Night prayer

Won't you dance with me?
Throughout the heavens and below the seas
Up on the mountaintops...

I went to bed with a sinus headache last night-- the sort that comes on suddenly and without warning, leaving me wanting nothing except meds and a very dark room. So I didn't say my prayers like I usually do before sleeping. "Please, God, make it stop" was about the best I could manage.

Somewhere in the night I woke to find that the pain was blessedly gone. I tossed off a brief and heartfelt "thank you" for that and rolled over, intending to go back to sleep. Instead, I found myself in prayer for quite a while, floating through a random blend of thankfulness and concerns. Not asking for anything, but holding up what's been on my mind and heart: family joys and cares, the details of the search process for a call. . .

Won't you dance with me?
Throughout the heavens and below the seas
Up on the mountaintops...

I don't know when I went to sleep, exactly; but I woke up this morning with that snippet of a praise song running through my head, over and over. I don't know why-- I haven't heard the song in a very long time, and it's not especially a favorite. There it was nonetheless, along with a sense of being connected to my prayers in the wee hours. I had to get up and track down the rest of the lyrics, so it would leave me in peace.

This is holy time
We're gathered together to worship you
and love one another
and as we pray
and as we sing
and as we dance
and as we dream
Lord, I ask of you just this one thing...

Won't you dance with me?
Throughout the heavens and below the seas
Up on the mountaintops
Flow with the breeze
Come, carry me
Lord, won't you dance with me?

Amen.

Thanks. . .

It seems trite, maybe-- but I think that pausing to give thanks to God for the blessings in this life, especially before Advent begins, is a "good and joyful thing." Here's just the beginning of a list; if you'd like to add on in the comments, feel free.

• I am thankful for family: one husband, two children, and all more than I could ask for or deserve; a loving father whose health is improving; a brother and sister in whom I rejoice; in-laws who continue to be family; and a boatload of nieces and nephews who amaze and delight.

• I am thankful for friends: who support and challenge and travel unreasonable distances to do so; who laugh and cry and share themselves, heart and soul, in ways that humble and grace me daily.

• I am thankful for communities: the neighborhood in which I live; the godly parish in which God and the bishop have placed me; the seminary in which I studied and discerned; and the online circles which enrich and nurture.

In all of these places, I am shown the face of our Lord. And I am grateful.

"To your call once more we rally. . ."

All right, I am not the biggest football fan to come down the pike. Ask the Ref, who's patience I've tried regularly with my glazed eyes and semi-clueless questions as he has tried to instruct me in the intricacies of the game he so loves, and I. . . sort of don't, so much.

There are exceptions to every rule, however, and today was one of them. Even though they finished with a losing record (in conference play, as well as overall), and the lack of any hope for a bowl bid, the Boilermakers earned their keep today, bringing the Old Oaken Bucket back home to Lafayette where it belongs.

Purdue 41, Indiana 14

Go, Boilers!

Good on, Rowan!

I have deliberately avoided blogging about The Troubles in the Anglican Communion. First, because God knows there are far more intelligent and articulate people doing so on a daily basis. You can read insightful discussions and analyses in any number of places, so why should I chime in? Additionally, so much of the news is disheartening, if not downright mean-spirited, and I'm not willing to give aid and comfort to the nasty sort of exchanges I've read elsewhere.

However, I am making an exception, in order to direct you to this article:

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams, has challenged the acrimony of arguments within the Church of England and the Anglican Communion over sexuality and women bishops, proposing a bold new initiative to get the warring factions to listen to each other with respect.

The Archbishop wants those who disagree on these issues to make a personal commitment to contacting someone of differing opinion elsewhere in the Communion, in order to promote real conversation and understanding.

The archbishop also offers the following, out of his own experience:

When my diocese in Wales was discussing women priests a decade ago, we arranged prayer partnerships between people on opposing sides, on the basis that we should need some ingrained habits of shared prayer and patience if we were going to carry on a common Christian life after a divisive vote.

This is worth blogging-- and worth doing.

Thanks to Kathryn for the heads up on this one.

Renovation and discernment

I've continued the work on our bathroom that began the other day. All the collected mildew is gone, and the necessary patching and repairs have been done. I finished the priming, and put a coat of paint up in the skylight area. When that dries I'll take the extension ladder out of the bathroom (it takes up so much floor space, which is not a plentiful commodity in a bathroom anyway!) and work on the rest of the ceiling and the walls.

One of the good things about this sort of work is that it requires focus, but is at the same time not all-absorbing. While my body is busy climbing up and down a ladder, and my hands are occupied with paintbrush and damp rag, my mind has time to meander.

It's had some fodder for meandering lately. My current ministry gig-- as part-time assistant at St. A's-- is lovely, but it will be coming to an end next spring. And quite honestly, that's okay. I love the work there, and the people. . . yes, even the difficult ones. (Oh, there are a few, as in any congregation. Do you suppose there's some sort of cosmic ecclesial quota system, that ensures a certain percentage of "challenging personalities" in each faith community?). But I am also aware that this is not my parish, not in the long run.

That being true, I've begun in earnest the process of Searching For A Call. Spiritual things, like prayer ("Okay, God. All this was your idea, so you tell me. Where to?") as well as more temporal activities: polishing up a resume, updating a profile with our national Church Deployment Office, contacting a few helpful people for likely places to consider, who might consider me. . .

Now, I do have some basic criteria to begin with. For example, I've learned over the years that I am not a city person. All the traffic, and the bustle, and the veneer of sophistication... well and good for many of you, I'm sure; but it is not the life for which I am suited. The idea of living in Chicago, Los Angeles, New York, or other such places. . . it's draining even to contemplate. In short, the role of "city mouse" is not one to be played by me.

But having a sense of the ways and places I am not called, while helpful, is not the same thing as knowing where I am.

Yes, I know-- I need to be patient, and let God work, in God's own time. And honestly, while this is not my best skill, I've learned to be grateful for the gift of discernment time. But I will admit that I also feel a little like the starry-eyed teenager who wonders, "how will I know when it's the real thing?"

So, all you RevGals (and Guys): those of you who have been through the search process for a parish. . . Do you have any words of wisdom to impart, as I begin this step of the journey?

Twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 28A
Zephaniah 1:7,12-18
Psalm 90:1-8,12
1 Thessalonians 5:1-10
Matthew 25:14-15,19-29

This morning's Gospel is one that's troubled me for a long time, on two fronts. First of all, there's that landlord. We often assume the authority figure in Jesus' parables represents God; but the guy portrayed here-- a harsh, unforgiving, absentee slaveowner-- is a tough image to swallow.

Secondly, there's that fact that it's the guy with only one talent that the story picks on. I mean, really-- it doesn't sound like he had much to work with, does he? Who can blame him for being cautious? After all, one should be prudent, especially when one doesn't have much to begin with, right?

Well, maybe. but I learned something this week, that changes that image a bit. I learned about talents. Now, when you and I use that word, we mean a skill that someone has, like playing the piano, or drawing or some such. But back in Jesus' time, it was different. A talent was one way they measured-- it was both a unit of weight, and of commerce. This makes sense, when you think about it: the value of a pile of something will increase if there is more of it in the pile. So a coin's value, for example, would be determined by how much it weighed-- how much silver or gold it contained.

One of the most common coins we read about in scripture is a denarius. This was a basic unit-- worth a day's pay to an average laborer. One denarius, my bible dictionary tells me, would have weighed 4 or 5 grams-- a fraction of an ounce. They were small.

A talent, on the other hand, was large-- the largest unit of measurement at the time. Scholars estimate that one talent would have weighed something like 65 or 70 pounds. That's a pile of silver or gold that would have outweighed (two young parishioners) Elizabeth and Abigail put together!

Let's do the math. At roughly 70 pounds, one talent would have been equal in value to something like six thousand denarii. At a rate of one denarius per day, that makes a talent worth something more than sixteen years' wages.

Brothers and sisters, that isn't chump change. Sixteen years' salary, handed to you all at once?? Geez-- sounds like winning the lottery!

That puts a different spin on the story, doesn't it? Even the least of the slaves was given an amazing amount to work with. Enough that "burying it in the ground" was not a matter of scraping back a handful of dirt. This was not a passive action. The guy had to work at not using what he was given.

That's the way God's gifts work in our lives, isn't it? Yes, these can mean the ability to make music, or create fine art; but they can also include a knack for bookkeeping, or home (or church) repair skills, or simply having the patience to listen to and pray for others in the community. Whether the gifts in your life are the sort we usually consider as "talent" or not, I can guarantee you these things-- that there will always be someone around who seems to have more of it than you do; that you will still have more than enough to do some seriously good work for God; and that deciding not to use them is more trouble than it's worth.

Oh, and that cranky absentee slaveowner? It may seem, sometimes, as though God operates that way; I know I've had times when God seems unreasonable or distant, or both. Inevitably, however, what it turns out to be is my own distance, my own unwillingness to bend. "I will never leave you nor forsake you," he promises. We are adopted children, sons and daughters, and beloved heirs to the Kingdom; we can choose to walk away, but we will not ever be abandoned or cast away. Remember, Jesus "descended into hell" for us-- and came back, rather than leave us alone.

So, my brothers and sisters, I challenge you to think about those gifts in your life-- abundant, overflowing gifts of time, and talent, and treasure. Spend some time this week thinking how they might be used for God's glory. And then, don't stop there-- don't dig a hole. Take a risk: invest yourself, in Jesus' name.

Saturday

Today is a domestic day at Chez Hoosier.

The boy had a culinary request this morning, so that's where we started. Flour and baking powder and eggs, oil and honey and milk, and soon we had a pancake breakfast for four. Some were plain, and some were blueberry (depending on consumer preference); and though I am not the batter artist Rev. Ref. is (I default to the basic traditional round shape) all were well received. "You make the best pancakes, Mom!"

(Sorry, Ref-- you win the talent competition, hands down; but I'm retaining the title.)

What about the rest of the day? Lots to do, for all of us:

• Another load of leaves raked up and hauled to the back for later burning.
• Gutters cleaned
  
• Bathroom: general cleaning walls scrubbed, seams mudded and sanded, and primed.
• Master bedroom cracks patched and painted, hideous border print stripped off, scraped down, wiped up and replaced with something attractive
• Children's bedrooms clean (there really are floors in there!)
• Sermon polishing for tomorrow

Onward!

Yesssss. . .

Recently I came to the conclusion that my book collection needed some augmenting. I am no longer at my seminary, where half the books in Creation seemed to be housed in my dear professor friend's home or office; and the other half were a) down the hall or b) across the street (We had a lovely arrangement with the Methodist seminary there; "all things were held in common," library-wise).

So, with some sage advice from the aforementioned professor, as well as some additonal suggestions from my favorite librarian-- and leveraged by some ordination-related gifts that were not directed to discretionary fund use-- I have begun to work happily toward the goal of overloading my office bookshelves.

The first of these new friends arrived today! Appropriately, it's a commentary on Matthew-- first in the Sacra Pagina series, and a fine way to begin. It's lovely and fresh, with that new book smell... and it feels so smooth and clean when I stroke its pristine little dust jacket...

Soon it will have friends to join it... won't it, my preciousssss... ?

My name is Jane Ellen, and I am an unrepentant bookaholic.

Horticultural moment

Isn't it lovely? This particular blossom was a gift from an old friend. He's really into plants and gardening, and bred this one as a hybrid from vines my mother had given him years ago.

Passion flowers (passiflora incarnata, for the horticulturally educated) are very much tropical plants, and supposedly almost impossible to grow outdoors in this region. But they grew like kudzu on the side of our house when I was growing up. Every fall, they'd wilt and die with the first frost; and every spring they'd appear again, growing so fast you could almost see the vines' tendrils stretching and curling.

Partway through the summer the flowers would appear. We'd pick the blossoms by the handful, and float them in a glass bowl on the kitchen table. They were fragile, and only lasted a day or two; but that was okay. There were always plenty more growing to replenish the bowl.

The flower's common name comes from the Passion of our Lord; you can find an explanation here.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled random musings.

Oops!

I got my devotional book order today; and, like many others, found that the covers were messed up. So I got online with Lulu, and reported the problem. As noted on the RevGals blog, they have agreed to ship replacement copies ASAP.

If this was also your experience, you can contact Lulu here. They have been very helpful, and very cooperative. Nice folks.

If you like, you can also order through Amazon instead; but the Katrina fund will get a larger percentage of the purchase price if you hang with Lulu a bit longer.

(Incidentally, the books with the messed up covers are still perfectly fine on the inside; and it's exciting to read all our words in print!)