How's that again?

Last night, our local Chamber of Commerce celebrated their 50th anniversary with quite the gala celebration. Bruce and Greg are members, and were also responsible for making sure that the technology for the evening remained up and functional throughout all the presentations and such; so we were in attendance. It was a lovely evening-- black tie optional, so I was as dressed up as I've been in a very long while. People were pleasant, and the food was great, and we were there with some longtime friends, so it made for a good evening (even if we did have to leave early because I was preaching this morning).

However, I did notice a trend in the speechifying that. . . well, see for yourself:

• "It's great to have this beautiful Ale House so convenient to our homes and schools!"

• "We're fortunate to have 10 of our past presidents with us this evening, all of whom are still alive."

No, I'm not making this up.

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

Micah 6:1-8
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
Matthew 5:1-12
Psalm 37:1-18 or 37:1-6

"Blessed are those..."

When I hear those words, I can't help but think of the summer I spent a couple years back, I was a chaplain intern, and a student in a Clinical Pastoral Education program. This is another requirement for a seminary degree; like field ed, experience in practical ministry. I worked at the University of Chicago Hospitals that summer. The U of C is a big place, and serves a wildly disparate population-- from the poorest of Chicago's poor, to people from around the world who come and pay cash to have surgeries and other treatments that they can't get at home. It is a Level I pediatric trauma center, which means they see the worst of the worst in children's injuries. Their ICU also includes one of the most sophisticated burn units in the country.

That burn unit was one to which I was assigned as part of my regular rounds, so I spent a lot of time there. One of the patients I encountered that summer was a local resident, a woman from the south side of Chicago. Our visits together-- and there were many-- always began the same way. I’d walk in and say, “Hey, Miss Amelia, how you doin' today?” And invariably I'd get a big smile, and the reply, "I'm blessed, chaplain!"

So I'd smile back and say, "I know you are, honey; but how are the legs?"

Now, if you’ve ever had even a small burn, you know how badly they hurt; and no one gets hospitalized for small burns. Miss Amelia had been badly burned down both legs-- hot oil while cooking, as I recall. She was on the unit for several weeks.

Sometimes her treatment could be really painful. There were multiple surgeries, and grafting, and debridement (sloughing off the dead tissue to let the living grow, and to minimize scarring). Narcotics and painkillers help, of course, but they can only do so much. It was not, to say the least, a fun time.

But each time I walked in that room, I got the same response-- even when I arrived once to find her in tears from the most recent treatment. "I'm blessed, chaplain."

I spoke with Miss Amelia often enough to know that this wasn’t denial, or failure to grasp her reality, or an inability to admit sorrow, or pain. From this courageous little woman, this was truth. It made no sense, from a medical perspective; at least one of the doctors thought she was simply nuts. She was suffering, and would likely be scarred for life, and very lucky if there was no permanent loss of function, somewhere; those burns went deep. Nonetheless, she spoke this simple, powerful truth-- a foolishness, as Paul says, wiser than the wisdom of the world.

Miss Amelia may have been blessed; but I found blessing in that hospital room that summer, as well.

We as Christians are called-- every one of us, layperson, bishop, priest and deacon. We are called to be foolish for the Lord in one way or another.

• Some of us, like Miss Amelia, can witness to the power of the gospel in bearing up under weakness and adversity.

• Some foolishly choose careers and vocations that don’t carry worldly power or prestige. They trade a high salary and cushy corner office for (hopefully) money enough to get by, and the chance to make a difference.

• Some accept a call to a vocation which also leaves them ridiculed and condemned, even by those they yearn to call friends.

• Other people are silly enough to keep those high-powered, well-paid jobs-- and to use the rewards from them less to provide for others, than to help fill in the gaps in broken homes and lives.

• Still others absurdly sacrifice leisure time, volunteering in church and community. And on, and on, every day.

With this in mind, I’d like to ask you, as Paul says, to consider your own call, my brothers and sisters-- my fellow fools for Christ. Consider your call as a disciple; and, as we go into our annual parish meeting after worship, our call together as a Christian community. How are you blessed by God? How are we all? And in what weak, and foolish, and wonderful ways might we then be a blessing?

Dressing for success

We've all heard the phrase before, I imagine. The idea of wearing something that will cause people to see one in a certain way; like the corporate executive in suit and tie striving to impress management and climb the corporate ladder. Or the woman who indends to convey one message with the red "power suit," and quite another with the "little black dress."

I find, however, that I approach it from a different angle. Rather than trying to impact how others see me, I often seem to dress for situations based on how I will feel-- or more accurately, how I hope to feel.

Ratty old jeans aren't just worn for household repairs because I don't want to ruin good clothes, but also because they make me feel, in some way, competent in that arena. That's one way I tell myself I can do this, and I don't care if I get filthy in the process.

The Ref. talked about this in his GOE Survival Guide a while back (you'll have to scroll down), mentioning how he'd chosen to wear a dress shirt and tie each day of the testing as part of his own mental preparation. I didn't quite go that far, but I was intentional about clothing choices, top to bottom, and rather more careful with hair and makeup than I might have been. Even though I wasn't going anywhere, I got ready for the day as though I'd be going to work. Didn't care who saw me, but it made me feel more prepared. Okay, I'm ready. Bring it on.

I wear sneakers for moving around in a hurry; and my boots often come out when I mean business, or when I want to feel more confident. Do not start with me, honey; you will not win.

Yep-- sometimes I dress with making an impression in mind; but more often the message I'm intending to convey is aimed at the face in the mirror.

Evening prayer

Today was one of my days at St. Andrew's. We've been busy-- lots of moving and shaking going on. Carol is shifting herself out of the officially designated rector's office, and into an unused classroom, so that the office space can become a library/Bible study/meeting room. It will be fine when it's done; but in the meantime we're packing and unpacking, and figuring out ways for two women to move boxes (as well as some of the smaller pieces of furniture) without setting off one medical condition or another. We have a small cart, and have discovered that rolling desk chairs make very nice dollys, after a fashion.

This afternoon was "Thursday Sunday School." The parish is growing, but still small enough that there aren't many kids in Christian Ed-- and Carol prefers to welcome them into worship, rather than holding Sunday School during Eucharist. So Thursday School (after school, from 4:00 until 5:00 pm) is the current experiment with providing Christian Ed to the children of the parish. This afternoon there were two young boys who joined us, with my own youngest (Kyle had a half day of school today, so I brought him to work with me) making a third.

Nothing especially remarkable about the time we spent together. We had a snack and some juice, and did a small craft project (in this case, connected with this Sunday's Gospel-- we made "Blessed R's"). Then we played a game, lining up in order the names of the New Testament books written on flash cards. It doesn't sound exciting, but we were very silly ("Acts, Romans, Corinthians, lend me your ears!") and it was fun.

Then the boys asked if they could have some music before going home. Carol got her guitar and we headed to the nave, where the kids made a beeline for the rhythm instruments the praise band uses. And then we sang.

It's the first time I've tried singing, since I lost my voice last weekend-- and though I wouldn't want anyone critical listening, the kids were oblivious in their joyful abandon. Only two songs, before it was time to go home; but oh, it felt good. Lord knows I'm no professional musician, nor even an especially talented amateur; but I've missed the feel of the music, resonating in my chest and through my body. Jubilate, Jubilate, Jubilate Deo! What a gift.

Jury Duty

I took the day off from field ed at Trinity today, having been summoned by the clerk of our county court to Do My Civic Duty. I was not alone; there were more than two hundred people in the auditorium, filling out forms and waiting patiently to see who would be called. There were juries being empaneled for several trials today, both civil and criminal. However, mine was not among the nearly 150 names eventually called to move to a courtroom for consideration and possible inclusion on a jury. I spent the morning waiting-- eating a doughnut from the available supply, and reading church history-- but apparently they did not need Juror #57 this time.

I'm mostly grateful, because goodness knows I have plenty else I can be doing; but one of these days, I think I'd like to do that. How do you feel about the idea of serving-- Doing Your Civic Duty?

Partial restoration

Well, the repair guy has come and gone, and the internet has been restored to our household. Huzzah!! Turns out that one of the few snowplows to come down our street managed somehow to snag and snap a cable.

Normally the lack of municipal coverage isn't much of a problem, out here in the township. This time, however, those snow plows were missed, because the weather took an unusual backwards sort of path around the lake and deposited a significant “lake effect” snow out our way-- about 24 inches in 24 hours. Bruce had plowed on Saturday; but between the additional snowfall and the wind whipping things around all night, that was hardly noticable. It took him better than an hour and a half, bless him, to plow out the driveway so that I could make it to St. A’s yesterday morning. Gettting out of the neighborhood was a bit of an adventure, but once I got out onto the main roads, travel was not unduly hazardous.

And as it turns out, I did wake up with enough of a voice (barely) to preach that children’s sermon, after a fashion. It went well enough-- at least, the kids seemed to enjoy it; and gauging from a few amused comments, the grownups didn’t seem to mind the husky tones too much.

Of course, that was the limit to my speaking role. I didn't even try to sing-- frustrating, as that's such an integral part of worship for me. Today the voice is still very, very iffy-- in and out, off and on-- but overall it seems to be a work in progress.

Radio Silence

We're over visiting our friends Cindy and Greg right now. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that we're visiting Cindy and Greg's wifi. They've gone over to the health club to work out, leaving Bruce and I to catch up on email; they'll be back in a bit, and we'll split some pizza.

Why is this, you ask? Simple-- when I got home yesterday evening, our cable modem was down for the count. Bruce tried to work his technological magic on it, to no avail. So we called the cable company, and discovered that the soonest they can have someone out to repair it will be Monday morning. Serious technological withdrawl, especially as I had to contact both a professor and my supervisors.

I could pick up the phone and call them, but that would also be problematic. I woke up yesterday with a scratchy throat, went through a whiskey-throated Lauren Bacall phase in the late afternoon, and by last evening was seriously hoarse. I did spend some necessary (well, necessary to me) time on the phone-- first with Mark, then the Ref.-- chatting about this, venting about that; but by the time I went to bed I was reduced to a throaty whisper. It's a mark of these men's tolerance that they put up with my scraggly tones with good grace.

This morning I woke up with no voice at all. None. Nit. Zilch. Even whispering takes effort, so I'm avoiding that where possible.

As a result, I've spent the day with my nose in my history texts, sipping herbal tea and sucking on throat lozenges, and praying that this passes as quickly as it came on. Whether the kids at St. A's get their sermon tomorrow is anyone's guess.

Here's hoping that all avenues of communication are up and running again soon.

In every heart, there is a room. . .

Billy Joel does have a way with lyrics.

The family is dispersed, at the moment. Bruce is watching something on TV, the elder child is chatting with friends, while the younger is artistically engrossed. Me, I'm... pensive this evening.

Got to St. A's around 9:00 yesterday, shoveled off and salted the areas in front of the front and side doors. Then I had a couple hours alone before I officiated Morning Prayer, as Carol needed to be elsewhere for the day. Prepped the liturgy, and a little homily, and then had as much a block of silence in which to work, and pray, as I've had in a long time. Time to think: to consider current events, and ancient history... distant friends, and recent decisions... to examine the holes in my soul, holding them up to the light of day.

A necessary exercise, upon occasion.

Sons and daughters

I also learned yesterday that young friend of mine has arrived at his duty station. I've known David since he was a geeky preteen, all arms and legs and attitude. He is now 23, and was active duty military for three years after high school, including a stint spent jumping out of perfectly good airplanes over Kosovo. He stayed in the National Guard to help pay for college (and oh, I wish I could tell you what a life turnaround that was). But then his unit was called up, and sent over-- first to Kuwait, then Iraq (with some vintage equipment that dates to Korea; but that's another rant). He's now part of the forces preparing for the Iraqi elections, his unit charged with finding and dismantling land mines, and very much "in harm's way."

Lots to pray about, tonight.

Fiction, and fishin'

Kyle's school hosted a book fair this evening, so we went over to browse. The boy has historically been a reluctant reader, so we've worked a bit at encouraging the interest (...habit... addiction... call it what you will). It's beginning to pay off; he was genuinely excited about the books he got for Christmas, and today he was eager to go over to the fair to see what they had. (these fairs also substantially discount the books from market retail-- makes being The Good Mom a bit easier on the pocketbook).

He ended up picking out three books-- two to read, and one on drawing-- Spider-Man and his buddies. Right now he has the latter spread out on the kitchen table, preparing to produce a classic renditon of Our Hero. If my camera were working, I'd share it with you. Maybe next time.

The rest of my day was quiet. Did some reading for the class I'm taking this quarter (modern church history, the last course I'm required for graduation). Cleaning up myriad piles of heretofore unattended paperwork. And planning out my sermon for Sunday. I'm giving the children's sermon, which will be a first for me. Stay tuned, sports fans-- we're going fishing, the old-fashioned way.

Leave of absence

(The following is a duplication of a post I put up on the Reconciler blog this morning.)

Sometimes things get busy, in the life of a seminarian; right now, that's the case with me.

I am currently involved in a quarter of field education-- an internship of sorts, designed to give us a taste of what is involved in the day-to-day running of the parish, and to allow us the opportuniity to pick the brains of willing and experienced priests, as we begin to shape how our ministries will be lived out. I am blessed to be working with two parishes over in my home diocese of Northern Indiana, serving each part-time. It's a wonderful experience, but it keeps me hopping.

Add to that my work with our little congregation here, and a class I'm taking as the last academic requirement for graduation, and the joyful demands of husband and family, and I'm finding that the press of responsibilities is more than I can manage. Something needs to give; and blessedly, Tripp and Larry have encouraged me to make the space I need by taking a leave from my responsibilities with Reconciler for the next couple of months.

We will stay in touch via phone and email (and the blog, of course!); but unless unforeseen circumstances arise, I will not be making the drive north for worship or other church activities.

Please know that I will continue to hold our faithful community in my prayers, both in thanksgiving and intercession, and that I am looking forward to returning to a more active role in our life together, toward the end of March.

God's grace and peace be with all of you!

Eucharistic Ministry

Last night was a late evening at Trinity. It was a special service, to celebrate the completion of the full EFM curriculum by four parishioners. This is a significant event: that's a four-year commitment to some serious Christian education.

So Eugene hosted a party in the rectory for the graduates and their families, as well as some other folks who had been part of the classes on previous occasions. It was good food (potluck hors d'oevres), and great music (a mix put together by one of the grads-- I need a copy of that CD) and fun conversation. Being Anglican, of course, the graduation portion of the program was in the context of Eucharist-- in this case, an informal celebration, with all of us gathered around Eugene at the table in his living room.

I found myself standing next to a little (4 1/2-year-old) girl, the daughter of one of the grads. She had spent the earlier part of the evening like children that age often will, wandering and chattering and in constant motion. But when we began the service, her mom called her over to stand by us, and whispered that it was time for church. In a moment, the child had become still. She whispered a question or two, but was in general wholly focused on the action at the table.

When the time came to distribute communion, we passed the bread and cup around the circle, from one to another. I communicated my new little friend, who received with wide, dark eyes and a delighted smile. Then I handed her the elements-- first the bread, then the wine-- and she shared them with her mom, complete with the customary phrases; as earnestly as any trained Eucharistic minister, and with more joy than many.

We were warm indeed, on that frosty night.

Adventures in liturgy

Field Ed continues apace. This week was my first Sunday at St. Andrew's, my other field ed parish. A very different place than Trinity! The church was built in the 70's, I think, so is much more contemporary. And though it's certainly orthodox Episcopal liturgy, the congregational worship style is significantly more casual.

Carol (the vicar) wasn't there this weekend; she's had a retreat scheduled for months, long before we put together my schedule. She had arranged for supply, but the priest who came to celebrate had not ever been to St. A's either. So we had two newbies at the altar (at least, insofar as this congregation is concerned).

But wait-- there's more! I got to church way early, which I prefer to do when I'm preaching. I like having time to pray in the silence, and then to get used to my voice and presence in the space. When I unlocked the doors, I found a note jammed in the handle, apologizing for a couple of kids being absent that day. Okay, I thought, no problem. As the time for Eucharist grew closer, I learned that the two missing boys were to have been the crucifer and one of the torch bearers-- and the remaining torch bearer was a 7-year-old girl who, while smiling and eager, had not served before-- and none of the other regular servers were in church that day. Make that three newbies on the altar, and two vacant posts.

Fortunately, as I said, this is a very relaxed community. So I simply asked for a volunteer to carry the cross, and got one (the junior warden, I think) and I took the other torch, and no one thought anything of it. Autumn had practiced the week before, and was quite self-possessed; a joy to work with. So with our makeshift procession we moved forward into worship, and God was praised in the doing.

Lord, I love this job.

Sermon: Second Sunday after Epiphany

John 1:29-41

One of the first things you might notice about me is that I wear glasses. I got them when I was 9 years old, and in the fourth grade. My teacher noticed me squinting at the board and sent me to the school nurse, who made me look in the big machine with all the E’s pointing in the different directions. She sent a note home to my parents, who took me to the doctor, who gave me glasses. 30 some-odd years later I’m still wearing them, because I’m still nearsighted-- anything further than a few feet away becomes awfully fuzzy. I pretty much wear them all the time, unless I’m reading or asleep. Otherwise I’d be tripping over my own feet far more often than I already do. I need them to see.

Today’s gospel talks a lot about seeing things. It even begins there, with John the Baptist seeing Jesus coming toward him. He’s all wound up, as only John can get-- but who can blame him? This is the son of God, the one upon whom the spirit of God descended like a dove. Can you imagine having witnessed that, having been part of it? I’d be talking up that story too-- going on for days, likely.

That’s just what John does-- he’s still talking about it the next day, enough that a couple of his disciples go to check things out. And what does Jesus say, when they approach him?

“Come and see.”

What a contrast, between the cousins! John’s ranting and raving, his excited proclamation and carrying on... and then Jesus’ simple invitation.

“Come and see.”

But there’s something else I notice here. John’s witness is right out there-- what you see is what you get. It’s easy to take in, to take at face value.

On the other hand, Jesus’ invitation is more than it first appears to be. This isn’t only an offer to check out his apartment. It’s not about sightseeing, or spectator sport. In fact, it has very little to do with any kind of thing I might see, with or without these glasses. It’s about what a friend of mine calls “Kingdom Vision.”

What’s Kingdom vision? One of my very favorite stories in scripture illustrates this well. Do you remember the story of the sinful woman, who washes Jesus’ feet with her tears, and dries them with her hair? It’s in the 7th chapter of Luke. Simon the pharisee, who invited Jesus to dinner, is appalled-- not only by the presence of this notorious sinner in his home, but by the fact that Jesus would allow her to touch him. And eventually Jesus turns to him, and asks, “Do you see this woman?” Can you look beyond the surface, beyond the reputation, beyond the sobbing figure? Will you look not with human eyes, but with Kingdom eyes? Do you see there before you a precious child of God, beloved and restored and forgiven?

“Come and see,” Jesus says, the master of Kingdom vision. And it sounds so simple, doesn’t it? Just three little words. But like so many things, easier said than done. We are all so very human, and it’s so easy to get caught up in our own... well, nearsightedness, or farsightedness, or astigmatism, or blind spots. To stop short, and to fall into judging ourselves, and one another, by external standards. We see male or female; gay or straight; black, white, hispanic or asian; corporate blue suit and crewcut or pink hair and tattoos, and we think we have a handle on understanding one another. These things are part of who we are, certainly, but if we stop there, we only scratch the surface. We’ve not really even begun to see, not as Jesus sees.

Martin Luther King Jr., in his famous “I Have a Dream” speech, goes a bit further. In it, he expressed the hope that one day his children “would be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” This is a laudable goal, and one that reaches deeper, certainly. But think about this-- when considered in light of the gospel, does that go far enough? With all due respect to Dr. King, I don’t believe it does. Scripture tells us that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” We all have places where the content of our character... is lacking. In fact, that’s where the nearsightedness lives: our ability to pick at faults and miss virtue; to make assumptions, and not see beyond them. And if we judge one another by that lack, that incompleteness in character, aren’t we still missing the mark?

But here’s the good news, brothers and sisters. Kingdom vision, by the grace of God, doesn’t stop there; not even close. Kingdom vision strives to see through all those layers, past all the wrongheaded misunderstanding, and gaps in judgment, and sinful choices. Kingdom vision sees, as the song says, with the eyes of our hearts. And the more we work to love the Lord, and to answer Jesus’ gentle invitation to “come and see,” the more we begin to see with our Kingdom eyes. As our baptismal covenant says, to “seek and serve Christ in all persons,” and to “respect the dignity of every human being.” Dignity that is inherent to our souls, by the indwelling of the Spirit in each and every one of us.

Come and see, my brothers and sisters. Come and see.

The Evening's Adventures (or How I Lost My Shirt After Boar's Head)

The festivities last night were great fun, though honestly a lot milder than what I've come to expect. The planners for the program apparently (a) lost track of time, so didn't have a lot of the sorts of things we've done in recent years; and (b) decided not to use a lot of the fodder they were given, in an effort to produce a kinder, gentler Boar's Head. And it was that-- and though there were some laughs and clever moments, it wasn't nearly the inside jokefest that it has been. It was fun, but disappointing, in a way.

Rest assured, however, that much of the slack was taken up by my classmates themselves. Goodness knows, I caught my fair share, even without the visual aids to memory such as Tripp so generously offers (in the comments on the last post) to supply.

Of course, it helped that my chaplain took her turn this year in The Costume (your basic serving wench ensemble), which invited much in the way of arch comments and amused reminiscing-- vocal, occasionally bawdy teasing that, oddly enough, says family.

After the dinner, we went back to Mike's place for some further libations and general frivolity. Unfortunately, the chaplain had one of her disoriented spells, one which lasted long enough that we felt obligated to take her over to the hospital (she's fine now-- back home and in classes today). The ER nursing staff, of course, did not know the history of Boar's Head, or The Costume; and the looks on their faces ("seminary students?") were a sight to behold; some few explanations were necessary.

When it came time to leave, we realized that all she had to put back on to wear home was in fact The Costume, which is both time-consuming to get into properly (a bodice to lace up, etc), and not suited to the venue. Now, as it happened, I was not in costume-- my attire included a little red turtleneck and a black button-down sweater. So I gave her the shirt to wear, and simply buttoned up the sweater (which would have been too large for her; she's a tiny thing). And thus we made our unobtrusive way home and to bed.

What, you were expecting something more... adventurous? What could you be thinking?

(Careful how you answer that; this is a family blog).

Boar's Head

Tonight, my friends, is Seabury's annual foray into Elizabethan revelry. Being seminarians, we begin, of course, with celebration of the Eucharist. This time, I am told, we will worship according to the liturgy from the 1604 Book of Common Prayer (which technically is not Elizabethan, but never mind-- this varies from year to year. Just go with me on this, okay?).

After worship, those gathered (often suitably costumed for the era) proceed to the refectory for an ample repast and general revelry. Said revelry is organized (and I use the term very loosely) by the middler class, and generally consists of roasting the seniors, newly recovered from their GOE adventures.

I will admit to approaching this with a certain trepidation. Not only are middlers historically diligent about digging up stories of senior quirks and oddities, adventures and piccadillos; but classmates are also usually willing - nay, eager - to rat each other out. And while I have, by and large, managed to maintain suitable decorum thoughout my seminary career, there has been a weak moment or two...

(note to self: if a vivacious redhead named Kate ever again starts talking about having "the perfect outfit for you!," do not hesitate: run.)

Lord, preserve us through this night.

Busted

I mean, really... is knowing the speed of light or a few chemical elements off the top of one's head really such a crime?


Apparently you can take the girl out of engineering, but...

(Credit-- or blame-- goes to Tripp for this one.)

Fun and games with the GOE's

It occurs to me that there are those of you out there who might get a kick out of seeing some of the questions we were handed during last week's exam. So every once in a while, over the next few weeks, I plan to post them. Feel free to offer your thoughts as you feel inspired; unlike the Board of Examining Chaplains, I will place no time limit on how long you have to formulate an answer.

We're going to start small, I think. This first question is actually only part of what we were given for the "Theory and Practice of Ministry" section. This set included seven "practical" questions, out of which we had to select six, and provide for each a short (1/2 page) answer. (We'll get to some of the larger, more theological/academic sets another time, I promise).

The parish finance committee is preparing next year's budget and will present it at an informational congregational meeting. Previously, this meeting left tempers frayed and spirits exhausted. Explain why it is important to run a meeting based on Christian tenets and offer at least five practical ways to maximize cooperation and minimize bickering.

Well?

Out of the frying pan...

...and into field education. I had my first Sunday as a seminary intern yesterday, at the larger of my two field ed parishes. This is a high church parish: "smells and bells" and chanted gospel. I think I genuflected more yesterday than I have done in the last ten years (Dave, you'd be reveling in this). Two services in the morning, including a baptism, and then solemn evensong and benediction in the evening, followed by their annual Epiphany dinner upstairs in a sizeable parish hall.

Of course, "sizeable" is a good description all around. It's an enormous old building (once upon a time the parish was obviously more affluent than at present), with three floors, mysterious hallways that lead all over everywhere, and a rectory apartment large enough for a family built right into the place. In addition to outside doors, you can get to the apartment from the small chapel, which itself may be accessed through one (!) of the rector's offices via a paneled door beside the altar. I felt as though I was wandering inside the setting for a gothic mystery novel. I'm going to spend an awful lot of time simply finding my way around this place.

Today was my first weekday, and was about what I expected and then some. We had a staff meeting to start the day, and then my supervisor spent some time doing some ecclesial orientation and technogeek connectivity stuff (including giving me the password for his wifi!). After a getting-to-know-you lunch at a nearby deli, we had a meeting with a parishioner about some evangelism ideas he wanted to discuss (yes, this is a parishioner in an Episcopal church, trying to stir things up! Huzzah!). Then we read evening prayer together before I came home.

I'm going to like working with Eugene. Differences in piety aside, he has a strong and practical pastoral sense; there's a lot in him from which to learn, and he is both gentle and generous with the teaching.

Done.

That's it. Finished, completed, printed and turned in. . . done.

A magic word.

Seven essays, an estimated 11,000 words, cranked out this week-- at a rate roughly triple my usual writing speed. How much of it will actually be coherent to the readers remains to be seen, but it's not my problem anymore. I did what I did, and I'm done!

Our class went out to dinner to celebrate this evening. Rebecca found this nice little restaurant that could accomodate our group of 20+ seniors (plus a few spouses), and there was much eating and drinking and the sort of happy nonsense conversations that happen when the stress comes off.

Tomorrow, all our tests will be boxed up and sent off to the readers for scoring. We're supposed to get the results back sometime the middle of February; an odd sort of Valentine's Day card, but there you have it. Until then I can relax and enjoy my field ed quarter.

One more thing. . . I've had a lot of good people working on my behalf this week-- praying for me, making sure I ate, caring for me in countless ways large and small. Whatever else comes, the incredible gift that I've been given in this is something I will carry with me forever. Thank you seems so small and inadequate a response; but know, dear brothers and sisters, that I am humbled and profoundly grateful for every bit of it.

Midpoint

Today is a day off-- a welcome break in the testing. It's roughly 6:30 in the morning here, and I just woke up-- which undoubtedly sounds unreasonably early to many of you, but really is sleeping in for me, on a school day. A lovely feeling.

The last two days have been both what I expected them to be, and a little suprising. I'm guessing that my work to date isn't likely to set the readers on fire with enthusiasm, but I think-- I hope-- I'm holding my own.

What I've noticed about the process, in no particular order...

• I've never written so many words in such a short period in my life. Normally I'm a slow writer-- a picky wordsmith. Yet, I'm finding the problem is not filling the pages, but staying within the page limits. Cover both Old and New Testament eschatology in 3 single-spaced pages? I mean, really!

• Speaking of which-- on the same day we had a scripture question on eschatology, and a history question regarding the origin and development of premillenial dispensationalism. I think someone on the Board of Examining Chaplains has been reading the Left Behind books.

• Prayer, and chocolate-- vital survival tools. Candles are good, too. So is a solid playlist in my iTunes.

• I have a laptop computer, and tend to write papers curled up on the bed or the futon. But for this test, I'm finding what works is to park myself at my desk.

• I am surrounded by folks who are eager to be helpful, and also willing to leave me alone when my muscles feel like knotted wax and my brain has turned to oatmeal at the end of the day. In particular, my roommate and my chaplain have been worth their weight in gold. Thanks, ladies-- I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am.

• My classmates are a terrific group of people with whom to be doing this. Yes, we're working hard, and it is a focused time; but the tension has not gotten out of hand. These folks still laugh with one another-- something that's long been a hallmark of our class, and has been a particular joy this week.

I don't have a particular plan for today, other than a good long nap, and hopefully having a few GOE-unrelated conversations. Oh, and a Twelfth Night (afternoon, actually) celebration and hymn sing that Susie's helping to put together, bless her.

See you on the flip side, friends.

And so it begins

Our General Ordination Exam. We are to be in the library at 8:45 am, and the first question will be placed in our hands at 9:00. For half-day questions, we have 3 1/2 hours (9:00 - 12:30, or 1:30 - 5:00) to write our answers; the full-day question (Thursday) runs from 9:00 - 5:00. The questions will cover seven areas, as required by national canon:

• Monday: Contemporary Society; Liturgy and Church Music
• Tuesday: Scripture; Church History
• Thursday: Christian Theology
• Friday: Ethics and Moral Theology; Theory and Practice of Ministry

At this point, I don't feel panic, or nervousness; the anxiety dreams (the question is written in Hebrew? I only took Greek!) are past; two years of studying and preparation are behind us.

Friends and family, parishioners and diocesan clergy, have been wonderfully kind, caring and supportive. I am being held up in prayer in a way that is almost tactile. Now, I simply want to get started.

Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to you, so guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our wills, that we may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated to you; and then use us, we pray, as you will, and always to your glory and the welfare of your people; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

All right, here we go.

Oh, look! A test!

Oh, like I won't be doing enough of that this week, I know. But I saw this one, and couldn't resist. Thanks, Mumcat.



(...later, in a week moment, Bruce took the quiz too...)


Which OS are You?

Home again... for the moment

Last night we celebrated the new year in grand family style, with lots of good food, and many overlapping family conversations (overwhelming, at points, for this borderline intovert; but so long as I retreated for some down time now and again, it was fun). Then we greeted midnight with Uncle Tony's homemade fireworks. Tammy and I sang together, too-- and while some might call this a hokey moment, it made my heart glad.

This morning, we gathered everyone into the living room, where the adults watched while the grandkids opened their Christmas presents. Lots of grandkids, which meant lots of paper shredding and squeals.

And then after lunch we made the long drive north, mostly through drizzle and fog. Fortunately, the roads were clear, so we got here without incident; unloaded our luggage, my sewing (yes, we finished the chasuble!), and a load of venison from this fall's hunting season; started the laundry; and collapsed. It was a good visit south, and I'm really, really glad to be home.

Right now we're watching a movie, and I'm looking forward to one night in my own bed before I wander up to Seabury tomorrow afternoon. Not a bad way to end the first day of 2005.