Things that Should not Be

It was just a little over a month ago that I was in my hometown for my brother's wedding.  My brother asked me to officiate, and I felt honored to be there.  It wasn't a big wedding, but it was such a joyous occasion, to be able to share in the love of my brother and his new wife, and see so many of my cousins come out to be a part of the celebration.  We all grew up together, but we don't get together very often now.

Then, just two days after the wedding, on Monday morning, I was back home in Texas, and I saw a Facebook update from another of my cousins.  He was grieving.  He was telling us about the death of his sister.

My cousin Karen had been fighting cancer for several years.  She had setbacks and she had victories. I have kept up with her life mostly on Facebook these days, but when were children they lived just a few blocks from us for a little while.  She was a few years younger than I was back then, and very shy.  I remember she loved kittens.  She grew into a beautiful and talented young woman.  She grew up and had babies.  She played the harp.  She was also someone who pursued God and faith intensely.    And she had cancer.

For so many reasons, her death didn't seem real to me.  Maybe it was simply because we had lived apart for many years.  We had had only virtual conversations.  Maybe it was the idea that when we were celebrating my brother's wedding, she was dying.  Maybe it was just the memory that she was my younger cousin, the little girl with blue eyes who loved kittens.  How could it be?  She should still be alive.

That's what I believe, that there are things that should not be.

It was just about a week later that I got a message from a colleague.

A young pastor that I knew had just had a serious heart attack.  He wanted me to know, and he wanted me to join those who were praying day and night.

I had known this young woman since she was a seminary intern at my congregation.  Bright and articulate, full of passion and clarity about her call:  that's how I remember her.  She played the violin.  She taught us lectio divina.  She worked closely with the youth and the youth director.  After she graduated, she spent a couple of years in the Pacific Northwest, and then returned to our area to be a valued colleague at a neighboring congregation.  She was a fierce voice for justice, for inclusion.

She was the pastor of a vibrant congregation; she had a husband and three young children.

We prayed passionately.  It was just the sort of occasion made for miracles.  And that was what we prayed for.  We prayed for her heart to be strong.  We prayed for a full recovery.

We did not get what we wanted.

It's true.  We don't know the wisdom of God.  But I will also say:  these were not selfish prayers.  Our friend was a gift to us -- but she was also a gift to the world, someone who was doing healing work here.

There are some things that should not be.  The world is not yet what it should be, what it will be.

If you do not believe me, these are the words of the prophet Isaiah, longing for a different world,

"For I am about to create new heavens
and a new earth;
the former things shall not be remembered
or come to mind....
no more shall there be in it
an infant that lives but a few days,
or an old person who does not live out a lifetime;
for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth,
and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed."

Brothers and sisters,
do not be afraid to grieve.
We long for a new world.
It is meet and right so to do.

There are some things that should not be.

Unprepared

This week, I discovered that I was unprepared.

I came home from my unplanned trip to Minnesota.  I had expected to be gone a couple of days, but I ended up being gone for two weeks.  To be fair, I wasn't really thinking.  All I knew was that my husband was in the hospital, that they were x-raying his neck and that he was having tests.  I knew that a drunk driver had hit his car while he was on his way to school.  So I threw a couple of days worth of clothes in a bag, carted the dog off to a parish member's home, and went.

When I returned, I knew that I was behind on many things related to my congregation.  But I was not prepared for the storms that would hit the day after my return.  I was not prepared for the high water and the thunder and the darkness of having no electricity and no way to charge my phone, so no phone.

Somehow the prediction of heavy rains had not come with enough flashing lights.   So I had parked my car at the church, because I was going to return for an evening meeting.  After the storm hit, the water was high and we decided it would not be safe to return to church.

It took awhile that evening to find a safe route back to my dark apartment.  But we finally found a way in, and I was home.  I found a flashlight, and a couple of candles, and my dog.

And we sat alone in the dark and listened to it thunder.  You would think I would be grateful to be home.   I used the flashlight to read for awhile.  I was tired, but I couldn't sleep.  I felt alone.  I prayed that the electricity would come back on (it did not.)   And in the morning, somehow, someone found out about my plight and reached out to me, to offer help, electricity, coffee, company.

You know what?  I found out that it was the company that I needed the most.

I hope that next time I am more prepared, but not for the reasons you might think.  I hope that next time I am more prepared, so that I can be the company someone else needs most.

I was looking for a sign from God, and wrote this poem

Confessions:

I ate the cheesecake.
I left my notes at home.
It was not the dog's fault.
I don't know everything.
I need a sign from God sometimes,
just the tiniest little sign.
Just one word,
or a splash of water,
a piece of bread, broken
and multiplied.
Multiplied! 
I need to see just a small piece
of forgiveness,
a little resurrection.
Just one word
Multiplied.
I don't know everything.
It was not the dog's fault.
I left my notes at home.
I ate the cheesecake.
Forgive me.

What a Difference a Day Makes

Today is the last day of January.  Tomorrow is February 1, which seems like a seismic shift, for some reason or another.  Tomorrow the calendar turns over and another month, the second month, begins.  I am one month older, it is one month closer to spring, or it just just the day after Saturday, in an endless parade of days.

January seems interminable.  Why does the month of January seem so long?  December has the same number of days, but does not seem so long.  "What, it's still January?" I catch myself saying.  "It seems like it has always been January."

February, on the other hand, is the snap of a finger, the blink of an eye.  It is gone before I know it, which is okay, since I am trying to get through winter and closer to the days when the sun and the warmth will re-appear, and I can plant something in the ground, and nurture it.  February is a brief cold wind, except that it is really only three days shorter than January.  Three measly days.  Seventy-two hours.

Why does January seem so long?
Why does February seem so short?

Why do I spend my time looking forward to some other time than now?
Why do I spend my time looking back to some terrible wonderful time in the past?

Perhaps there is no 'ordinary' time.  We only make it 'ordinary' because we could not bear to stand in front of the burning bush all of the time.

Maybe each moment is a seismic shift, a turn of the calendar page, a transformation, whether we want it or not.

Today is the last day of January.

Tomorrow I will wake up and it will be February 1, and the Lord's Day, and there will be a seismic shift.  Or not.

It will be a New Day.  Or it will just be another one of a parade of endless days.  Your choice.

Somewhere, a bush will be burning.

I don't know why I know this.  I just do.

Reflections on Life and Ministry

It is late on the evening of a day off.  It's been dark for a few hours now.  Actually, it's been dark since shortly before 5:00 p.m., I think.  There's a moon, still, big and round. 

It was an unseasonably warm winter day.  Most of the snow is gone.  When we walk outside, it doesn't hurt.

Inside, it is not so Christmas-y either, at least in our house.  We do not yet have the tree up, but we do have a plan.  We have a couple of Christmas wall-hangings up, and I have begun to set out the Christmas books.

We got up early this morning and went to breakfast in St. Paul, at a great diner near the college where my husband works.  He had music juries today, and I went with him so that I could work on a Christmas present while he listened to music students. 

I also did a little reading.  I have started reading The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.  I know, I should have read this book about 20 years ago.  I know I've had it sitting on my shelf for a long time, probably since seminary which is not quite 20 years ago, but close enough.  I don't know why I haven't read it, but I'm reading it now.  I am reading the chapter about being pro-active, which means choosing how you will respond in any situation.

After my husband was done with his juries, we stopped in at a used book store in the neighborhood.  The owners of this particular bookstore are a married couple.  He seems to have libertarian political views, but I prefer talking to his wife, who likes to collect children's and illustrated books.  We talk about Arthur Rackham, Kay Nielsen, Wanda Gag, Maude and Miska Petersham.  I can't afford to collect much, but I have a handful of treasures: a copy of A Christmas Carol illustrated by Arthur Rackham (no dust jacket, though), The Tall Book of Make-Believe, illustrated by Garth Williams, a book of hymns illustrated by Gustav Tenggren. 

After returning home, my husband prepared for his evening church service.  I prepared to meet with a young couple getting married in May.  We let the dog out, just as it was getting dark, which we do every day, but appears to have been a mistake.

She did not want to come in.  At first, it seemed normal.  Sometimes she doesn't want to come in right away.  She still has a little playing to do, someone to bark at, something to sniff in the yard.  But usually, a couple of minutes later, she's at the back door, making pathetic whining and yodeling noises, which we interpret as "Let me iiiiiiin!" 

Not tonight.  We tempted her with food.  We cried and cajoled.  We left her in the back yard and went to do our respective ministries.  I met with my young couple.  We talked about the Strengths and Growth Areas they perceived in their relationship. 

I came home and our dog would still not come in.  I wondered if I was being pro-active or re-active.  I wondered if I was a bad dog-mom.  What does it mean if your dog is running in circles around you in the dark back yard, dragging an enormous stick her mouth, trying to jump over the back fence?  An hour ago, I was a wise counselor, asking just the right questions to a young couple who were sitting in my well-appointed office.  Now I am anything but wise, trying to figure out just the right strategy to make my dog come in for the evening. 

Well, she did come in, but I will spare you the details.  It involve my finding the big stick, not for violence, but for a short game of tug-of-war.  For some reason, afterwards the dog sat on command and I grabbed her collar and dragged her indoors.  Her paws were filthy.

Now, I am going to go back to reading about what it means to be Pro-Active, which I think is a Good Idea.  I think it is a good idea for Life, and for Ministry, and Even for Dogs.

From "Commendation of the Dying"

N, our sister in the faith, we entrust you to God who created you. May you return to the one who formed us out of the dust of the earth. Surrounded by the angels and triumphant saints, may Christ come to meet you as you go forth from this life.

Christ, the Lord of glory, who was crucified for you, bring you freedom and peac.e

Christ, the High Priest, who has forgiven all your sins, keep you among his people.

Christ, the Son of God, who died for you, show you the glories of his eternal kingdom.

Christ, the Good Shepherd, enfold you with his tender care. May you see your redeemer face to face and enjoy the sight of God forever.

AMEN

You Are What You Eat, or Cook

I've been thinking hard about food lately. I've even taking to looking back into some of my late, lamented, food-stained and now-seldom used cookbooks, cookbooks from my single days, like New Recipes from Moosewood Restaurant and The Enchanted Broccoli Forest (which I bought mostly because it had the word broccoli in the title). I've even pulled out my old, stained copy of the More With Less Cookbook, reminiscing about my earnest early attempts at eating "lower on the food chain", as we called it then.

Why? Younger stepson, Young Man of Value, is considering going vegan.

He has been flirting with becoming vegetarian for some time, but would make an exception for fish. Now that he's talking about Vegan, though, I'm looking through all of those old, radical (I thought they were radical, then) cookbooks, and finding out that most of their recipes are not radical enough.

My favorite fancy mac-and-cheese recipe from the Moosewood cookbook? One word: Cheese. The great eggplant recipe I tried for a guy I was trying to impress: That one had cheese, too. And other recipes that I have invariably considered healthy, no-meat stand-bys often had milk or eggs.

I admire Young Man of Value's desire to eat ethically, although I'm not myself fully convinced of the Vegan option. One thing that has been good, though, is that's it has gotten me thinking -- both about food, and about cooking.

I've always had sort of a love/hate relationship with cooking.

I've never felt like I was a good cook. I don't have any tales of terror from the kitchen to relate; it's not that so much as it is my knowledge that I am the kind of person who pretty much sticks to the cookbook when it comes to cooking. And when I see a really long list of ingredients or when the instructions start looking complicated, I tend to panic, like when I try to play a piano piece that is way over my head.

I've gone through stages, though, when I've enjoyed trying new (though not terribly complicated) recipes. In Japan, when I longed for the taste of macaroni and cheese, I pulled out the Betty Crocker cookbook and learned to make it from scratch, plopping cubes of cheese into my white sauce and watching it melt. (I was surprised to learn later that a white sauce can be tricky to make.) Just after returning to the U.S., I fell in with some vegetarians and tried a few easy, but exotic-tasting recipes from the aforementioned Moosewood Cookbook (all in my very tiny apartment kitchen). And shortly after getting married, I relied on my Cooking for Two Cookbook and regular advice from the two home economists who happened to be members of my congregation.

I've also gone through stages (like right after we got Scout, our high-maintenance puppy) when I couldn't imagine coming home from work, cooking dinner and heading back to church for the evening round of meetings. Or I couldn't imagine coming home alone as a single person and cooking and eating all by myself. Or I just couldn't imagine what it would be like to cook and eat and clean up all those dirty dishes all by myself (sometimes the cleaning up part did it). I longed for good food, but didn't have the energy to create it.

This past Sunday, though, an article in the New York Times magazine got me thinking again: about food, and the art of cooking. By current food guru Michael Pollan (author of The Omnivore's Dilemma), the article talks about how we are cooking less and less (food manufacturers now market pre-made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, even), but are fascinated with cooking shows. Somehow, he thinks, cooking makes us human. But we have designed our lives with less and less time for these tasks.

Cooking makes us human. Also, cooking makes us healthier, I think. One of the surprises of the Pollan article was the statement that a poor woman who cooks is going to be healthier than a rich woman who doesn't (yes, and that's exactly how he wrote it).

When I cracked open the More with Less cookbook again, after all these years, I remembered the three principles:

1. Eat more whole grains, legumes, fruits, vegetables, nuts and seeds.
2. Use meat and dairy products in moderation
3. Avoid processed and convenience foods.

This is where Young Man of Value has it, I think. It's not in the Vegan diet, specifically, but it's in the commitment to cooking and eating real food. This makes me think about what I am missing when I design a life so fast-paced that there is no time to create a simple meal. This happens more often than I like to admit.

But I also admit to a certain joy when I get something real, however simple, on the table. The other night I made a Greek Salad from a recipe I found in a magazine; I've been eyeing another recipe, with Eggplant and Angel hair Pasta, from the same magazine.

They say you can make it in 30 minutes.

Even better, I've been enjoying the fresh fruit of the season as well. Strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries, for example. All I have to do is wash and eat, wash and eat. I can't think of anything realer, and simpler, and more gracious, than that.

Cool, Clear Water

I had never had an IV before.
I was fascinated by the drip drip drip
of the salty water
into my arm
and how it was saving me
making me alive

how thirsty I was!
how much I wanted a drink!
it was the one thing I needed most
but the one thing that my body rejected


there's a lesson in here somewhere
you tell me what it is

The Winds of Change

As I type this, I can hear the wind howling outside our door. If I didn't know better, I would think we were in the midst of a blizzard. That's how high and strong the wind is tonight. There even were a few snowflakes floating outside after church. A small child greeted me after the second service with the words, "Happy Snow Day!" I wasn't sure what she was talking about until I looked outside.

This morning we celebrated Reformation Sunday like every other good Lutheran congregation. Our intern preached; we've never let our interns preach on Reformation before, and I must say, she did an awfully good job. She's a second-career student whose first career was teaching college. She had an easy over-view of Luther's movement, and also highlighted The Luther Decade and its emphasis on Repentance (the first of the 95 theses was about repentance).

Predictably, we sang "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God." I wonder if anyone else sings that song like Lutherans do. Instead of singing the third verse, the organ played an instrumental interlude that made it sound like the organ, if not the world, was filled with devils.

Since it was the last Sunday of the month, we offered prayers and anointing for healing after all the services. I am always surprised by the people who line up, for themselves or on behalf of others. We have just been doing this since the end of May, and the last of the month always sneaks up on me. I feel somehow not prepared; then, as I speak words of prayer for each person, I am struck by the holiness between us in these moments.

After church, I spied a bald one-year-old toddle down the hall, her mother following after her. The mother paused to relay her daughter's first word: "Amen." She prays and lays her hand on her daughter each night at bed-time, and just the other night, her daughter has begun to repeat "Amen amen amen".

It is so cold today; yesterday it was warm and sixty-two. The world is filled with devils, and with the goodness of God. The bright red leaves and the biting wind both take my breath away.

"I'm afraid," someone whispers to me. "I'm afraid of what the future will bring."

"I'm hopeful," I hear someone else say, with tears glistening. It takes my breath away.

It is autumn, time of beauty and death, fear and hope. Amen amen amen.

Lessons from the Eagles

We learned two things at the National Eagle Center:

Eagles just came off the endangered species list this year.

Benjamin Franklin did not consider the eagle a worthy bird to have as a national symbol. (He felt warmer toward, of all birds, the turkey.)

Now you might be thinking: I knew both of those things! You didn't learn anything at the National Eagle Center! But what we learned was behind those two statements.

Eagles just came off the endangered species list this year. Those who are about my age or older might remember just why eagles were on the endangered species list in the first place. It was because of a chemical called DDT, commonly used to combat mosquitoes. However, as our guide graphically showed us, DDT had unintended consequences in other parts of the animal kingdom, up to and including eagles. He showed us how mosquitoes are connected to small fish, and small fish are connected to big fish, and big fish are connected to eagles, and how if one link in a chain is damaged, it affects the health of the whole chain. He told us one of the things that DDT did was make eagles' eggs soft and easily broken, so that most eaglets did not survive into adulthood. I didn't write down the numbers, but he said that at least 80% if all eaglets did not survive into adulthood, and eagles were in grave danger of becoming extinct.

He also told us that in 1972, something happened, when people banded together to outlaw DDT and to work to bring the bald eagle back from extinction. Now comes the statement that this year bald eagles came off the endangered species list. He told us that the story of the bald eagle can remind us and inspire us to remember what is possible when we work together for positive change.

Benjamin Franklin did not consider the bald eagle to be a worthy bird to have as a national symbol. There were three reasons for this, but I remember the third one the best. Franklin had observed eagles as they were attacked and dive-bombed by smaller birds like herons and gulls, and saw how the eagle would not engage in a fight, but simply fly away. He thought that the eagle was a coward, and not a fitting symbol for our young nation. However, as our guide told us, the eagle is not a coward, but is honorable in flying away from a fight with a bird clearly not its equal. So, I thought: if you know you are strong, you don't always have to fight.

Two lessons from eagles.

oh, and this piece of trivia: about how much do you think a fully grown bald eagle weighs?

about 10-12 pounds.

Picture is Harriet with handler last Saturday.

More from the Retreat....

Last weekend, while at the confirmation retreat, one of the adults was showing me some yoga moves she learned during a not-so-recent class. She saw me bending over and gave this advice, "Don't bounce." Then she demonstrated a graceful yoga bend, complete with advice on when to inhale and when to exhale.

One move she showed me was a king of a lunge, and it looked a little like a sword-fighter stance, I thought, as I tried to imagine my body between two panes of glass, as she instructed. And again, there was the inhaling and the exhaling, the intentional breathing, in and out.

Now I don't know anything about yoga, (I can't emphasize this enough) but at that moment, it seemed that breathing was really the key to understanding, to practicing.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Intentionally.

And that breathing is really the key to life.

"He breathed on them and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit.""

What is the Holy Spirit? That's the question always as we approach Pentecost. This mysterious force, this mysterious third person of the Trinity, seems so hard to grasp, to get ahold of. What is the Holy Spirit? Fire? A mighty wind?

Life. The Holy Spirit is life, God's life, Jesus' resurrected life, in us, among us, working through us.

Can these bones live? O Lord, you know.