Shopping - feh.

This is one area where I fail to meet the feminine stereotype: I do not, in general, look forward to shopping as entertainment.

Oh, sometimes, I do enjoy the experience; in good company, it can even be lots of fun. But that's more a reflection of my pleasure of the company than the process. In general I shop because I have to; and my mental approach to the prospect ranges from acceptance of the need (we do have to eat, after all) to plain detestation.

This last is particularly true when applied to clothes shopping.

Don't get me wrong-- I like new clothes. I simply find that I frequently loathe the process of acquiring them. Jeans aren't so bad-- I have found a store which carries a fit that suits me, so I can walk in, pick the right size (8 Long, Dad-- Jan gets the smaller stuff) off the shelf, and head for the register. But otherwise, the effort to find something new, and then hoping it fits-- squirming in and out of lots of clothes that don't, in order to find one or two items that do-- is both frustrating and exhausting. Blouses that don't button properly, sleeves that are too short, tops and skirts that look lovely on the rack, but then become misshapen and silly when I get into them. . . no, thank you. And underwear is the absolute worst. I would love to find some place that offered items in my size, that (a) was not really outrageously priced for a scant handful of fabric and a couple of hook-and-eye closures; and (b) did not look like something that belonged in my grandmother's dresser drawer. In a word, ew.

There's got to be a better way.

First Sunday in Advent

This evening, as I noted, was the official beginning for the Church of Jesus Christ, Reconciler. It was good worship, though we did have to work around (and occasionally shout over) a very exuberant birthday party using the rest of the coffee house for the evening. Never a dull moment in the church-planting business...

The sermon we gave may be found here (take your time; with three of us involved in its construction, it's rather lengthier than usual).

Sermonizin'

I've been working on a sermon for tomorrow, and this one's a bit different. First of all, it's for the "kickoff" service for Reconciler-- a new congregation, at the beginning of a new year. Exciting stuff! Secondly, we are planning to preach a "group sermon." Tripp, Larry and I, preaching all together. I've never tried something like this before, and the structure is turning out to be difficult for me to wrap my mind around. Evidently more prayer is warranted.

One more joyful note: AKMA has graciously agreed to preside at the Eucharist for this service. I couldn't be more pleased to have this man share his gifts with us in worship.

Music and memories

We had a lovely visit with the family, and came back home from down south this afternoon. Suitcases are unpacked and put away, the laundry is started, and we are settled in for the evening-- all except the teenager, who is spending the night at her girlfriend's house, and so will likely be going gangbusters into the wee hours.

The drive home today was thankfully unadventurous, unlike the trip down on Wed. We had our first real winter weather that day-- snow, sleet, gusting winds. The snow started to stick just after lunch; a lovely sight to behold from the comfort of our home, but not nearly as nice to experience behind the wheel. I took the first driving shift, while the rest of my family immediately dropped into slumber.

The good news is that I stumbled across an oldies station that kept me unexpectedly good company that evening. For whatever reason, they played a whole string of songs in a row, that kept that part of my brain not busy driving occupied in serious memory retrieval. Not that they were all what I might now class as particular favorites; but goodness, did they carry a lot of associations. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but music, for me, goes further-- it touches all five senses as well.

The Monkees' "Last Train to Clarksville," for example, sent me back to sitting crosslegged on the braided rug in my parents' family room, watching TV while I ate lunch (usually a PBJ on Wonder Bread, and a glass of milk).

Now, it's not unusual to have some song crop up that connects the synapses in my brain to something in my history. The amazing thing was that there were a whole slew of them, right in a row (and the fact that I know both title and artist to these tunes, off the top of my head, is something-- as those who know me will tell you that I am among the world's worst at remembering those details). In addition to the above, the playlist included

• Cat Stevens Al Stewart, Year of the Cat
• The Commodores, Easy Like Sunday Morning
• The Eagles, Seven Bridges Road
• Electric Light Orchestra, Turn to Stone
• Beach Boys, Surfer Girl
• Jim Croce, I Got a Name

There were a few others, but those are the ones that spring to mind.

Now, some of those associations are more pleasant than others, of course-- and some stories I'm more (or less) likely to share. But they all connected with me, in one way or another-- and made good company as I steered down the road.

So here's the natural question: what song(s) trigger memories for you? And if you care to share the connection, feel free.

Giving thanks

Yesterday I was up at school, for the second unplanned time during the week I'm supposed to be off at home. Both times, it was for the same reason: books. References for papers and projects. Yesterday it was a text for my history paper, which had needed to be recalled from somebody who had it out long-term. It would have been nice to have it sooner; but I'm really glad to have been able to pick it up before the week was out. I have hopes of finishing that paper, and a couple of online quizzes for Anglican Worship, before we are back in class next Monday.

Today we're packing, and driving south to spend time with Bruce's mom and siblings for the Thanksgiving holiday. That'll be good-- a lot of family time, with a lot of family. Before we go, I'm going to try to sneak in a nap, as I was up well past my bedtime last night chatting with a friend or two. All right, this likely wasn't the wisest choice, the evening (and early morning) before a lengthy trip; it leaves me tired, especially as I'm not the sort to sleep in, ever. But I am reminded in rather bleary-eyed wonder how incredibly fortunate I am to have, beyond all reasonable expectation, this sort of friend-- to be graced by folks in my life who will talk, and listen, with sympathy and humor and a rare sort of honesty. Treasures indeed.

I'm wishing for all of you this holiday the gift of being able to enjoy the day with people you love, and who love you. Seems to me that's the one thing for which to be most grateful-- today, and tomorrow, and beyond. Thanks be to God.

More field ed adventures

This weekend I visited the other of my field ed sites for the first time. Acutally, it's not the first time I've ever been there; but it has been several years, long before I entered the process toward ordination.

Trinity is a slightly larger congregation than St. Andrew's, in a much larger facility. And unlike St. A's more contemporary style, Trinity is decidedly Anglo-Catholic in their worship (Dave, you'd love it there). However, the two churches do have in common a hospitable nature, and I was made very warmly welcome.

Then yesterday, I had lunch with both of my supervisors, and spent some time going over schedules-- figuring out which Sundays I'll be where, what events and activities in which they'd like me to participate, or help to organize, or whatever. I like these two good priests, a lot; this is going to be a marvelous adventure.

I knew her when!

This week is the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, held this year in San Antonio, TX. Seems odd to think that, only a few years ago, I'd never heard of it. Now, of course, a fair percentage of my day-to-day friends and acquaintances are there at the moment: a big chunk of the Seabury faculty, and a couple other folks I've encountered along the line, as well.

This morning, Margaret Adam-- AKMA's wife, and a formidable theologian in her own right-- kicked off the presentation cycle. She apparently did so in fine style, attracting some glowing comments from folks who do more deep theological thinking before breakfast than I manage in an average week. You can read her husband's account of the procedings here (scroll down, if you need to; he's having issues with the site, and I can't link to the specific post, right now).

The line for autographs starts to the left.

I like lists. Lists are my friends.

This morning I took the time to peruse some of the blogs I normally read, but which have gone unattended recently due to time constraints. I found a tidy little resource while wandering down Karen's list of links: An Episcopal Seminarian's Bookmarks. What a lovely bit of organization!

Well. . . okay. . .

...I wonder if this quiz is on the syllabus for the Dante class at Seabury this quarter?
(thanks to Brother Tripp for the link)

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Extreme
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Low
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very Low

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

Seminary geeks

For the last few weeks, a few of us have been unwinding on Wednesday nights by proving to ourselves how much previously learned Greek we don't remember. Si is boning up, pursuant to proving some second-language competence to college admissions boards. Beth and I are dredging up memories of classes gone by; she's had more coursework than I, but it was also longer ago, so we're about on a par. And AKMA, bless his patient heart (whose Greek, quite honestly, is better than my English), is cheerfully correcting our foibles and misconstructions and parsing faux pas. I suppose we'd learn more if we didn't spend so very much time giggling...

Then last night, I sat with friends at dinner, immediately after our regular Thursday night community Eucharist. The group being what it was, we had a lively discussion of the liturgical and homiletic choices that had been part of our worship experience. I'm sure there are folks out there who would have been crossing their eyes at the "shop talk;" but I thought it a lovely way to spend my last evening on "on the block" for a while.

I will miss my cohorts on campus, but I am very glad to be home.

Today officially begins a whole week without classes-- a combination of Reading Week (time given to finish up end-of-the-term coursework) and Thanksgiving. It is not vacation time, really-- goodness knows I brought plenty to do with me. Texts to read, papers to write, quizzes to study for... Reformation history, and liturgy, and theology. It would likely feel quite onerous, if it weren't work I enjoy.

Some folks think engineers are geeky, but they've got nothing on seminary types. And now I suppose I'm both. Oy.

A little visiting. . . a little shopping. . .

As you will note from the mention in my sermon below, my bishop was in town for a visit on Monday. I am one of three seminarians currently at Seabury (all Seniors) from my diocese; Ed comes over every year to check in with us, individually and collectively. We had a lovely chat, about school, diocesan comings and goings, ordinations and possibilities for ministry. I realized again how spoiled I really am, in having a bishop in whom I can confide comfortably. Thanks be to God.

Then yesterday, the Wippell rep was set up in the hallway all day. Several times a year, representatives from one ecclesial supply company or another come to the seminary to offer their wares. Wippell is one of the traditional notables; they usually appear once in the fall, and once in the spring.

Up until now, I've not been especially interested in perusing the stacks of vestments and clerical attire that are spread on racks and tables in the hallway. But yesterday, somehow, I found myself looking through what they had to offer. And I ended up trying on an alb. Nothing fancy, really; as anyone who's met me can tell you, I am not a frills and lace kind of person. But it was lovely fabric, and made well... and it fit me perfectly. The rep said that it had been an error in manufacture-- cut too short for the person who had originally ordered it-- so it had been relegated to the sample rack. And that meant there was a discount on the price, over and above the normal 10% they offer students.

And so, keeping in mind the 11th Commandment ("Thou Shalt Not Pay Retail"), I bought it. The first time I've ever bought vestments of any sort, as I made the cassock and am borrowing the surplice that I use here as a student. I won't be using the alb until next spring, God willing; but it does look lovely hanging on the back of my closet door.

You know, this whole thing is beginning to feel... real, I guess. Amazing.

Feast of Edmund of East Anglia (transferred)

(This feast was celebrated in Seabury's chapel today. My homily is below.)

***********

1 Peter 3:14-18
Psalm 21:1-7
Matthew 10:16-22

“Do not worry about how you are to speak, or what you are to say,” the scripture says. A fine reminder for a seminarian preaching with her bishop in the chapel! Of course, this is the same bishop who started me on the rocky road to seminary with the same words we hear in 1 Peter this morning: “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands an accounting for the hope that is in you.” Now you know why I’m here: three years of self-defense training.

But seriously, I like the advice that these two bits of scripture offer. I think they balance one another well, and in fact may well be part of the reason they were selected for the feast of Edmund, King of East Anglia. They both deal with explicit warnings of persecution, and how followers of Jesus are to deal with that. Living as disciples of Jesus Christ, we are reminded, is not a “cushy corner-office” kind of job; suffering and abuse and at times physical danger are part of the job description. The “Good,” in Good News, is not the same thing as “comfortable,” or “easy.” Not by half.

Certainly Edmund found that to be true. This 9th century saint was 30 years old, and had been a Christian king for about 15 years, when Danish marauders overran his country. He was eventually captured; but then offered an option to save him from execution: if he would accept the role as their vassal, and forbid Christian practice in the country, his captors promised they would spare his life and end the fighting.

You know where this is going, don’t you? One does not earn a day on the liturgical calendar, and a page in Lesser Feasts and Fasts, by denying the Christian faith. Edmund refused the offer, and was martyred. Martyred thoroughly, I might add-- the history says that he was first beaten with cudgels, then savagely whipped, then shot through with arrows, then finally beheaded.

(Your COM’s looking pretty good about now, isn’t it?)

But really... imagine for a moment how it must be to hold fast under such vicious mistreatment. The strength of conviction that shows-- when one word, one moment of acquiescence would have been so very much easier, would have avoided all that horror. Where did that come from?

The Holy Spirit, yes, of course-- but I also believe that, in Edmund’s case, it was at least in part the culmination of a lifetime of discipleship. The stories told about him give one example of this: they say that he took a year’s retreat, early in his reign-- during which time he memorized the entire psalter.

Now, as much of a “Bible geek” reputation as I have around here, even I’m not about to say that simply memorizing a lot of scripture is the answer. But the commitment to faithful practice that exemplifies-- intentional learning, and living discipleship, by word and example-- is integral to being ready, as much as we can, for whatever (or whomever) holds us to account And if we have done that-- if we continue to prepare-- by study, and in prayer, and by caring for one another in the name of Jesus Christ who calls us together-- then we need not “worry about what we are to say,” for we will have prepared to “make our defense to those who demand an account for the hope that is in us.”

Oh, but did you notice? That verse from 1 Peter-- I haven’t yet finished the sentence. The whole thing actually says, “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do so with gentleness and reverence.”

That last is key. We have been reminded recently, by recent events in the wider Anglican Communion (and by some local adventures as well) that we are a body of committed Christians who are not of one mind on some very fundamental issues. And it’s been obvious that gentleness and reverence have not always been the first priority in the exchanges that we’ve heard, and read, and seen over these issues. Sometimes, in fact, those traits have been most notable by their absence. We talk a lot about loving our enemy, and welcoming the stranger, and rightly so; but it seems harder, somehow, when we realize that the stranger has turned out to be a relative-- when the enemy is actually one who, by virtue of shared baptism into the body of Christ, is family-- is sister, or brother.

Maybe that’s why we have this reminder. It is important, vitally important, to be able to defend the hope we have in the risen Lord, and to speak our convictions formed in that faith. That’s one reason to value the example of the saints, like Edmund, who show us what we can be, in the face of opposition-- what is possible, when we trust in the Holy Spirit.

But how we make that defense, how we treat one another in the process, is just as important. As I was reminded by a dear friend yesterday, “we are disciples of a Lord who calls us always to make room for people to be better than we have grounds to expect them to be.”

We will be challenged, my brothers and sisters. We have, and will have, plenty of opportunities to answer those who demand an accounting for the hope that is in us. That is the inevitable nature of having radical faith in a radical God, who lived with us, and showed us first how to face the challenge-- and then who died, rather than compromise the conviction and gift of God’s love. An infinite, unbounded love for all of us, on both sides of every argument.
It is important to remember, above all, that those who challenge us are also beloved children of God.

So study and pray, my brothers and sisters; form convictions, be strong in faith, and ready for the challenge. But also pray that we hold those strong convictions-- and one another-- gently.

There's church. . . and then there's church.

We (the kids and I; Bruce was out of town at an aikido training seminar) went to church twice yesterday.

In the morning, we worshipped with one of my field ed parishes for the first time. St. Andrew's by the Lake is a lovely little congregation in Michigan City, IN. Not so small as they used to be, I might add: the 40-50 people in attendance are nearly double the number of a few years ago. They are a relaxed, friendly community; a blend of contemporary and traditional music and worship; and a comfortable, encouraging approach to lay leadership and Christian witness. I'm going to like it there. (I forgot to take my camera with me this morning; I'll put up pictures next time I'm there).

In the evening, we went up to Rogers Park for worship with Jesus Christ, Reconciler. This, as you'll recall, is the little church plant we're trying to start; and last evening was our first time worshiping together in our new digs. We're renting space at a local coffee house: the Chase Cafe.

It is a different sort of structure there, because of the effort to blend with integrity the three traditions, and the group with whom we are trying to share the Gospel; but this is also good. A cappella singing, supported by strong voices, is solid praise. Preaching that challenges, and disscussion that follows, both seek to understand and to serve God's will. Serious worship in a casual space, amid a backdrop of city noises and distractions. A different sort of Christian witness.

On the surface, these two churches do not appear to have much in common; but undergirding both is the spirit of God, working through loving, faithful, committed people. So if you're ever in the neighborhood of either place, stop by; we'll be glad to see you.

1975

As I was driving to church today (for the first time; see above), I turned to a local "rock 'n' roll oldies" station, just as the DJ was introducing the morning's program. Typically, she focuses on the music that was popular for a given year, and yesterday she had chosen 1975. "I remember 1975," she enthused. "It was a very good year."

So I got to thinking. I can remember 1975, too. I was mostly 13 that year; turned 14 in August, just in time to start high school. I learned a lot, that year...

• I learned that being prepared carries a different connotation for adult women, and one of the reasons we often carry purses.
• I learned the weight of having to be responsible.
• I learned the pain of having someone I loved and trusted implicitly, betray that trust.
• I learned the joy of having an enemy become a lifelong friend.
• I learned there were some things my parents didn't need to know.

It was not, in many ways, an easy year; good mixed with bad, and sometimes hard to separate one from another. Looking back, I guess I realize now that, for many complicated reasons, it was the year I grew up.

Hello, homework hotline?

Today's assignment is a project for my Anglican Worship class. We are to use what we've learned about the liturgies of the church, prayer book forms and rubrics, in the creation of some educational application for parish use. Our liturgics professor gave us several ideas from which to choose.

I've decided to create a baptismal customary: a document that outlines the way that baptisms are performed in the parish (preparation for candidates and sponsors, available dates, etc.). I've been around the church for a long time, seen and participated in a lot of baptisms, and have some definite ideas (theological and practical) of how I'd like to see things handled. So I thought this would be fairly simple to put together.

However, it's turning out to be more labor intensive than I'd expected. There really are a lot of details to include; and my professor, being of a perfectionist bent, is going to want to see all of them covered.

I was muttering about this earlier, grousing about the work entailed. Being the supportive soul that he is, my beloved husband asked if there was any way he could help.

"Thanks, honey, but I'm not sure you can," I said. "How up are you on baptismal theology and liturgy?"

"Well," he replied, "I know that if they drown, they weren't witches..."

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

In the last couple of days, I've had occasion to be harking back to my former life. Once upon a time, I was a steelmaker. My undergraduate degree is in metallurgical engineering, and I spent a few years gainfully employed in the field-- first as a process metallurgist in a manufacturing plant; then as a production metallurgist in a steel mill.

That time often seems to be little related to my current endeavors. The study of theology, scripture and Greek do not have a lot in common with thermodynamics, crystallography or physical metallurgy. But, as my mom used to remind us, there's no such thing as wasted education; and they do find ways to intersect, sometimes in strange and wonderful patterns. It never ceases to amaze me.

For whatever reason, I've found myself referring to that period of my life several times recently: drawing comparisons and finding understanding in one arena, based on the other.

Last night, a late-night mention of the intricacies of Greek grammar (yes, seminarians do this, and some of us even enjoy it!), brought to mind another way that intricacy and complication served to bring some clarity, once I learned to wrap my mind around it. So I thought to share.

What you're seeing here is an Iron-Carbon Phase Diagram: a visual representation of how the crystal structure (and therefore the physical properties and performance) of steel changes, depending on temperature and carbon content. This is the framework-- the grammar, if you will-- upon which steelmaking is based. If you'd like to know more, you can find some explanation, and some useful definitions here.

I don't use it much anymore; but once upon a time, it was part of the fabric of my every day. Isn't it a beautiful thing?

It's official!

Look carefully at the picture to the left, my friends. Take note especially of the sparkle in Andrew's eyes, and on Hope's left hand.

What a wondrous time, and how happy I am for both of them!

Introductions

Allow me to introduce you to the most recent addition to my blogroll. Beth is a Seabury junior student, my weekday suitemate, and a delightful new friend. I can assure you she was indeed Wide-Eyed and Laughing, even before she brought home her new iMac.

Welcome to the family, sis!

Pastorized!

Yes, I'm behind schedule with the blog. It's been a busy few days here. But I do want to back up a bit.

Sunday was Tripp's ordination, and it was a fine and wonderful thing. The service was lovely-- grand and holy worship. I sang with the choir, and was surrounded by some incredibly gifted voices (including Susie's strong soprano, soaring to Heaven during the Veni Sanctus Spiritus. One more reminder of how gifted my sister is, and how grateful I am for her).

At the end of it all, Tripp-- dressed in baptismal white, draped in Pentecost red-- stood as the newest ordained minister in God's church. And here is an amazing thing for a preacher: I have no proper words to express the joy and thanksgiving in my heart.

Things to be thankful for

• The elections are over. Whether or not my candidates won, or my ballot mandates passed, I rejoice that the media ads--with their innuendo, cheap shots, and partisan mean-spiritedness-- will be put away for at least a while.
• Family and friends in whom I can safely place unreserved trust-- and who, to my great honor, return the favor.
• Needlework and prayer: to allow expression of joy, and to while away sleepless hours at a bedside.
• God's healing mercy, the workings of which are always beyond my comprehension, but never my appreciation.
  

There are scads more; but I'm a bit tired today, so lease feel free to add yours to the list.

Election day(s)

Because I needed to come up to campus last night (classes start first thing on Tuesdays, and go all day), I actually trotted down to my county offices and voted absentee yesterday morning. I found myself following my mother's axiom, more than once: "If you don't see someone you want to vote for, look again. There's bound to be someone you want to vote against." Lake County politics frequently make the latter action part of my civic duty.

So now, my friends, it's your turn.

Almighty God, to whom we must account for all our powers and privileges: Guide the people of the United States in the election of officials and representatives; that, by faithful administration and wise laws, the rights of all may be protected and our nation be enabled to fulfill your purposes; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Preachin' over that way

Last night was my turn in the pulpit at Jesus Christ, Reconciler. Okay, so we don't have an actual pulpit, per se-- but you get the point. I was doing a bit of unstructured preaching this time, from notes rather than a manusctipt; if you're interested, you can read the gist of it here.