Youthful Wisdom: Kyle got this Brain Teaser trivia game for Christmas from Grandpa and Grandma Pat, and so we were playing it in the car. I ask, he answers-- and gets them right a fair percentage of the time; but my favorite exchange was this one:
Question: "Where do sponges live? In the desert, on the beach, or in the ocean?"
Answer: "Sponges...? They live in the kitchen."
Overexposure: We stayed with Bruce's sister Tammy and her family (husband David, and 4 kids) while we were down south. Sunday morning I was in the shower and heard a knock at the door. It's Julia, aged 2 1/2, and a potty training toddler cannot wait. So she comes in and sits down, leaving the door wide open, with only the shower curtain-- the transparent shower curtain-- between me and the very drafty hallway.
Eventually, Carolyn did come by and shut the door, restoring both modesty (which, I am reminded, is a learned trait) and thermal comfort to the bathroom.
We're headed back north this morning, and I will be grateful to get there. Don't get me wrong-- I love coming down to spend time with the family; and, with everybody being able to be here this year, this holiday has been a special treat. But "Everybody" is a lot. Mom, siblings, spouses and kids: 32 people (and 1 on the way) sat down to dinner yesterday. Great fun, and a wonderful blessing, and utterly exhausting. I'm glad to have come, and I'm glad to go home.
This morning I'm beginning to think of my sermon for next Sunday. Ben (my rector) is transferring the Epiphany celebration to that day, so I'm praying over these readings. Something to think about on the drive.
Headed down to Southern Indiana for the weekend, for Christmas II. As Bruce's brothers and sisters (he's the oldest of 8) have grown up and moved out, getting everyone together for Christmas Day became a very difficult thing. So we've evolved to celebrating on the following Sunday. All of them will be there this year, complete with spouses and kids-- the first time in a very long time. Ought to be a hoot and a half.
While I'm gone, you can keep busy with the following quiz. I found it on Andrew's blog, copied it, and filled in my own answers. I have no good reason for doing this, other than idle procrastination: it's more entertaining than picking up the house, or the myriad other responsible things I could be working on, and yet I still feel strangely productive. Go ahead-- give it a try!
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1) First Grade Teacher: Mrs. Ezra. A large woman, very kind, who had to wear these funky orthopedic sandals because she had six toes on each foot.
2) Last word you said: "Yes."
3) Last song you sang: The Be Good Tanyas' "Junkie Song," currently playing in my iTunes. Good theological fodder.
4) Last person you hugged: Carolyn.
5) Last thing you laughed at: Kyle, narrating a video game.
6) Last time you said "I love you:" About 10 minutes ago.
8) What's in your CD player: Manheim Steamroller's "Fresh Aire Christmas."
9) What colour socks are you wearing: None. Naked toes at the moment.
10) What's under your bed: Mabel (the cat) and a plethora of dust bunnies.
11) What time did you wake up today: Roughly 5:12 am.
12) Current taste: Christmas cookies. Ooh, baby, I love this time of year.
13) Current hair: Short, brown, baby fine, and (left to it's own devices) broomstick straight.
14) Current clothes: Jammies: oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts.
15) Current annoyance: The state of my family room. Scary.
16) Current longing: More time, or the ability to be in two places at once.
17) Current desktop picture: A family group shot, taken at my brother's wedding.
18) Current worry: The budget
19) Current hate: That I'm worrying about the budget.
20) Story behind your username: My first and middle names, by which my dad still calls me. I started using it online when Tripp got me confused with another Jane in the comments on his blog.
21) Current favourite article of clothing: An old pair of plaid flannel pants. Talk about slipping into something more comfortable...
22) Favourite physical feature of the opposite sex: Eyes. And hands.
23) Favourite physical feature of the same sex: Eyes again. Hey, at least I'm consistent.
24) Last CD that you bought: "Wash Me White;" 1-5-0.
25) Favourite place to be: Wherever I've got a book. The best spots are propped up in bed, or submerged in a bubble bath.
26) Least favourite place: Anywhere it's hard to get out of.
27) Time you wake up in the morning: Usually between 5:00 and 6:00 am. I know, but there it is.
28) If you could play an instrument: The guitar.
29) Favourite color: Hard to say. Blue, I guess.
30) Do you believe in an afterlife: Um, that would be "Yes."
31) How tall are you: 5'6"
32) Current favourite word/saying: "Really? I didn't know that."
33) Favourite book: In the Bible: James. Elsewhere: Hard to say, but To Kill a Mockingbird has long been a front runner.
34) Favourite season: Fall.
35) One person from your past you wish you could go back and talk to: Mom.
36) Favourite day: The next one.
37) Where do you want to go: Australia.
38) What is your career going to be like: Never a dull moment.
39) What kind of car will you have: Four wheels and a motor. Dark red, by preference.
40) Type a line you remember from any book: "Of course the game is rigged. But don't let that stop you. If you don't play, you can't win."
41) A random lyric: "Why take when you could be givin'? Why watch as the world goes by? It's a hard enough life to be livin'; why walk when you can fly?"
42) Identify some things surrounding your computer: Well, it's in my lap, so I suppose I am. What else? A pile of scholarship applications. Christmas candy. A candle.
Sometime early this morning, our dog entered larger canine life.
Drake adopted us when we moved back to Indiana. Showed up on moving day, filthy and emaciated, and spent the day trying to climb on the truck. In spite of his condition (we speculate that he had been abandoned in a nearby forest preserve), he had such a great disposition-- happy, and calm around the kids-- that we hadn't the heart to see him put down. We took him to the local pound there, but when no one showed up to claim him, he came to live with us.
And so he has been part of our family-- roughly 100 lbs. of solid marshmallow, four-legged companion, walking buddy and occasional floor pillow-- for better than 8 years now.
Sunday we spent driving back from Sharon, PA. It was a much easier trip than the ride out, I might add-- clear, and sunny, and traffic moved along nicely. An added bonus: Mark (aka, the newest Rev. Juchter) showed us an alternate route out of town that cut a bit of time off the trip, and was also a perfect stretch for the rookie driver in our car to get in some practice time.
The last two days have been taken up with a couple of tasks:
Overdue Ember Day Letter. Actually, Ember Day email would be more accurate. Ed prefers our missives to arrive electronically, and responds the same way. I am blessed with a bishop who revels in gadgetry-- computer and PDA are integral parts of his episcopal toolkit. Not quite a complete technogeek, maybe, but certainly inclined in that direction.
Fortunately, he's also patient and forgiving of tardy postulants; between sewing and travelling, the time got away from me, and this is not the sort of note one dashes off in 5 or 10 minutes.
Christmas Shopping/Sorting/Wrapping. Not my favorite task. Somehow that shopping gene that women are supposed to have, got left out of my biological makeup. I don't mind the grocery store so much; it's one stop, I go with a list, and I get in and get out. And I do enjoy the part that has me thinking about the folks for whom I'm shopping; it's fun, giving to people. But the crowds, and the browsing, and the multiple stops... I find it exhausting, and stressful, and overwhelming, and I'm so glad it's done.
...a breakfast far larger than we normally enjoy, cheerfully served by our incredibly gracious hosts. Marge and Ron's place is a haven of hospitality, nestled in the pine trees.
...over to the church for rehearsal. Heather's running late-- it is morning, after all. She arrives wearing clericals just like she was born to it. God's hand is sitting well on my sister.
...Joelene reads the Old Testament, her voice clear, and gentle, and strong.
...Mark, answering the bishop's question: "I believe that I am so called." Dear Lord, the conviction there.
...clergy gathered round, laying on hands in the Spirit, palpably present in the moment.
...dinner back at Mark's place, sharing a meal after sharing The Supper. Laughter, and smiles, and the sort of goofy theological humor that abounds in a seminary crowd.
Today was a gift and a blessing, and I wish I could tell you how grateful I am to have been able to share it. Mark, my brother, you are a wonder; and I pray that Christ's anointing, laid on you this day, continues to support and absorb and strengthen you in the life He has chosen for you.
Yes, a whole host of Seabury folk are under the hands of their bishops this weekend: from the dioceses of Chicago, Michigan, Western Michigan, NW Pennsylvania... new clergy everywhere. Actually, Heather started it off early; last night was her diaconal ordination. We couldn't make it up to Kalamazoo, doggone it, because of a range of stuff that just conflated: school, pack meeting, DMV appt., etc. Nevertheless, my overseas-traveling, party-hosting, sarcasm-slinging sister-friend is now Deacon Heather-- and she had better be geared for a major hug when next I see her.
Fortunately, that's really soon. We're packing up today to head to Pennsylvania, for Mark's priesting (and Heather's diaconal debut!), tomorrow afternoon. I missed Mark's diaconal, because of CPE; and so this has been on the calendar for some time. Some gracious folks from his parish are putting us up for the next two nights, bless them. We'll pick the kids up from school in a couple hours, and head eastward. Mark being the geek that he is, internet access will be easy to find-- sit down on his sofa, and there it is. With all the goings on, I don't know how much blogging time there will be; we'll see.
Finished the stole this morning, thankfully. Nothing like sewing at the last minute. It's not the best embroidery you'll ever lay eyes on-- but there's a prayer in every stitch, so it will do.
That would be our daughter. Amazing. Yesterday's baby girl-- the one with the dark green eyes and the dimple in her cheek-- turns 16 today. I'm not sure how that happened; I only turned my back for a minute, honest.
Please feel free to drop her a note if you feel so inclined; she'll likely check her email while she's prepping for her learner's permit test.
Yes, that's what I said. One more reason to keep praying.
I've noticed that the previous discussion around Aragon's virtues has racked up a higher than average number of comments, as well as stimulating an off-blog conversation or two. One friend and I were chatting about what is it about him that causes us to sit up and take notice. The rumpled, slightly scruffy look. Intensity. Straightforward gaze in a 3-day-old beard. Brains he's not afraid to use.
Say what you will about musicians; that's also a good description of a goodly number of the theology/technology geeks we know. Look around, fellas... or look in the mirror.
And this is the best part, we decided: not only has God, in Her infinite wisdom, led us into lives where we get to hang out with hot guys like that all the time; we also each have one we get to keep.
First, I ran out of black embroidery floss. I knew I was running low, and I could have picked some up yesterday, while I was out, if I had been using the brains God gave me; but no, that would be too easy. So instead of happily finishing the needlework for Mark's stole, I'm headed out shopping, for the second day in a row. Ew.
Next, it's time for the kids to get up and off to school. As he's walking out the door, the boy hands me a note from school, telling me his lunch money account is running on fumes. Could have had this done last night; but no, that would be too easy. So Bruce scrambles for the checkbook, scribbling furiously as the bus is lumbering toward our house.
Then I think, since I have to go out anyway, I might as well pick up the light bulbs we need, right? Could just unscrew the dead bulb and throw it away; but (all together now) no, that would be too easy. The glass separates from the metal base in the socket, tripping the breaker in the process. Now changing the bulb will require needlenose pliers and patience-- and the latter is by now in short supply.
And to top it all off... well, I will simply note that, when one's youngest child is half-grown, and fleeting thoughts of having more have long since faded, there are some things women just should not have to deal with anymore.
So far, the only thing going smoothly this morning seems to be the vocabulary I learned back in the mill.
Well, good morning to you too, John! Now, there’s a way to say hello. Can you imagine? People-- crowds, Luke tells us, people coming in droves-- coming to John the Baptist to be baptized; and how does he greet them?
“You brood of vipers!”
Holy cow. I mean, John was never one to mince words, but he was sure in fine form that day. I’ve got tell you, that would not be the first greeting that came to my mind in the same circumstances-- and if it were, I can pretty much guarantee that as a seminarian I’d soon be having a chat with the Commission on Ministry, not to mention the bishop, regarding appropriate pastoral interaction.
But good old John didn’t have any such oversight. And not only does he begin by name-calling, but he keeps going. “Wrath to come...” “...the ax is lying at the root of the trees...” “...burn with unquenchable fire.” No warm and fuzzy images here.
And after all this, how does the Gospel writer finish? “And with these and other exhortations... (there was more? Geez, like that’s not enough?)
“And with these and other exhortations, he shared the Good News with them.”
“Good News.” This is Good News? This is the 3rd Sunday in Advent: the Sunday with the pretty rose candle in the wreath. We’re looking forward to celebrating the birth of the Christ child. The arrival of a cuddly baby sure seems more like the image of good news than snakes and axes and fire. What’s good about that?
Well, since that’s what Luke calls it, let’s try looking at this from Luke’s point of view. Each of the Gospel writers has a different point of view; a different perspective, and uses different ways to share the details of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. One of Luke’s favorites is journeys. Matthew also tells of the trip to Bethlehem, before Jesus’ birth; but it’s only in Luke that we hear of Mary’s earlier visit with Elizabeth. And only Luke tells us of Jesus’ early journeys to Jerusalem: as an infant, when he is recognized by Simeon and Anna as the Messiah; and as a 12-year-old, when he stays behind to bedazzle the Temple leadership. Then Luke focuses over half of his story-- more any other writer-- on Jesus’ final journey to Jerusalem. As my teenager would say, Luke is all over journeys.
The passage we read this morning is, in a sense, the beginning of another journey story. These are the events that happen right before Jesus comes to be baptized. After that, he’ll spend his forty days in the wilderness, and then return to Galilee to begin the journey, “filled with the power of the Spirit,” that will lead him to the Cross. But this is where it starts for us: we are first prepared for the pilgrimage, not with Jesus’ baptism, and that beautiful dove descending, but first with John’s tongue-lashing.
Well really, when you think about it, that’s a good place for us to start. It reminds me of the proverbial tale of being lost, and stopping in a strange place for directions, only to have some guy tell you, “You cain’t get there from here.” We have to know where we are, in order to understand how to get where we want to be. We need to see our spot on the riverbank, before we’re ready for the Spirit’s descent.
So that’s what John does. He reminds us, very emphatically, where we are-- way far removed from the perfection of God. As Paul says, “All have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God.” It was true then, and it’s true now. John calls us to account; not asking for, but demanding repentance, turning away from the sins and evil that we are so determined to cling to.
And he doesn’t want to hear excuses. “Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor.’” Now, as Christians, we don’t talk about Abraham so much; but we do sometimes hear similar sorts of things.
If I tried to play that game with John, for example, it might sound something like this:
“I was baptized, confirmed and married in that parish.” “So?”
I’m a cradle Episcopalian; 5th generation.” “Big deal.”
“My grandmother’s family put in those stained glass windows!” “Who cares?”
Harsh words to hear; but the unvarnished truth. Heritage doesn’t matter. What matters is, are we “bearing fruits worthy of repentance?” It’s not about where we came from, but where we are, right now.
That’s part of why this sounds so harsh. If we’re honest-- really honest-- we know this. Like the crowds coming to John, we keep asking: “what should we do?,” but we already know the answers-- many of them, anyway.
And we know we don’t measure up; that we are, in one way or another, deserving of God’s judgment.
But my brothers and sisters, there’s the Good News in John’s message: It’s God that’s doing the judging. As one of my professors noted recently, “God will make clear who’s been on base and who’s been off. Not me. Not you.” The ax and the winnowing fork are in the hand of the same gracious Creator who loves us so much as to have stuck with us through the whole ugly history of human abuse, and neglect, and sin; who chose in Jesus to accept a common birth and disgraceful death and to rise beyond it all, on our behalf; and who continues to walk with and within us as the Holy Spirit. In spite of our very “snakiness,” God provides a wonderful destination to the journey, in the salvation offered to each and every one of us, free for the taking. We can’t earn it; and we don’t have to.
Do those things sound like a contradiction? To say on one hand that what we do matters to God-- and on the other, that God’s grace is unconditional, free for the asking? On the surface, maybe; but not really. As a mother, the love I have for my children is not dependent on whether or not they’ve done anything to deserve it; it’s just there, all the time. But that doesn’t mean I don’t hold them accountable for their behavior. On the contrary, it’s because I love them that I have expectations for them.
Think about one of the favorite arguments of every child, at one time or another: “But why not? Jenny gets to!” or “But why? Jason doesn’t have to!” And the standard response: “I’m not Jenny’s mother.” The same is true here. If we claim “the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; the God of Rahab, Tamar, Ruth and Mary; the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” as our God, then that’s what we’re saying. We are rejecting “someone else’s mother or father,” and choosing to accept the grace that God offers. and to follow the the path God sets before us to walk.
Here’s one more Good News thing: just as John gave directions to those who came to him, so we have been given a set of directions for our path, if only we will use it. A Bible’s not as easy to read as the maps that AAA passes out, I’ll admit; but life’s a more complicated road than the one I took from Dyer to Warsaw.
That’s why we are also to have companions on the way. There’s a crowd on that riverbank, remember? We don’t walk this path alone, and we are not expected to try. We are given the gift of others to walk with us, to care and be cared for, to disagree with and struggle and work together, to listen for the Spirit’s guiding in the middle of it all. Jesus promises that where two or three are gathered in his name, he will be among us, the best of all possible guides.
Wow. Look what John’s harsh words have shown the “brood of vipers” this Advent morning:
We can see where we are.
We can see where we’re going.
And we have a road map, and companions for the journey, and a Guide to depend on, every step of the way.
Sounds like we’re ready for a journey. Good news, indeed.
It's beginning to look like... well, Advent, anyway. Decorations scattered hither and yon, and the tree is up, if not decorated. We moved to an artificial tree several years ago, because of allergy/asthma issues (this father/daughter bonding can be taken to extremes). I really miss the smell, but I do prefer family members breathing. It's the little things...
In the blogiverse, things are not so smooth. First, I'm apparently having trouble with the comments again; I can read all of them, on my computer, but I'm finding they're invisible anywhere else. Have a note into the admin folks, but haven't heard back yet. So that's a work in progress. Feel free to comment, and know they're being read-- and will be public again ASAP, I hope.
Secondly, my current host has been fading in and out. Twice in the last week, my site-- and not only mine, but anyone on Blogger-- has been inaccessible for a period of time. This does not make me happy. The recent shifting of this blog and that, not to mention the one over there, has had me considering a similar move. I don't revel in all the technogeek stuff like some people, so I'm taking my time thinking about this. We'll see.
My intrepid daughter had to give a demonstration speech at school this week-- some sort of "how-to" presentation. She had been going to talk about her flute: care and maintenance, assembly and playing. But someone else in the class beat her to it.
So instead, she decided to teach the class how to make pierogis. (Pierogis, for the uninitiated, are a type of boiled Polish dumpling; usually with a potato-based filling, though there are meat pierogis, too.) How she came up with the idea, I don't know; neither Bruce nor I are big pierogi makers. We're not even little Pierogi makers. Never tried it. Not once.
But this did not stop Intrepid Daughter. And when she couldn't get the promised recipe from her friend, she rooted around online until she found a likely set of instructions, and forged ahead.
Now the fun began-- because the recipe Intrepid Daughter found called for beginning with 8 cups of flour for the dough. So she had a sizeable amount of dough. But she may have added a little too much liquid, because the dough was very sticky. Supportive Dad suggested she knead in more flour.
Six (yes, I said six) cups later, she has enough flour.
So picture this: Flour is EVERYWHERE-- covering the counter, the floor, and Intrepid Daughter, who is now gamely kneading a veritable Jabba the Hutt of pierogi dough. And she is concerned (read, panic-stricken) that the 4 pounds of mashed potatoes will not be enough to fill the number of pierogis that ol' Jabba is likely to produce. Supportive Dad gently observes that, rather than running out in the middle of the night for more potatoes, he has no particular emotional bond with Jabba; and that, while we normally do not encourage waste, in this case an exception might be made.
So Jabba was pruned, and pierogis were boiled, and both Intrepid Daughter and Supportive Dad managed to get a few hours sleep.
Apparently the speech the next day went well, and a few brave students even tried the pierogis-- though Intrepid Daughter did make them sign a waiver.
It's been fun to be part of my preaching class this term-- to be part of a group of people working to find voices for proclamation of the Gospel. Everyone's gotten better, and some have really blossomed; John is an encouraging teacher.
A few of us are going home to stand in the pulpit over the break. Susie and Jen will both be preaching after Christmas, and I'm hoping (ahem... hint, hint!) that they remember to post their sermons.
My next homiletic effort will be this coming Sunday. Not at home, though; the rector of another church in my diocese, in a weak moment, invited me over to his place. They're even putting me up the night before, so I won't have to drive for 2 hours before their 8:00 am service. This time of year, that's 7:00 am on my watch (Indiana's schizophrenic when it comes to time zones), which would make an early start to the day, even for this morning person; so I'm doubly grateful. Brian's a great guy, and St. Anne's, Warsaw is a lovely church community.
So I've spent the week, in between the rest of life, mulling over the readings for 3 Advent. John the Baptist at his warm and fuzzy best.
Don did indeed make it up for Evensong, and so we (Susie and Andrew, AKMA and Micah, and even a few folks outside the blog world) got to say hello and well-met to a thoroughly nice guy. Showed him around the extensive seminary facilities (which aren't, very; Seabury is a pleasant place, but tiny), and then chatted over dinner that was not the refectory starch special. He is fortunate to work in a very cool place: Conner Prairie is a living history museum, and if you ever get anywhere near the north side of Indy, you should check this out. It is really awesome.
I turned in the last official paper of the quarter this afternoon: a sermon written for my systematics class, based on the biblical interpretation paper I did earlier. Then I came home after supper to finish a last bit of paperwork: the service ordo we'll use the first week back (next year!), which needs to be in David the Dauntless Printer's capable hands before I can leave for break with a clean conscience.
So now I'm beginning the process of Digging Out the Dorm Room, trying to make it fit for human habitation.
Speaking of which-- a human will be habitating, even after I trot back to Indiana. Heather gets in on Friday!! Her time in England sounds like it was a grand adventure, but I sure will be glad to have her back. Welcome home, sis!
We're having company today! Don is in town, having come up to Chicago for some sort of training program. Being so close, he's driving up for Evensong; so I get to meet a blog buddy this afternoon. This is a Good Thing.
But first, I have breakfast duty in the refectory, and 2 classes (Small Group Spirituality and Systematics), and some time with AKMA inside the wacky world of Early Church History.
And I just looked around, and realized that our living space here has "End of the Quarter" written all over it. Got to do something about that.
Tripp is talking about music, and about the role of sacred oratory in his conversion. Good food for thought. We chatted about it some; but he has real work to do today, so I found myself continuing down the line in my own head-- a dangerous thing.
I haven't a conversion story to tell; I'm a cradle Christian, raised in the Episcopal church, and returned to it after something of a collegiate hiatus spent dabbling elsewhere, here and there.
But I've always heard the music. I wasn't raised in a particularly musical household, God knows; but I can't remember a time when I didn't zero in on melody. Classical cantatas, swingin' gospel, rock n' roll, bluegrass... all of it. At different points in my life, it's all drawn me; reached into my soul and anchored there, in a way that spoken words alone do not.
I don't understand when someone says they don't think one sort of music or another is appropriate for worship. There are individual songs I prefer, or don't care for; but I've felt the Spirit's presence in a capella plainsong, and in the rhythm of drums and electric guitar. God speaks in so many voices...
That's how I found the Christian Ministry Center, in college. It was pretty freeform worship, and I really missed the liturgy, the sacramental understanding; but the intentional study of the Word, and the genuine care and community, largely made up for the lack.
And we sang. Mainline christian contemporary, and fairly simple, most of it; but solid, and strong, and an integral expression of faith.
I'm not a particularly great singer; I can usually carry a tune, but I'm not likely to win any awards (listen for Susie's lilting tones, and you will hear some singing!). But I can't not sing. There's music in my head, all the time, and sometimes it just comes tumbling out. This is something of a source for amusement among my classmates, I know, but there it is.
Much of the scripture I know has sopped into my brain in orchestrated form. I can't hear "the Lord is my light and my salvation," or "I am the resurrection and the life," without the accompanying melody lines. It's how I celebrate when I'm happy, how I regain control when I'm angry, how I cope when I'm afraid, or hurt, or grieving, and how I worship "in the beauty of holiness." The Word inevitably resonates into harmony, in and through my relationship with God, and with the people God places in my path.
Nothing like a little reality to bring a girl back to reality.
Yesterday I spent the morning in the wonderful world of work study. Wrote up a bunch of quiz questions for AKMA's Early Church History class to practice on; and then spent time looking for reference material at the library. More precisely, in ATLA, the online electronic database-- which, I must tell you, is a royal pain. Balky interface, obscure keyword connections, confusing... and then, when I finally (after 2 hours) got a short list of items that I thought might be worth pursuing, it flatly refused to allow me to print. Not only refused, but seized up my computer so that I had to force quit, and lost what I had done. I loathe ATLA.
A blessed antidote to the sour taste that goofy system always leaves in my mouth was the 11:15 Eucharist. On Fridays, this is a quiet service-- not heavily attended, and generally no music, though this week the Dean played a hymn for us at the offertory. So, a little good music, as well as some good preaching this day. Brother Micah was in the pulput (or more accurately, in the aisle) and brought a Word to say. He wants to teach homiletics when he grows up; when he starts that ministry, do yourself a favor and take the class. I'll be in there with you, in the left-handed desk in the 2nd row.
Got home last night, so this morning is devoted to domesticity. Laundry, dusting, vacuuming... the neverending joys of household maintenance. And a little bit of of spousal nursing, as Bruce has come down with the same plague that seems to be hitting everyone around here.
I turned in the final paper for my preaching class today. Not so complicated, really; the assignment was pretty straightforward:
"As a preacher living in the most privileged country in the world at a time when many aspects of that privilege are being challenged from within and without our borders, what shape will the message of salvation take in your preaching ministry? In what ways does life in America enable your preaching, and in what ways does it make preaching difficult? Which of the Powers will your preaching confront? What aspects of your life have prepared you to preach the message of salvation in this way?
No, not complicated-- until I started writing it. And then I found myself actually answering the questions. From there it became more of an adventure, as some of the "preparation" has come from "aspects of my life" that are rather less than fun to remember. Scary places. Spots that are healing, but not necessarily whole. Sometimes salvation is still a work in progress, folks.
I ended up talking about this, a bit-- a short conversation unexpectedly wedged into the schedule, intense in a way I was not prepared for, in a space too small to contain it. Then suddenly it was time to go; and so I went, trying not to get caught up in the effort of putting ghosts to bed without really having allowed them to wear themselves out.
So now I'm worn out. Prayer time before I try sleeping is going to be pretty indispensible tonight.
My eldest child returned from her Cancun adventure, very late last night. I've not had a chance to hear all the details, yet; but it sounds as though a wonderful time was had by all. I'm guessing that the return to the chilly Midwest is going to be quite a culture shock; but I'm really, really glad to have her home.
Well, we’ve moved from ecclesiology, to sacramental theology-- something of a natural progression this time.
In his usual, practical approach, Migliore zeroes in on the sacraments recognized by Christians of whatever stripe: Baptism and the Lord’s Supper (Holy Eucharist for us Episcopal types). And there, he outlines the differences in traditional belief systems: the validity of infant vs. adult baptism, and the nature of Christ’s presence in Communion. In the former, I appreciated his discussion, and not just because I agree with him. He argues both sides of the issue, bringing up points that I had not considered, before finally concluding that “the two forms of baptism... together express the full meaning of baptism better than each would alone.” (p. 217).
Williams take on the topic is more introspective: he considers the traditional sacraments of the Christian tradition, but then looks behind them toward the nature of what is meant by saying something, anything, is “sacramental.” He talks about signs, but does not stop with the standard catechetical definition. Instead, he moves on into the necessity of signs as “the means of coming to knowledge of something or someone other than ourselves,” (p. 200) and emphasizes both the abstract/spiritual and concrete/incarnational nature of our sacramental expressions.
...and we're back in class, for the next two weeks. I'm actually doing pretty well with my coursework; the big projects are essentially done, and the little ones at least in progress. However, as a result, I'm behind on extra-curricular responsibilities. So that's the agenda for the next couple weeks:
Quiz questions for Christian Life & Thought I
Next week's ordo (that's the orders of services for next week, anywhere else)
Liturgical signup sheets for Winter Quarter
Cantor rota for the Winter Quarter
Also, I got a note from my rector, who wants me to take on preaching more regularly-- one Sunday each month or so, as part of my development in the parish. We'll get together to review my homiletic efforts after each sermon, with an eye toward general preaching/communication style, as well as theological development. I have to do a few with notes, for example, rather than a manuscript (which would have made me a lot more nervous before this preaching class, and before I managed to survive my wee Plunge preaching moment). This is going to be a good thing, even as it adds to the never finished To Do List I carry around with me.
Today, however, I have a more immediate focus: the Bish is on the block! Ed comes up once or twice a year: to chat with the dean, and to spend time talking with his seminarians. Checking up on us, but not in a perjorative sense; more like checking in, making sure that we're ok, offering counsel and support. And he always concludes his visit with taking us out to dinner, for a bit of social time off the block. I love my bishop.
This week’s readings had to do with the theology of church, and the titles of the chapters in which the various authors expound on the topic are telling: Rowan Williams writes on “Incarnation and the Renewal of Community;” Daniel Migliore discusses “The New Community;” and Mary Hines presents “Community for Liberation.” The three authors begin with two things in common: all are convinced of the nature of community as both inherent and necessary to the Christian life; and all see the need for revision of the current image and practice of that community. From that point, they diverge.
Hines, as you might expect, points to the conflict between the hierarchical structure of the Roman Catholic tradition, and the theological understanding of the laity, born largely out of Vatican II reforms, that “We are the church!” She maintains that “a massive transformation of the church’s structures is needed to free them from the patriarchal, hierarchical, and clerical assumptions that prevent the church from becoming a prophetic community of equal disciples committed to the task of liberation for all people.” (p. 163-164)
Migliore is not speaking to one specific tradition. However, he is concerned with traditional denominational boundaries, in that his writing speaks to the necessity of renewing the unity of the church. Our fractured understandings have us prioritizing the attributes of the church: preferring an emphasis on the Word, for example, over the sacraments, or vice versa. Migliore holds that this all too human tendency to pick and choose, to insist that one is more important than the other, is not only divisive, but destructive to the integrity of the church as the Body of Christ. (p. 200 - 201).
I was surprised to find that Williams strayed the farthest from the current structures of church, denomination and tradition as they now stand. He does so intentionally, emphasizing the radical reconstruction of holistic, communal understanding that Jesus’ life and ministry brings, overriding every other concept and community that we construct for ourselves. “The church must first understand its distinctiveness and separateness-- not from the human race but from all communities and kinships whose limits fall short of the human race.” (p. 233)
This is the first time, I think, that I’ve been able to side with the good archbishop. I find Hines’ concerns valid, but too narrow; and Migliore’s stance seems to me to be rather a natural outgrowth of what Williams posits here.
