that we can feel comfortable trusting to be with us and protect us. What are we to make of a God who orders entire cities and nations of people to be annihilated along with their cattle, sheep, goats and even babes in arms? Even in familiar stories like the story of Moses and Pharaoh, it seems God plays with Pharaoh’s heart, alternately softening and hardening it with a series of ever-increasingly horrific plagues and even culminating in the elimination of the military might of Egypt as one final punishment.  

When it comes down to it, how are we to understand a God who will wipe out an entire world with the exception of one man and his family and a small number of every kind of bird, animal and bug? The familiar story of Noah's doesn't always bear thinking about too deeply; it's easier just to read it as a nice story for the kiddies with visions of animals marching neatly two by two into a large vessel and coming out under a beautiful rainbow than as an angry and vengeful God taking direct action on every living thing on earth save for a select few. I still have trouble believing that deer and rabbits and snakes and even kittens, not to mention newborn babes and young children were so evil that they required a holocaust from God to clean up the world.

The Bible is called "God's Word" -- God speaking to us through its stories and pages. The Bible is a record of humanity's interaction with God, humanity in all its glory and shame, heroics and despicable acts. Sometimes it's easy to hear the voice of God coming through the words and stories, but I find it often very hard or even impossible to hear it in stories like Athalia’s and others. Sure, I’m like most folks who like good stories of sex and murder; look at the current best-seller lists. What is harder to like is a book with enough blood to fill an ocean and enough evil (and the resulting punishment) to boggle the mind. Jesus didn't always use honeyed words either; he could be very direct and sometimes almost rude with those who wouldn't or couldn't understand and even with innocents asking for help like the Syrophoenician woman.

My mind returns to the story of Athalia. It's just one story out of a multitude of others, so what useful lesson am I to get from reading and thinking about it? The most obvious is to worship God, not Baal, and not to murder people, but that's a pretty flip answer to a real question I have been wrestling with for some time. What am I to learn from the stories of sex and murder that so populate the Bible? Probably the most valuable lesson is the very fact that I am not bound to just accept the stories at total face value as a test of faith or as proof of anything. It's okay to wrestle with scripture and why it is written the way it is; the Jews have been doing it for millennia and it hasn't hurt their faith any, so it seems. Some of their best writings are those of rabbis who wrestled with scripture and found a way to live with them, even if they didn't paint a very good picture. The rabbis wisely understood that the Bible was about human beings as well as God, and that often the two were very far apart. Scripture is full of people, warts and all, and their relationship to each other and to God. Perhaps that is the wisdom that underlies the first and greatest commandment as Jesus spoke it, to love God and to love one’s neighbor. Both of those require a lot of struggling and a lot of wrestling with self as much as with anyone else.

I will probably continue to wrestle with a lot of these stories that aren’t heard on Sunday and that I don’t get a warm fuzzy feeling about. I don’t think God minds the struggle and the wrestling; it’s a sort of demonstration of a desire to understand and reach a closer relationship with God who will never be fully knowable but always available. I think too that I need to be careful not to be a Baal worshiper, whether my particular baal is power, money, control, possessions or prestige.

I guess that in the long run it’s better to struggle than to conquer.  I wonder what Athalia would make of that? 


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café on Saturday, September 29, 2014.

Didn't I Tell You?

2 Kings 2:1-18

If you knew someone you loved and respected was going to be taking a long journey, would you insist on going with them?  Elisha and, it seems, at least half the country knew Elijah was going away on his final journey and Elisha himself was determined to take as much of the journey with him as possible. They started at Gilgal and then went to Bethel and then to Jericho. Each time they were met by the prophets of the town and Elisha was asked the same question – did he know that today Elijah would be taken from him? Elisha knew it, but asked for silence from the prophets. Eventually Elijah, Elisha and, by now, a cast of at least 50 prophets reach the Jordan. Elijah rolled up his cloak and touched the water with it before he and Elisha alone walked across on dry land, just as Moses and the children of Israel did at the Red (Reed) Sea. We know the story of Elijah being taken up to heaven by a chariot of fire drawn by fiery horses (a whirlwind, if you like). We also know that Elisha inherited Elijah’s mantle and his position as prophet to all of Israel. It must have been a sad journey back across the Jordan to meet those who had remained behind, but Elisha had Elijah’s mantle for comfort.

The next part seems sort of strange. Everybody seemed very concerned that Elijah might still be out there somewhere, perhaps lost, perhaps injured, perhaps dying. Elijah tried to reassure them but nothing would do but they send 50 men across the Jordan to look for their great prophet, no matter what his pupil and apparent heir said. They did this for three days and when the men returned empty handed, Elisha had a very pithy comment that I just love – “Did I not say to you, ‘do not go’?”  I think what we have here is the charter membership of what will later be known as the Doubting Thomas Society, people who don’t believe until they actually have seen proof of something happening. They never seem to expect a response like "Didn't I tell you?"

It's hard to take somebody else's word for something without verification. We want proof, whether in a court of law, an office report, a doctor's diagnosis, or any one of 1000 possible scenarios. Yes, we talk to experts, but do they really know what they're talking about? Is what they say really the truth? Should we get a second opinion? Are we likely to believe that second opinion over the first?  Would we go with the one we liked best or the one that gave us the best outcome, whether it was totally realistic or not? Elisha had no reason to lie especially since everybody seemed to know exactly what was going to happen before it did, yet they still questioned him as if what they had heard and what he had reported really wasn't the truth. They still wanted to send out a search party just in case. Elisha had Elijah's cloak, wasn't that enough proof that Elijah was no longer there? Or no longer needed his cloak? We think it would be obvious, but some people just can't accept unless they see. Our friend Doubting Thomas had the same problem much later, but he didn't invent the "I've got to see it to believe it" way of thinking. And there is always someone around to say, "Didn't I tell you?"

Sometimes news is just too hard to take unless there is something concrete, something solid to enforce the idea that yes, it is real, it did happen, we can believe what we're told. When I stop and think about it, we do it all the time with God. We read God's promises in the Bible and yet we don't always trust them until we have something concrete, solid, and verifiable that indicates to us that the promise was real. It really happened just the way it's supposed to! Paul tells us that "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" (Heb. 11:1) and most of the time we can accept that, but there's always that little tickle in the back of the mind that said, “Oh really?” I know it's happened to me more than once, and even though I have faith that God will take care of me and will be with me no matter what, sometimes I need a human hand or human arm around me or human voice in my ear saying it will be all right or something like that. I wonder if God doesn’t sometimes just wants to say, “Didn’t I tell you?”

Most probably  we are all members of the Doubting Thomas Society at one time or another. Perhaps that's one reason we need the story of Elijah and Elisha as not just as a story of a miraculous assumption into heaven. We have a miracle but we are somewhat like the people who were there when Elisha came back alone, wanting to make sure that what they heard was going to happen really did happen – and more proof than a cloak and someone’s word. Then, when we’ve exhausted all the possibilities, we hear someone say, “Didn’t I tell you?” and we have to agree that yes, they did and they were right.

There’s nothing totally wrong about doubt. There has to be something like a belief or an idea or an event there first in order for doubt about it to exist, else why would doubt itself exist?  I think that people who have an element of doubt in their faith realize that there is may be something more that they aren’t understanding, realizing or believing. The Bible gives us plenty of places for doubt to creep into our consciousnesses but it also gives us the opportunity to wrestle with scripture and in that struggle to learn a bit and to build a stronger faith. If one is totally certain to begin with is there really room for growth?  Perhaps the prophets and searchers had it right all along – trust but verify, check the story out, look for the facts but accept the situation even if there is no physical proof. I think that’s what they did, and I think it is probably a good plan for me as well. Some things, like the assumption of Elijah or even the resurrection just have to be taken on faith and without verifiable evidence that would stand up in a court of law or even in public opinion.  

I have a feeling that one day we’re going to meet someone face-to-face who will give us authoritative answers to all our Biblical questions, the ones we could never resolve through tests or tangibles. We expect we know what he will say, but I bet he will also tell us that our preconceptions and interpretations were just short of the mark. I have a feeling we’re going to hear Jesus say, “Didn’t I tell you?” It won't be the first time he said it, but maybe this is the time we'll finally believe it.
 

 Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, September 21, 2013.

The Price of Whine

4 Feast of the Holy Cross (evening)

From Mount Hor they set out by the way to the Red Sea,^* to go around the land of Edom; but the people became impatient on the way. ⁵The people spoke against God and against Moses, ‘Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food.’ ⁶Then the Lord sent poisonous^* serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. ⁷The people came to Moses and said, ‘We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you; pray to the Lord to take away the serpents from us.’ So Moses prayed for the people. ⁸And the Lord said to Moses, ‘Make a poisonous^* serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live.’ ⁹So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.  -- Numbers 21:4-9

During the Exodus from Egypt it seems that a number of times the Israelites weren’t totally happy in the situation which they found themselves. They seem to like to complain, gripe, bellyache, kvetch,  whatever word you want to use for it, because things weren’t the same as they were in Egypt. Granted, in Egypt they were slaves and here they were more or less free, but by the same token in Egypt they had beer, onions, vegetables, melons, fish and occasionally, meat. It wasn’t easy to get those things in any quantity while trekking around a relative desert for 40 years, even on the major trade routes of the Middle East, so they griped, and kvetched, and whined again and again.

The lesson this morning shows that they were still at it. The manna from God, the miraculous food that fed everyone every day, had this little quirk about it in that it was totally utilized by the 248 parts of the body (according to the teachings of the Rabbis*) with nothing left over. It wasn't like regular food; it went in the body the same way as normal everyday food but it didn’t come out,  so it must stay in the body and rot which wasn’t good for the body or the person. This manna, though, didn’t work like that; God provided this miraculous food and they were worried about elimination.  In addition, the manna was boring. When you want a steak, fluffy scale-like stuff with the consistency of instant mashed potato straight from the box just doesn’t do it. So the Israelites griped and God got tired of it - again.

The punishment that God sent to the Israelites for their griping and complaining and bellyaching was for them to find themselves in a bed of poisonous vipers whose injection and venom felt like a fiery spark that kept burning. Snakes are usually individuals once they leave the egg, but some areas can be infested with a lot of individuals. It seemed that the Israelites picked the wrong place to kvetch this time. God was not only the punisher but was also the source of healing. God instructed Moses to make a “seraph”** and put it high on a pole in the middle of the camp where everybody could see it. Moses, whose people were Kenites (the word Kenite means a smith or metalworker) created a figure out of copper or perhaps bronze. It seems both Aaron and Moses were adept metalworkers.

This seems rather strange. Aaron had made the golden calf and got in trouble for it. Now here was God telling Moses to make a copper or bronze “seraph” and put it on a stick so that people could gaze at it and be cured of their poisonous snake bites. Didn’t God just say something back in Exodus about graven images? So why was God telling Moses to make what amounted to a graven image that was more like a magical charm than anything else? I know God has God’s own reasons, so far be it for me to question them, but it just seems strange, especially considering that the Israelites kept that artifact and put it in or with the Ark of the Covenant for centuries. It remained with the Ark in the Temple until about 700 BC when King Hezekiah destroyed it because the people were offering incense to it like an idol. Other civilizations with whom the Israelites had contact had cults where snakes were venerated and even were symbols of healing, so is that why Moses made the “seraph” in the form of a serpent? The sun glancing off the copper shape could very well resemble a burning and undulating snake that is slithering upwards or perhaps a dancing flame from a fire. It could also resemble a pointer going directly upward to the true source of healing, God. Perhaps the thought of that was why they had to gaze at it rather than just merely glancing before the cure was effected. The rabbis in the Midrash seems to take that view. Those rabbis were very wise men.

The whole point of the story is that there are always consequences, often rather unpleasant ones, and that God is both judgmental and compassionate. I think if I had to point one passage that I most closely identified God with human parents, I think this might be the one. Children need discipline and parents are the disciplinarians. By the same token, once punishment has been meted out, that very same parent will most likely wipe the child’s tears, take it by the hand and go get some ice cream or a favorite book to share. That’s sort of what God did with the Israelites; they acted like unruly children, God the parent punished them and then gave them a sign of healing. If that isn’t a parental act, I don’t know what else to call it.

What I need to take from this lesson is the reminder that kvetching doesn’t usually help and can make things immeasurably worse at times. That’s not to say the occasional complaint should never be voiced. Sometimes that complaint gets things done that otherwise would have gone unnoticed. Still, nobody likes a whiner, and apparently that goes for God as well.  I also need the reminder to look to God for what I need (but actually do something about it and not just sit and look pious and expect God to do all the work). I have to remember to really look at things, not just give a superficial flick of the eyes to it because I might miss something important.  I need to watch for things that point me to God, whether a snake on a stake, a flame on a flagstaff or even something as simple as a falling leaf, a twinkling star or a smiling infant.

The question isn’t when to start looking but how soon I can do it. There might be a snake sitting there somewhere close by with my name on its dance card.
 

* See Rashi's commentary on the passage. See also The Talmud - Yoma 75b  pages 225-7.

** Seraph can mean  “flame” or “fire” but is often translated as “serpent” although the term seraphim generally applies to anthropomorphized six-winged figures who stand closest to the throne of God, like the seraph who applied the coal of fire to the lips of Isaiah.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, September 14, 2013.

 

Generational Voices

 1 Kings 12:1-20

The Northern Tribes Secede

12 Solomon was dead and now Israel had come together to ratify the reign of the new King Rehoboam. Becoming King was not automatic; it involved approval from the entire nation. In this passage Israel had a request to make of Rehoboam and his answer would determine his success or failure in attaining the throne of his father.

The request that Israel had made of Rehoboam was both simple and complex. The simple part was the request to have their workload lightened. Solomon had been less than kind to his workers who were building things in his kingdom, notably the temple in Jerusalem. The people were asking Rehoboam to lighten up a bit, and there was the complex part. That was something about which Rehoboam figured he’d better get some advice before making a decision.

That was a wise move – at least initially. Most wise people don’t just jump into something, especially something as important as a new career, moving to a new place, or even instigating a new venture of some sort. Rehoboam first consulted the elders, wise people who had counseled his father and their response was to advise Rehoboam to comply with the wish of Israel and ease the burden. In the short-term this could slow progress but in the long run he would win the hearts of the people and they would be more willing to do more in return. Rehoboam took this under advisement and then went and sought the counsel of his contemporaries who advised just the opposite. Show strength right off the bat, tighten the reins and let loose an even worse whip to keep them in submission. Rehoboam chose to listen to his contemporaries and the results were disastrous to say the least. By the time the smoke cleared, the only tribe over which Rehoboam would rule would be Judah; the rest of Israel packed its tents and went home, severing the tie with the house of David forever.

Rehoboam suffered a real missed opportunity to keep the family together, as it were. Once he made that choice, choosing the immediate over the long-term, the immediate reaction was not the one he had wanted. It's a reminder of some of the discussions going on today in the church between generations as to in what direction the church should go. One question before the church is how to attract and keep members of the younger generations, namely the Millennials and hopefully the Generation Zs that come after them. Everybody’s got an opinion and everybody wants a place at the table where they can express that opinion. Each has an idea of what they would like to see and what they would like to change. Do we hold on to tradition in both liturgy and in music? Do we modernize with praise bands and a more emotion driven form of worship or do we go with more creative, more "relevant" liturgies that aren't radical enough to scare the older folks but which might seem a bit more contemporary to the younger ones? How do we blend the needs, desires, and hopes of multiple generations so that none feel that they are not being heard or that their needs, desires and hopes are unimportant enough for consideration. It’s a fine balance, one that can be very hard to maintain.

I think it’s natural for a generation of young people to question, to struggle against authority, to want to do things their way which, to their way of thinking, is the only and right way.  They have wisdom about a world they’ve grown up in while the older folks have had to transition (more or less easily or gracefully) from a quite different one. Most parents seem to have the same wail, “My kids don’t listen to me! They want to do it their way!” I have a feeling every parental generation since Adam and Eve has said something similar – just as the Millennials and Generation Zs will say it when their turn comes. I also hear Millennials saying, "It's our turn; listen to us for a change and don't try to guess what we want or need. Let us tell you." How can the generations come together and work out a plan where everybody wins and nobody feels like they are losers or haven't been heard? Is that even possible?

What can the various generations like bring to the table of discussion?  With the Silent Generation/Boomers, many have grown up in some sort of tradition, have been taught what was considered "right belief" and found that questioning was often actively discouraged.  Many have come to the realization that life and faith come in shades of gray and not just solid yeas or nays. They’ve generally accommodated themselves to changes in liturgy and focus just as they have cultural and sociological changes in their congregations and their neighborhoods, sometimes more or less gracefully. But if they’re still in church it’s because they feel that this is the place they want and need to be, a place that accepts them and listens to them and where they can express their faith and their understanding in safety. Funny, that sounds a lot like what Millennials seem to want, at least to my ears. They have accumulated the wisdom that comes from struggling with a lot of things that the Millennials struggle with now – the Been There, Done That syndrome.

What the Millennials and Gen Zs can contribute are fresh eyes and a changed world. They've got ideas based on the world of computers, instant communications and a view to global problems that their parents and grandparents never had to consider. They seem to want tradition, maybe slightly adjusted to a more modern concept of sound bytes rather than florid Shakespearean (and King James) English, but with a firm footing in the past. I bet they'd like the church to reach out more to try to help solve the problems of the world like poverty, homelessness, hunger, abuse and mismanagement. They want to question and struggle with the answers in a supportive environment that allows them to bring disparate disciplines like theology and science together. Unlike the Christianity of their predecessors where missionaries were sent out to convert the unbelievers, they want to be part of the mission that helps bring clean drinking water to thirsty villages, build schools to educate the next generations of leaders in countries where poverty is so rampant and to help feed the millions who are starving -- all in the name of Jesus but without insisting on conversion before assistance. And, I am pretty sure they want people and churches who really mean what they preach -- showing God's love, respecting the humanity of all people and demonstrating the gospel by the way they live, not just by flinging around Bible verses or forgetting the gospel message by the time they hit the front door of the church on the way out on Sunday mornings.

I wonder … what would happen if we could harness the experience and the tradition to the vision and the transparency? How can we make a safe, worshipful, loving, honest, giving place for everyone? What if we could listen, really listen, to all sides and do what Episcopalians pride themselves on being, namely a bridge church and a wide umbrella.

Perhaps Rehoboam is a good cautionary tale for us in these times and when it comes to our church. He did have a good idea, namely to solicit advice from two very different sources. In terms of our modern church discussions, perhaps that wisdom can be applied by having both sides at a round table, listening to each other and asking and answering frank questions. I think all generations have something to offer, something that would make the church poorer if they weren’t present. Instead of choosing one over the other (and potentially making a wrong choice like Rehoboam did), we could take the best of both, lighten the burden and still make progress.

I wonder too… isn’t it worth a try? Maybe this is one of those times to have what are called “difficult conversations,” conversations that touch on sensitive issues and tries to do so with mutual gentleness and mutual respect. Now the question appears, what is holding us back from such conversations?  Pride? Stubbornness? Unwillingness?  Feelings of entitlement? 

I hope those conversations start soon and spread widely. I'd love to be part of them.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, September 7, 2013.

The Acts of Blessing

1 Kings 7:51-8:21

51 Solomon has done his most famous act: he has built the temple in Jerusalem to serve as the house of God in the city of his father, David. David had wanted to built it, but God had told him no, that was for his son to do and now the man had done it. The passage details the completing jobs, bringing in the dedicated treasure David had accumulated, and then the final piece was put in place, the Ark of the Covenant, containing the tablets Moses had brought down from Sinai during the Exodus. All of Israel (so the story tells us) was there for the consecration of the Temple and Solomon's  blessing of the people. It must have been quite a celebration.

The word "blessing" has a number of different definitions. In some places, instead of using the words "saying grace" before a meal they say they are going to "ask the blessing." Some refer to good things that happen as "blessings."  If you're an architect and the city gives its approbation to a plan you've created, it could be said that they gave it their blessing. And then there is the kind of blessing Solomon gave to the people. Blessings can be both given and received. That's the neat thing about them.

We don't build temples the way Solomon did, but we build homes and businesses, churches, synagogues, mosques and, yes, different kinds of temples, depending on the religious persuasion of those who cause the building to be built. Most of them (although not many houses or businesses) are actually blessed by some sort of religious person, and along with the blessing of the building, the people who will occupy and worship in it will also be blessed. In the Episcopal Church we bless new churches and the stuff that will go in them -- altars, furnishings, icons, statues, crosses, linens, vestments, and the like, just like Solomon did. Other churches bless different things but all, I'm pretty sure, don't consider it a proper place of worship until some sort of blessing and dedication takes place in and around it.

Episcopalians also bless ordinary things -- pretty much anything that doesn't scare the horses (or upset the bishop). Pets, motorcycles, rosaries, houses, boats -- you ask, we'll bless. Congregations get blessings routinely and private blessings and anointings can be arranged or be done spontaneously, depending on the need, the desire and the persons involved. We do a lot of blessing -- from birth to burial and a lot of stages in between.

Marriages are ceremonies of both witness to a contract and blessing and here is where we run into a bit of a bind. We as a church and as a whole have not yet reached the point where we are as unanimous about blessing committed relationships as we are to bless a house, a cat or a new tree. Two people show up at a rectory or parish office and want to talk about a wedding and in almost every place they will be told that fine, it can happen after they have gone through some period of premarital counseling first. All that changes in most places if the two people happen to be of the same gender, no matter how long their relationship or how deep their commitment to each other. Most states don't recognize same-sex marriage and so, since the church is acting not only in its own behalf but on behalf of the state, the church doesn't either. Why is it so easy to bless some things that truly are mundane but so difficult to bless something representing those very values we claim to hold in highest regard:  fidelity, commitment and devotion to the pursuit of building a home and a life together? We don't require a commitment from our car, even our cat (although dog owners may differ there), yet we bless them. We bless pieces of cloth and nailed-together boards, why not committed relationships? And why are we acting as agents of the state in this matter and no other?  Or at all?

We say "Bless you!" when someone sneezes and Southerners routinely say "Bless your heart" when they are touched by something you've done or said. "I'll be blessed" indicates confusion or astonishment and "Bless my soul" speaks of surprise. It sounds a lot nicer than some of the ejaculatory phrases people use these days for surprise, confusion, or anything else. Perhaps it would be a better world if we did use it more -- and more expansively than we do currently.

Blessings shouldn't be caged in churches and only doled out to those we feel who might be appropriate for such a thing. I have a feeling that if anyone came to Jesus and asked for a blessing, he'd give it. He certainly blessed a lot of people with healing, curing and teaching and not a single one of those was done to build himself up or to mark him as someone extraordinary.  He wasn't even a priest -- well, a recognized member of the priestly caste and profession. I think he sort of expects us to bless and be blessed by other ordinary people, folks who might not recognize a blessing as such if it bit them on the nose but who could use some encouragement, compassion, or even just a recognition of their presence and their humanity.

God bless you today. Go and share the blessings.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, August 31, 2013.




 

One Day at a Time

Commemoration of Aidan and Cuthbert

We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.

Marks of the True Christian

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. -- Romans 12:6-13

 I've been working on a project for church that involves putting together a timeline of Anglican/Episcopal church history. It's always a treat when one thing I'm doing suddenly gets a bit of light from an unexpected source -- in this case, the Daily Office and the commemorations of the day.  Aidan and Cuthbert both made their mark on Anglican church history, even though the Anglican church at that time was Celtic and later Roman Catholic. They had a hand in both, and added to the history of the church in England which became the Anglican Church.

Aidan was from the tradition of Celtic Catholicism as practiced at Iona, a center for mission activity off the western coast of Scotland. Oswald, king of Northumbria, sent to Iona with a request for a monk to establish a new mission on the eastern coast of northern England and so Aidan went and founded the monastery at Lindisfarne, an island like his former home. Aidan and his monks spread Christianity not only in the Northumbrian area but as far south as London.  Aidan was a holy soul, inviting everyone he met, whether pagan or believers, to join the faith or strengthen the faith they already professed.  He taught by invitation, not compulsion and met with great success. Aidan died in 651.

Legend tells us that Cuthbert had a vision that Aidan had died, a vision that prompted him to join the Celtic Catholic religious life Aidan had practiced.  He eventually became  the prior of Melrose Abbey before assuming the post of prior at Lindisfarne in 654. During his tenure at Lindisfarne, he guided the community to acceptance of the Roman form of Catholicism as established norm based on the decisions of the Synod of Whitby in 663. the main point being how Easter was calculated.  Cuthbert was later Bishop of Hexham but remained at or on a small island near Lindisfarne until his death in 687.

In the reading this morning, Paul speaks of gifts and the results of those gifts. Everybody has at least one gift, and some have more than one. With Aidan and Cuthbert, it seemed they had most of the gifts on Paul's list -- compassion, diligence, exhortation, teaching, generosity, cheerfulness, ministry and faith. Invitation and persusasion "got" more people on board with Christianity than all the rules and rule-enforcement could muster. Theirs was true vocation for ministry. Frederick Buechner could have easily applied his definition of vocation to them -- their greatest passion met the world's needs.

It's funny how many people don't see the gifts they have within them. Sometimes it takes someone else to point it out to them, and, depending on how the information is received, they either find greater passion in that gift or they discount it and leave it unfulfilled. Sometimes folks just "follow their bliss," to use Joseph Campbell's notable phrase, not realizing they have found a vocation and a ministry in work that may be far outside the walls of any church or even any denomination. Feeding people at a homeless shelter might just seem like a good deed, but if one comes away with a feeling of having done something good for someone else who cannot possibly pay it back in kind, that is exercising a gift and getting a benefit far greater than any monetary reward or even profuse thanks can offer.

A 12-step program in which I was involved for a while had traditions, promises, slogans and exercises that we read at every meeting. The one that sticks in my mind the clearest goes, in part: "Just for today I will do somebody a good turn and not get found out. If anyone knows of it, it will not count." It is a quiet kind of ministry statement and objective -- but one that meets one need in a world with a billion billion needs. It sounds like a drop in the bucket, but what if every person on earth met just one need for someone else every day?  A single raindrop doesn't really do much, but a whole lot of raindrops can make an oasis out of a desert.

That "Just for today" slogan goes on, "I will do at least one thing I don't want to do, and I will perform some small act of love for my neighbor."  I'm sure Aidan and Cuthbert would have recognized days in their own lives where that saying was totally applicable, but I have a feeling they welcomed the opportunity, unlike most of us who try to squirm out of doing what we don't want to do and usually can't see some small thing we could do for someone else. I know I have and I do. Perhaps this is the lesson I am supposed to learn -- or re-learn-- from both the readings and the autobiographies of today's honorees.  Being able to see a need and do my best to fill it (or help them fill it) is probably a gift I need to cultivate a bit more, not waiting for something to crack me on the head and say "Here. Now. Do it."  It's easy to be oblivious and much harder to be awake and aware. I need to stop sleepwalking through life and maybe the stories of Aidan and Cuthbert plus the words of Paul are the alarm clarion I need.

And those most blessed words, "Just for today..."  One day at a time, one hour or one minute at a time, that's all. No great huge lifetime commitment, no permanent vows or even long-term contract, just one day at a time, one bit of time every day, practicing hospitality, compassion, patience, perseverance and letting hope and love light the road. It's not an insurmountable task and it may help me discover where my passion meets the world's needs. And I don't have to go to a holy island or be sent from one to make it happen. I just have to wake up.

One day at a time.

Originally published at Daily Episcopalian on Episcopal Café Wednesday, August 28, 2013.

 

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Aftermath of a Microburst

Among other things, weather in Arizona is usually rather predictable: sunny days followed by relatively cloudless nights. It can dip below freezing at night (very infrequently) and rise well above 115° during the summer. People come to Arizona for the sun and sometimes get cranky when we experience what is, in this part of Arizona, a relatively uncommon experience called rain. People come to the desert expecting warm temperatures and sunshine punctuated by numerous restaurants, bars, and stores into which they can duck when they begin to overheat a bit. So much sunshine gets tiresome, at least for this East Coast-raised woman who misses four identifiable seasons and rain that occurs on more than a quarterly or semiannual basis. That is our normal, but two nights ago, at least for a while, normal went out the window something very different came in.

It was a normal evening. It had been a warm day and I was sitting at my desk writing when I got a phone call from a friend who hardly ever calls. Unusual event number one. We were chatting along and I was noticing that the overcast skies were getting more overcast by the moment but thought nothing of it since it had been cloudy most of the day anyway. All of a sudden the power went out, making it unusual event number two. I told her that it had happened but thought nothing more of it, really, because it happens once in a while when someone its power pole or a transformer goes haywire. It usually returns in a short period of time – most of the time, anyway. We finished our conversation and I gathered my flashlights, my Glade candle and my Kindle on the off chance I would need them all, which I did.

Almost without warning, the air started to turn brown and the wind started to pick up. At this time of year and this area, that’s usually indicator that were going to get a dust storm, known as a haboob, that blows through with high winds blowing dust that reduces visibility to a matter of feet in area where visibility is measured in miles. The haboob did present itself in almost in the blink of an eye when the brown dust pushed by the winds changed to torrential rain that created almost a white out. The rain was also blowing sideways, testimony to the power of the winds that I heard later were measured in gusts up to 68 miles an hour. I could barely see the trailer across the street. Lightning was zigzagging everywhere, there were occasional rolls of thunder and as I looked at my neighbors trailer catty- corner across the street, I noticed the electrical pole behind her house was throwing off sparks. Thinking to myself, “Oh crap, this is not good,” I dialed my electric company with the information of the power outage and the sparking pole. Meanwhile the rain abated after 10 or 15 minutes and the winds calmed down although the lightning and thunder continued for some time. I can’t say I was terrified, but I was certainly unsettled, fascinated, curious, shaken, relieved, and horrified with each of those emotions going on inside me like a miniature tornado. I finally went outside and looked up the street only to see that one of the very tall trees was now lying across the road. Looking in another direction, at the street at the bottom of the small rise on which my trailer sits, was a small lake.  I checked around my house and thankfully found no damage and only bits of twigs and leaves from the trees; however, many of my neighbors and other residents of the same area were not so fortunate. They had lost awnings, parts of the skirting around their trailers, sheds, tree limbs and whole trees, fences and sometimes shingles or even parts of their roof. The blessing in all this is that no one was seriously injured and many neighbors were out walking to see the damage and to make sure everyone else was okay. It’s funny how a situation like this can bring together people who don’t know each other all into a group concerned for the safety and well-being of other unknown people.

It was an uncomfortable night that night. The power had gone out about 7 PM and the temperature inside my trailer had fairly rapidly reached approximately the ambient temperature outside which was about 95°. I turned on my Kindle and read for a bit but couldn’t settle down for long. The candle didn’t give a lot of light but it was comforting to have it glowing in the darkness.  I lay down to try to sleep but it was too hot,  so all I did was toss and turn as my mind jumped on its squirrel cage and ran like a frenzied hamster at full tilt. Just as I almost dozed off about 2 AM I heard the sound of chainsaws. They were very close and they were also very noisy. When they didn’t stop within five or 10 minutes I finally gave up trying to get to sleep and went to see where exactly those chainsaws were. I didn’t have to go far; they were busily removing branches from the mulberry tree just outside my bedroom which apparently had been impinging on some power lines. I’d called the electric company about that problem earlier in the year but nobody seemed too interested. Now at 2 AM they were interested. They cut and dropped and cut some more for almost an hour, leaving behind a pile of branches probably 20 feet long and up to about 4 feet high. By this time I had totally given up on sleep and so put on my walking shoes and took 3 AM stroll around the park to see what I could see. What I saw was a lot of destruction. Venerable old trees, beautiful trees, lying on their sides, one fortunately having missed a very small camper in which one neighbor lives that always reminded me of a hobbit hole. Others had fallen across streets and one demolished a chain-link fence by falling directly on it. On my walk I dodged tree branches, mud puddles, bits of corrugated aluminum, and occasional car or electrician’s truck but aside from workmen, it was almost like the proverbial “not a creature was stirring...”

I went to work yesterday as usual, but the routine was somewhat modified by my having to take a shower with the light from a small LED flashlight, a breakfast consisting of a couple of tablespoons peanut butter and no iced tea which would have involved opening the refrigerator, something I was not willing to do since I was not sure how long before the power was restored. On the way I had stopped to speak to a neighbor and to watch him start to clean up his yard when we noticed this porch light had come on, the signal that at least in that part of the park there was power again for the first time since the night before. I rushed back home to find that yes, I too had power, and once again I could turn the air conditioner on and not worry that the boys in their fur coats would overheat and become ill. I went to work but it was a very long day. I have pulled all -nighters a number of times in my life but I’m getting a bit too long in the tooth to be able to do it with any semblance of gusto or more than a modicum of energy. It was a pure joy to walk into my house last night, not quite 24 hours after the storm passed through, and find everything in order (or in what passes for order in my cluttered little world), the air still, the sky relatively clear, and everything almost normal.

It’s been almost 36 hours since the storm which I now believe was a microburst went through and made some any changes in the landscape. I’ve been through hurricanes, typhoons, earthquakes and even have been close enough to see some effects of a volcanic eruption during my lifetime. Each time there’s a period right afterwards when the danger is past but there is still a feeling of unreality about it all. Physically and mentally I’m still unsettled, tired, and I guess a bit anxious. I know the probability of another such storm of such a magnitude occurring anytime in the near future would be at least highly unlikely if not astronomical. The cleanup continues but even once the debris is cleared away there will continue to be reminders of that half hour or so when the world went mad. Maybe it’s good to be a little unsettled, because then you’re not taking anything for granted like your health or your safety or the health and safety of the people and things that you love and even people and things you aren’t aware of or don’t know. It’s probably a very good day to just sit and think. Perhaps, in looking at what could have happened, I should make plans and choices that might affect me in my surroundings the next time we have an unusual event with even .01% the power of the microburst. I don’t remember feeling terrified as the storm blew through, but I think I would be lying if I didn’t say there was some fear and anxiety there. I do remember quite clearly now that I wasn’t praying to God to deliver me from injury or death, more just a watchful waiting for what, I don’t know. At the end however I do remember more than one occasion of conversation with neighbors and passersby that included “Thank God!”

Was it a chance for me to practice my faith that God would take care of me even without my asking? Was it a reliance on my faith that I didn’t feel the need to pray for deliverance? Was it a fatalism that what was going to happen was going to happen regardless of what I said or did? After consideration I still don’t know. I just know my soul is unquiet and my spirit is troubled and I’m not totally sure what I need to do to regain my spiritual balance.

I guess I hoped that maybe by dictating this and letting my friendly neighborhood Dragon program transcribe it for me might be therapeutic. Maybe it will be, just not right now. The writer in me felt the need to put words on paper – or electrons on a computer screen in a word processing program – to try to capture my thoughts and feelings and emotions over the past 36 hours. I know I need more sleep, I know I need to get firmly back on my schedule and just as firmly back on my dietary plan which, due to the upsets yesterday, were somewhat discombobulated. The boys are napping, so all appears right in their world. They didn’t miss a meal, the discomfort of the night before last and the heat is dissipated, their drinking fountain now works as it should, so they can pick their favorite spots and either watch the world go by through the window next to the cat tree, on the lingerie chest in the bathroom or even on my desk. Perhaps they’ve got a good idea; maybe I just need a nap and maybe, just maybe, I need to say “Thank God” a few dozen more times.

The Waters of Home

Towards the beginning of harvest three of the thirty chiefs went down to join David at the cave of Adullam, while a band of Philistines was encamped in the valley of Rephaim. David was then in the stronghold; and the garrison of the Philistines was then at Bethlehem. David said longingly, ‘O that someone would give me water to drink from the well of Bethlehem that is by the gate!’ Then the three warriors broke through the camp of the Philistines, drew water from the well of Bethlehem that was by the gate, and brought it to David. But he would not drink of it; he poured it out to the Lord, for he said, ‘The Lord forbid that I should do this. Can I drink the blood of the men who went at the risk of their lives?’ Therefore he would not drink it. The three warriors did these things. - 2 Samuel 23: 13-17


David the king, the hero, the villain, the psalmist, the chosen of God, is dying. It happens to everybody but not everybody's passing is chronicled in such a way.  The first part of the reading (which I have omitted), is a hymn of praise and thanksgiving to God, but it is this part of the passage that calls for my attention this morning.

The story is simple.  David is safely inside his stronghold but knows his time is short. Like many, his mind casts itself back to his early life and he remembers sights, sounds, smells, and tastes from that long-ago time. Like many, he thinks of one thing that would bring that time closer and he speaks of it to those surrounding his bedside: he wants a drink of water from the well by the gate in his hometown, Bethlehem. A simple request for a glass of water shouldn't be too difficult. The difficulty is, however, that Bethlehem is presently under the watchful (and powerful) eye of the Philistines but three men risk their lives, retrieve the water and, as an act of love, bring it back to the dying king. I'm sure he appreciates the gesture but instead of drinking it, he pours it out on the ground in a sacrifice to God. His men had risked their lives and, to David, the water had become the blood they might have shed to grant him one last wish.

Perhaps this passage strikes me because I too long for things from home now and again. There are things I miss -- the smell of the salt water and the pungency of the marshes, the feel of sand beneath my feet, the forests that spread everywhere and exhibit every shade of green I think God ever thought of. There are times when I can almost smell the salt air, I can walk in the park sandbox and feel the fine grit beneath my toes and I can go about two hours north and see mile after mile of trees in a hundred thousand shades of green but it just isn't the same. It's the memory of the past, maybe a bit idealized, but still a memory just like David's thought for the water from the well back home.

What devotion he must have engendered in his men that three of them would risk life and limb to get a bottle of water for a dying leader. Maybe they thought his gratitude would extend itself to his giving them lavish gifts and rewards, but maybe they just wanted to make him happy by granting his wish. They were, however, surprised by his act of what might seem like wanton waste of their time and effort.  To David, the memory of the taste of that water was probably sweeter than the actual water itself could be. In what was probably one of his last actions, he made a priestly gesture in sacrificing the water to God. Maybe it wasn't his job theologically or traditionally to do such a sacrifice, but he felt it was the right thing to do.

One of the sayings I keep remembering (and keep being reminded of) is that you can't really ever go home again. Things have changed, people have died (and others born), and even in a small Colonial-era town new buildings get built, old ones torn down and roads rerouted or widened.  Even the scent of the water might be different than I remember. I wonder -- on my deathbed will I want just one more scent of that water?  One more taste from that well?  One more feeling of being home?

Perhaps I will just be looking toward my next home, all past homes forgotten. I'll have to wait and see.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, August 24, 2013.

A Psalm of Climate Change

He turns rivers into a desert,
springs of water into thirsty ground,
³⁴ a fruitful land into a salty waste,
because of the wickedness of its inhabitants.
³⁵ He turns a desert into pools of water,
a parched land into springs of water.
³⁶ And there he lets the hungry live,
and they establish a town to live in;
³⁷ they sow fields, and plant vineyards,
and get a fruitful yield.
³⁸ By his blessing they multiply greatly,
and he does not let their cattle decrease.

³⁹ When they are diminished and brought low
through oppression, trouble, and sorrow,
⁴⁰ he pours contempt on princes
and makes them wander in trackless wastes;
⁴¹ but he raises up the needy out of distress,
and makes their families like flocks.
⁴² The upright see it and are glad;
and all wickedness stops its mouth.
⁴³ Let those who are wise give heed to these things,
and consider the steadfast love of the Lord. -- Psalm 107:33-43


There are some Psalms I like better than others and 107 is one of those.  I admit being more partial to the preceding verses, especially when it comes to the "They that go down to the sea in ships" (v. 23) part. Being from a place where there was a lot of salt water and also a lot of ships doing business and providing pleasure on those waters, it strikes a chord in me. Yet here is a passage that speaks to the me that is now a desert-dweller by necessity if not totally by choice. 

There are deserts and there are deserts.  There are the areas of desert where cacti and scrub vegetation are about all there is aside from rocks and dirt so hard it practically takes a jackhammer to get through it. Then there are areas where there is nothing but sand, often blown into shifting dunes. There are deserts where the temperatures can be literally like standing in a blast furnace and then there are some, like those in the Himalayas, where it so cold flesh can freeze almost instantly upon exposure. Usually, though, when someone says "desert" they mean a dry, arid place where not a lot grows and where there isn't a lot of interest in more than a few moments of "Oh, ok, that's a desert. Let's get on to Las Vegas (or LA or anywhere else)."  The thing that marks a desert, though, is water, specifically how much and where -- and what happens to or is done with that water.

The psalmist puts the onus on the inhabitants of the land; if they are faithful, just and righteous, the land will be fruitful but if they aren't, they will soon find themselves in the middle of a very inhospitable place. The needy will be cared for while those causing trouble will be made to pay for their iniquities. God will make sure of that.

It's not too far a stretch to think of this passage in terms of global warming, whether or not one accepts that the actions of humanity can affect the land on which it lives and that what affects the land affects the climate. It's a chain, one link gets forged, then another. Sin's like that too. Commit one and it's really easy to commit another to try to cover the first one. Greed is sin, and greed is at the bottom of a lot of the climactic changes we see happening around us. Yes, nature moves in cycles and we're probably in one of those cycles right now, but we as humans have directly impacted the cycle by wasting and/or polluting water, pouring emissions into the air, and stripping the land bare and then walking off and leaving it to dry up, blow in the wind and become a wasteland. We are both the needy and the princes of the psalm. God has given us a land to care for and to nourish us, but we don't always act as good stewards of that gift.

It isn't just the physical environment that is subject to this kind of situation the Psalmist describes. Financially, emotionally, spiritually - we again are the needy and we are the princes. We want safety, freedom and justice for ourselves but we aren't always that picky about what happens to other people. Jesus' words of "Whatever you do to the least of my brothers and sisters, you do to me" seems to get left by the wayside when self-interest is at stake. Programs that benefit the rich are well-endowed and very carefully watched over while those that benefit the poor and needy are often stripped to bare bones if not eliminated entirely. The climate of greed has infected every part of our lives, whether we recognize it or not, and the result is a moral, emotional and often spiritual wasteland that benefits no one and no thing.

It's not enough to say that suffering in this life brings its own crown in the next. The poor and needy shouldn't have to wait for the next life to be safe, fed, clothed, housed, educated and cared for. The princes shouldn't be so busy accumulating and trying to win by being the one who dies with the most toys or money or possessions that they forget that once their own family was very possibly one of those which had to scrimp, save and scrabble for every bit of sustenance they could get. And, as George Santayana put it, "Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it."  How many times do we have to repeat past mistakes, wrongdoings and sins before we learn?

Sometimes the Psalmist hits on things that are repeated elsewhere but which don't always strike home for me like this reading did.  It makes me question what I'm doing to compound the problem and what I'm doing to resolve the problem. I already live in a desert, even though "made over" to make it more habitable. Under the thin layer of grass and concrete, though, it is still a desert, just biding its time and waiting for enough mistakes to pile up before reasserting its authority and its own form of judgment.

And God's hand is on it.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul  on Episcopal Café  Saturday, August 717, 2013.

Bucket List and Dreams

People talk about bucket lists, lists of things they would like to do before they die. Some of them have quite a lot of things that they want to do in whatever time is remaining to them. Whether or not they get to it that’s another story but at least they tried. Some die with unfulfilled bucket lists. This morning I found myself thinking about bucket lists all the way to church and I thought about what is it I would really like to do before I go into that good (or not so good) night. I don’t have to worry about how to do them right now; first I have to have the dreams and then and only then do I need to think about how I could possibly make them happen. Some are totally out of the question, some are possible and some seem very doable, but first I have to figure out in which category each belongs and its likelihood of getting done over the course of, say, the next few years. I certainly don’t know how long I have so I can’t plan a real timetable other than: 1) Do it soon; 2) Possible, but not right away; and 3) Ain’t never gonna happen but it’s fun to dream about.

Oddly enough the first when it comes to mind is to preach a sermon. Don’t ask me why; I’m not sure I can explain it. Somehow being asked to give a sermon (or a homily) has the concept that the person being asked has something to say or is an expert in some aspect that would be informational or inspirational to others. It’s a lot like teaching since you stand in front of a group and talk about what you know or what you think and there’s some recognition of the validity of your thoughts.  I’m not really a showman and I certainly don’t proclaim myself to be the world’s greatest expert on theology or anything else other than myself. I blog, which is like writing essays, and sermons are, in some respects, sort of like essays. You have to catch the attention of the group to whom you are speaking, you have to have a general point, you have to impart some facts or explain your own POV in a way that might convince others that yes, you have a point and you’ve done your homework, and it helps to have a bit of divine inspiration to pass on. It also helps to have a few jokes or an ability to recount stories in an interesting way. Come to think of it, aside from not having my essays read aloud or preached from a pulpit, I may be able to scratch this one off – or at least put a check mark by it as partially completed. I’m not counting it out yet, though. How successful those essays are is still up for debate. Of course, they'll never be up to the standard of sermons by the priest at my church who, I think, could preach about instant mashed potatoes or hippopotami (not to mention any lectionary reading) and make it both interesting and relevant. Back to the drawing board for me.

Another thing I’d like to do is publish a book. I’ve had that dream for so many years now I can’t remember NOT wanting to do it even though there have been years and decades where I put the thought aside and didn’t give it any consideration at all. I know the Great American Novel is not in me to write; my strong suit is essays and word paintings, so maybe I need to focus on those. I don’t really want to do one of those self-publishing things because I am still the mindset that that’s kind of a vanity press thing and I’m not really into vanity press. I’d like to be sought out but hey, self-publishing might give me more options and might very probably be something more attainable, so I will definitely keep that on the list.

Number three is that I’d like to go home again one more time before I die. I’d like to see people that I know I’ll never see again if I wait too much longer, like I missed seeing my brother one last time. I miss my river. I don’t care how much the landscape around has changed, the river still the same and that river is one thing I really miss.

Talking about travel, I’d love to go to England. Why go just for a week or maybe two, see the main tourist attractions, and come home thinking I’d had the English experience? I’ve read too many books, watched too many documentaries and films and videos. I want to see if England really is what I imagine it to be. I want to settle in a small cottage in a little village and earn a place in that village.  I’d also like to go visit as many cathedrals as possible because for some reason I get off on cathedrals. There’s something about touching something that has existed for a long period of time, and by long I mean more than 50 years. I get that feeling from touching the wall of the little Episcopal church back home that was built in 1697.  I guess I’m really a church junkie at heart. I could do with daily Evensongs and living in a cathedral close, just to be near the church and able to participate in its life even vicariously.

I’d like to get my bills paid off. It’s a worthy cause, somewhat doable, but I’d better start now. I realize the way to lessen my bills is to pay more than I am spending and to me that’s difficult as I have an impulse control problem when it comes to money. Still it’s something to work on.

I’d like for the people I love and who have helped me in various ways to know how much they have meant to me, whether I’ve known them for a month or a lifetime. That’s an ongoing project. I may never finish that one, but that’s okay. As long as I’ve tried and told as many people as possible – and as often as possible. I hate those thoughts of “Gee, if I’d only known and said something sooner…”

I’d like to sing Messiah again, preferably in a big group. I love singing in choirs, always have. I’d far rather be part of a big group than a soloist, as nice as it is to have the spotlight once in a while. Some of the greatest highs (in the emotional sense) of my life have been from performing with a large choir.

 I’d like to earn a couple more college degrees – preferably masters’ degrees but I’ll take an Associates or Bachelors if the field were right. I’d love to study theology, Biblical anthropology, psychology, communications – and the list keeps growing. This is definitely one of those “Ain’t gonna happen” items on the list. I’m too old, to slow of mind and too poor to do much about it other than take a class or two now and then in whatever subject interests me and that fits the budget. Besides, I’d never pass the Graduate Record Exam at this late date. I had enough trouble with the SATs in high school!

I’d like to get a call from God and be able to follow that call. No, I don’t think the job of priest would be for me, but maybe a deacon’s job might. I can’t second-guess God, but if God wanted it I imagine there would be a way to do it. As it is, though, I couldn’t pass the exams or the discernment process. Still, I’m letting God know I’m still trying to listen…

I’d like to learn to speak another language fluently. I took French and Spanish in high school but haven’t done anything with them and never was really proficient at them anyway. Even now, living in a culture where Spanish is spoken almost as much as English, I still haven’t caught on to it. I think I’m just too lazy. Learning a language is a lot like learning to play the piano. I wanted to do the sonatas and such but wasn’t so interested in learning to do the scales. I would like to have the capacity to learn Koine Greek so I could read the NT in it without using an interlinear. I hear there are some good jokes in there – or was that the Hebrew of the Jewish Bible?

There are other things, like meeting the HM the Queen or Desmond Tutu or Katharine Jefferts-Schori, sitting in on a class taught by Marcus Borg, working as a church secretary again, or being a successful teacher. The thing about dreams is that when I dare to dream one thing it may never happen but it also might just open the door for other, more possible dreams. It’s been a long time since I’ve dared to even think about my dreams and wishes, much less actually making a bucket list of possible.  I’ve started one here and now, and all I have to do is decide what to do and how. Whether something is possible or not, I need to learn to think “as if” – and go with it.

 

I may not do anything on my list or, by some miracle from God, I could do all or at least most of them, I don’t know. I just know that life without dreams is a rather bleak place. I’ve been there, done that.  I need my dreams now, even if they never come true.