I might gonna be in trouble if someone tattles.

My day at church was spent on what might be best described as "ecclesial domesticity." Aside from some study and devotional time, I spent a major portion of the day on the phone. I chatted with The Ref about next week's sermon; contacted my Canon to the Ordinary about some paperwork and discretionary funding; helped a woman who needs some assistance with her rent this month; and had a lovely conversation with a friend now living and working in the Pacific Northwest, who passed on my name (along with a generous endorsement) to the powers-that-be there for possible consideration next year, when my curacy ends.

Then, after a late lunch, I looked around my office and spotted The Cabinet. This is a portable (and I use the term very loosely; that sucker's heavy!) wardrobe-sized storage unit left from when my office was a church school classroom. It has since been used as a catchall for myriad items deemed "Too Good To Throw Away" by a Longtime Parishioner. When we cleared out that room for my use, Carol (aka "The Boss") helped me shove The Cabinet face first into the corner. She mentioned (between grunts) that no one had touched its contents in the three years she's been at St. A's, and told me to feel free to look through it one day and dispose of anything not worth saving, if I felt so inclined.

So inclined?? You know, some of my favorite people are pack rats, saving every piece of this and that which comes their way. I, however . . . am not. In point of fact, if it were not for the "savers" I live with, our house would be a whole lot emptier than it is.

So this afternoon, alone in the building (Longtime Parishioner was especially not around), I took on The Cabinet. I muscled it out of the corner (dropping my hips and employing some decidedly unclerical language proved quite effective), opened the doors, and started tossing. Three loaded-cart trips to the trash and the transfer of a collection of milk glass bud vases to the kitchen later, it stood vacant.

Well, almost vacant-- excepting only a stack of unused fabric. My sister-in-law maintains that "she who dies with the most, wins;" and while I do not subscribe to that particular doctrine, I am loathe to pitch usable cloth. Even if it is polyester. Bad polyester. In odd colors. (My one purging weakness, okay? Now hush.)

Anyway, The Cabinet is now nearly empty, and three trash cans out back are nearly full. I hope that Longtime Parishioner doesn't get wind of my efforts for a while-- or the Curate's Office may be hearing another dose of unclerical language.

Prayers...

...for David and his family and parish; for Andrew's family and friends; for St. Casserole and her loved ones; and for all the other precious souls whose lives and homes are currently threatened by Katrina's dance in the Gulf.

O God, the life of all who live, the light of the faithful, the strength of those who labor, and the repose of the dead: We thank you for the blessings of the day that is past, and humbly ask for your protection through the coming night. Bring us in safety to the morning hours; through him who died and rose again for us, your Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Beginnings

This seems curiously significant: on the same day my Commission on Ministry unanimously endorsed my call to ordained service-- the last milestone to be crossed before I begin life as a priest-- I learned that the Rev. Katrina Swanson, one of the first women ordained in the Episcopal Church, began her new life among the great cloud of witnesses gone before.

May her soul, and the souls of all the departed, rest in peace.

Here we go!

God Willing,
the Right Reverend Edward S. Little II
Bishop of Northern Indiana
will ordain
Jane Ellen
to the Sacred Order of Priests
on Saturday, October 22, 2005
at ten o’clock in the morning
at St. Paul Episcopal Church
1101 Park Drive
Munster, Indiana
Your prayers and presence are requested.

Clergy: alb and red stole

They're baaack!

Tuesday was the first day of school here. Of course, being the compulsive, annoying mom that I am, I was up and ready to go with the camera.

Daughter is a high school senior, and Son is a fifth grader. Aren't they great? Actually, I think they're looking pretty darn good, especially being up and ready for the day far earlier than either of them had been in recent weeks.

No, I'm not biased. Not at all.

Blessed are those...

Today at our house we remember the lives of Susie's brother John, who died suddenly yesterday morning; and CJ's friend Nick, who was killed in a car accident yesterday afternoon.

Give rest, O Christ, to your servants with your saints, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting.

And the password is...

Due to an onslaught of spam last night, I've added word verification to the comment entry page. I'm sorry if the added step causes inconvenience; but I have no intention of allowing this little corner of the blogiverse to become a "den of thieves."

Mental Gymnastics...

Props to the Good Clean Funnies List (which does supply the answer here, if you are stumped; but do try it on your own first). I managed to find them all, but it took something like 20 minutes. How do you fare?

Bible Brain Twister By John Kezer

I once made a remark about the hidden books of the Bible. It was a lulu, kept people looking so hard for facts, and for others it was a revelation. Some were in a jam, especially since the names of the books are not capitalized, but the truth finally struck home to numbers of readers. To others, it was a real job. We want it to be a most fascinating few moments for you. Yes, there will be some really easy ones to spot. Others may require judges to help them. I will quickly admit it usually takes a minister to find one of the 17, and there will be loud lamentations when it is found. A little lady says she brews a cup of tea so she can concentrate better. See how well you can compete. Relax now, for there really are the names of 17 books of the Bible in these sentences.

Self-care

Yesterday, I tried something new. I began in earnest an effort to eliminate (or at least minimize) some of the sedentary flab I've accumulated over the last three years. Sitting in a chair studying, rather than chasing children on a playground or tromping around a continuous caster-- common activities from my past-- has not been conducive to keeping in shape.

I've been in the habit (well, more or less) of walking in the mornings-- something necessitated by back surgery, several years ago. So step one is committing to doing that more consistently.

Secondly, I stopped in this little fitness place I've been driving past for years, and discovered that they offer three free sessions with a personal trainer, as part of the way to convince folks to become regular customers. "Free" works for me, so my first session was yesterday. And it went well, I thought-- not too taxing at all...

Then I woke up this morning. Stiff. Very stiff. "What-were-you-thinking-you-are-nowhere-near-seventeen-anymore-you-crazy-woman" stiff.

Now, as much as the thought distressed me, I know the only answer to that sort of soreness is to move; so I did-- got up and diligently did my walk around the neighborhood. And it helped. The hobble I began with, turned into almost normal movement by the time I got back.

Yes, I'm going back. Obviously I need this.

*******************************

Saturday morning addenedum: Can I just share with you that I also did some desperately needed weeding and hedge trimming yesterday? And that has not contributed to my comfort level in the slightest. My body is not my friend. It is mean, and cranky, and unreasonable, and we are not getting along. Whine.

Nonetheless, we are out of bed because the boys left for a camping trip at o-dark-hundred this morning. And we will go walk, darn it.

But we won't like it. Grumble. Pout.

Senseless

Along with so many people, I am saddened by the murder of Brother Roger, and by the unwarranted attack that killed him. I can't even pretend to explain the source of such violence, other than stemming from the presence of an evil in this world that is as beyond my comprehension as the goodness of God.

And so I pray-- for the soul of Brother Roger, and for those who shared his community; for the untold numbers who've had their faith strengthened under his/their influence; and for the person who committed this act, also the victim of this evil as any perpetrator is.

Quiz du jour

Harry Potter Personality Quiz by Pirate Monkeys Inc.

Coming back, and tidying up

So as you might have gathered, we are home. The car is unloaded, the bags are unpacked, the laundry is done, and we've had a couple nights of good sleeping in our own beds (a Very Good Thing).

Rev. Ref., bless him, gives a great summary here (scroll down to Tuesday, the day we left there) of our Montana stay, covering the time I was having too darn much "real time" fun to blog. He only left out a few details, and I'd be remiss if I forgot to mention a few things.

Like:

• what lovely, welcoming congregations he serves. If you're ever in the area, Christ Church in Sheridan or St. Paul's in Virginia City are communities with whom to worship.

• how well we ate. Ye gods, even all the extra walking didn't keep a couple extra pounds off.

• what an incredible piece of the world they live in. Mountains on three sides, and antelope down the road... beyond beautiful.
  

• how very much we all enjoyed the playing, and the talking, and the visiting (to them) of familiar places, and sharing at least one adventure in finding a new one.

• how gracious and patient they all were with a sudden more-than-doubling of their household, for nearly a week. The Ref, his Lovely Wife, and The Kid are all some of the best folks there are, anywhere. Even doing dishes was a pleasure in that good company. Thanks doesn't begin to cover it.

Did I mention that a very real part of me didn't want to come back?

Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

(Please note that I delivered this sermon out of my head, without anything written down beforehand; so what you see below is a reconstruction, and will be different than what the congregation heard. Fleshed out better in spots, maybe... anyway, this is the gist.)

Proper 15A
Isaiah 56:1(2-5)6-7
Psalm 67
Romans 11:13-15,29-32
Matthew 15:21-28

I will begin today with a confession: I've never been comfortable with the bit of scripture that is our Gospel today. It seems to stand in such stark contrast with so many of the other stories we read of Jesus' interaction with people. In other places, he's portayed as gentle, and compassionate, and approachable; eating with sinners, and healing...

Not here. To my 20th/21st century ears, he sounds harsh, and flatly rude in this story. First he ignores the woman's pleas; then he says his work is not intended for folks like her (non-Jews); then he equates her with dogs under the dinner table!

Now, I've heard several explanations for Jesus' behavior over the years. Some have said that he was responding out of the wholly human side of his nature. He was a good Jew, remember, and this was a woman from a pagan culture-- someone that pious Jews would have termed unclean. His comment in that context would have been taken as no more than a statement of fact; indeed, not nearly as insulting as others might have been.

Others hold that he was using this as an opportunity to teach the disciples a lesson about how to teach people. He responds first in the expected manner, and then turns the tables, showing them that faith is more important than pedigree.

Or maybe it's a case of not having all the information. We only read the text, after all-- we can't hear the tone of Jesus' voice, nor see his face as he speaks to her. Those factors can make all the difference.

All those, and others, are certainly legitimate possibilities... but I find I'm not entirely satisfied with any of them. I still come back to those words, and I cringe. I just don't understand.

However, when I look at the woman's behavior in the story, there's much that I can understand in her. And I think there's a lesson to be learned in her behavior, and her response to the way she is treated.

She's a mother, with a daughter who is very ill-- by her description, posessed by a demon. I expect anyone with a loved one who has been really sick, or badly injured, can comprehend the way she behaves. She's willing to do anything in her power to make her daughter better, to heal the sickness and have her be healthy.

I heard a phrase this week that applies here. As you know, my family and I were on vacation for the last two weeks. We took a trip westward, through South Dakota and Wyoming, and into Montana. And while we were driving through Wyoming, I heard it over and over again: "Cowboy up." It's an expression that comes out of the rodeo circuit and ranching; it means to keep trying, to not give up. If you fall off the horse, get back on. If you get hurt, you tough it out. Don't quit.

And that's what the Canaanite woman was doing. She asked for help, and Jesus ignored her. She kept pleading, until the disciples were sick of her, and asked him to make her leave. He dismissed her, so she knelt right in front of him-- got right in his face. And even when he delivers that line comparing her to the dogs under the table, (that raises my hackles, and might well send me crawling away), she remains calm, and responds in a way that causes Jesus not only to praise her faith, but to give in and heal her daughter. Her persisistence-- her determination to "cowboy up" in the face of consistent denial-- was effective.

And there's the lesson, brothers and sisters. There's a lot about this world, and the work of God in it, that I don't understand. Sometimes I don't see God at work; and sometimes I wonder if God isn't making some mistakes in what I do see. I don't understand a violent, murderous rampage, or the idea of capitol punishment as a Christian response. I don't understand the actions of September 11, nor the war we are making in response. I don't understand how a loving savior could not only tolerate, but die for the millions of petty ways we mistreat one another, every day.

But here's the good news: I do believe, and this Gospel teaches, that we are not only permitted, but encouraged to "cowboy up." To not quit-- to go to God with our confusion, and misunderstanding, and anger, over, and over, and over again. Even when we don't hear an answer... and even when we don't like the answer we do hear. Maybe most especially then. God loves us enough to take all of it. And God will answer, in his own time, and own way, and out of a love that is beyond our understanding as well.

So we needn't hesitate, brothers and sisters. Cowboy up.

Morning in South Dakota

From Sheridan, WY we made our way to just east of Mitchell, SD. My cousin lives on a farm there, and we'd not seen the place since he and his wife bought it two years ago. Matt is a boilermaker, and comes back to Indiana to work often, so we see him fairly regularly; but this was the first time we'd been out in his direction.

We had dinner when we got there, dining on grilled this and that, and beans, and salad, and corn picked 5 minutes before we tossed it in the pot. Then root beer floats before bed... yes, they eat well in the heartland.

The next morning we played a bit before we left. "Playing" with Matt usually means taking aim at something-- in this case, clay pigeons over the cornfield. It's been a long time since I've messed with a shotgun, and you could tell-- I didn't hit much. But it was fun. I'd like to find a place closer to home, where I could practice once in a while.

Relax, friends-- I'm only shooting at inanimate objects. At least, so far. . .

Old Faithful

On our way back home, we began with the scenic route. We headed south to Wyoming, and then meandered through Yellowstone for several hours. Even though the damage from the big forest fires of a few years ago is still present, the health and regrowth was very evident. I loved seeing the green emerging through, and the vitality that the fires had actually improved. Life emerging stronger after death...

We stopped to see Old Faithful, of course. Unfortunately, our timing was off; it had erupted only a few minutes before we got there. Rather than waiting for the next one (we had a lot of hours to go yet that day), we walked around for a few minutes and then moved on.

Our reservations for the evening were at a hotel in Sheridan, WY, so the last portion of our trek that day was spent making our way over and through the Bighorn mountains. These are high (we saw a sign which noted the elevation was 9,033 ft, and we were on our way down at that point) and cold (the 75° day at the base became 40° in the middle of the pass), and breathtakingly beautiful.

It was also some of the best pure fun that I've ever had behind the wheel. I was driving at that point, and the descent was chock full of curves and turns and switchbacks... it felt like a slalom course. What a hoot! I will admit that my family was not quite so enthusiastic, though. They didn't say much through the pass; but collectively declared that the first establishment we came to on the east side-- the Crazy Woman Saloon-- had been named in anticipation of my arrival. I don't know why they'd think that...

Next stop: South Dakota.

Labyrinth!

As promised, here are a couple photos of the labyrinth Rev. Ref. and his family and friends built in the church yard a couple weeks ago. They tell me it took about 3500 pounds of rock scavenged out of mining leftovers (5 pickup truckloads) to line the paths as you see them here.

It's not finished yet; there are plans in the works for some seats in the middle, and a small fountain, and some further landscaping. But it is certainly usable.

In fact, it's already in use. While we were there, a backpacking bicyclist came by and asked permission to pitch his tent for the night in the church yard. The Ref. readily agreed. The next morning, after breaking camp, the cyclist spent some time walking the labyrinth before he pedaled on his way.

Looks like it works.

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 14
Jonah 2:1-9
Psalm 29
Romans 9:1-5
Matthew 14:22-33

You gotta love Peter. At least, I do. He is so very human-- impetuous, and impulsive. You never have to wonder what he’s thinking-- because the first thing that pops into his head, seems to come flying right out of his mouth.

Todays gospel is a perfect example. I mean, picture the scene: there they are, on a boat in the middle of the Sea of Galilee, and it’s windy-- enough that I imagine the waves are tossing the boat round like a cork. Now Peter, and James and John were fisherman, so it’s likely that this is not the first bit of rough weather they’d encountered. In a way, though, that makes it more nerve-wracking, because their experience would made them well aware of what all could go wrong.

So there he is, lashing things down and hanging on for dear life, when he looks up-- and there’s Jesus, “strollin’ on the water.” After they realize he's not a ghost, can't you just hear what Peter's thinking? “Hey, cool!" And then, "Can I can do that, too?”

Yep. "C'mon," Jesus says. So Pete stepped out of the boat, and started walking. Until, as Matthew says, his faith faltered, and he started to sink.

These are the two things for which this gospel is most remembered: Jesus walking on water, and Peter floundering in the waves. And it seems to me that’s where most of the teaching I’ve heard aound this bit of scripture centers: Peter’s perceived failure of faith. But I think we need instead to look at the things he did right. I see two points that fall into that category.

Let's look at where we are right now in the story. When he began to flounder, what didn’t he do? He didn’t give up. He didn’t turn back to the boat. He didn’t splash and thrash about in a wild panic. Instead, he asked for Jesus' help. He knows exactly where to turn when he’s in trouble, just as he asked for Jesus’ help to get out on the water in the first place. That doesn’t sound like a lack of faith to me, at all.

What’s the second thing? Think back toward the beginning of the story. Given the opportunity, Peter was willing to take a chance, to try something illogical, and risky, and foolish. He got out of the boat.

That’s hard to do, isn’t it? We have a habit of getting stuck in a rut; of thinking “the way we’ve always done it” is the way to go. It’s comfortable, and predictable, and safe. The only problem is that not much gets accomplished that way. There’s a trite old saying that applies here, about the one who is not busy being born, is busy dying. Or, as your vicar is fond of saying, the only difference between a rut and a grave is how deep it is, and how long you stay there.

Think about this, brothers and sisters. What is true of a person, is also true of a community, like this church. Rev. Ref. & I chat a lot, and he’s been telling me some good things about this church, and this community: how much he and his family love it here, the welcoming, friendly spirit of this place, the gifts of God that are present among you. And these are wonderful things--- worth living and worth sharing. But still, I would challenge you to consider, as you walk with Christ in this place, what (either in your own life, or in the life of this congregation) you haven’t tried, because it was too risky? Or too expensive? Or perhaps because you’re afraid of looking foolish-- of what people might say?

In Peter, we see a couple of lessons to remember: First, to know that when we're in trouble, we have a loving savior standing nearby, to whom we can always turn. And then, when we are offered the chance to walk on water, brothers, and sisters... to get out of the boat.

Big Sky Country

Well, we made it out here-- Thursday afternoon, actually. I haven't blogged much, because a) when we have been at the house, access is limited (it's currently occupied by my technogeek husband doing some needed repairs to the system); and b) we've been too busy playing! We stopped by the local library today to check email-- but I'm not staying long.

Here's the short summary: the country is gorgeous, the company perfectly marvelous, and I'm walking my legs off looking at mountains and ghost towns and and creeks and critters. I am also taking plenty of pictures, and I promise to upload some of them promptly when we get back.

And now, it's off to the ice cream social!

Minnesota, doncha know

Thanks for all your good wishes! I don't know how often we'll be online; but we still have civilization here, so I thought I'd update.

We were, believe it or not, out of the house promptly this morning-- with only minimal grumbling from the night people. Eight hours of pleasant driving (I finally got to read Harry Potter!) meant that we arrived at our destination just about suppertime. My brother is something of a grillmaster, so this is a Good Thing. Then we had some visiting and playtime with assorted progeny (including one of the nephew's favorite games: Uncle Wrestling. Uncle survived, I'm glad to note, with only minor bruises).

The westward trek continues tomorrow. I don't expect to post daily updates, by any stretch of the imagination; but as the opportunity arises, we'll see.

Good night, all!