Scout is Hurting

I didn't hear from the vet last night. We could tell Scout was feeling kind of low because she just kept moving from under the dining room table to under the recliner: back and forth, back and forth. Her sore appeared to be getting worse. She did have an appetite, though. And she ate a little grape tomato that dropped on the floor, which I thought was a good sign. Otherwise, she moved kind of slow, like she had arthritis or something.

I've just been cleaning off her sore, so it wouldn't get infected. And waiting to get some advice from the vet.

When we went to bed, she didn't want to come into the bedroom with us at first. Then she tried to get under the bed (too low). When that didn't work, she actually tried to climb up on the bed with us, which she never does. NEVER. She's sixty pounds, for crying out loud. She usually sleeps at the foot of our bed. So I could tell she was miserable.

I pushed her bed right up to ours to help her calm down, and she settled a bit. But I could hear her chewing herself all night. (I didn't sleep very well, either.)

This morning I could see there were new raw spots on her. I washed them off again. No call from the vet. I put a little Benadryl cream on her, because I couldn't think of anything else to do

I had a meeting in the morning. After the meeting ended at 11:30, still no call from the vet. So I called another clinic. This one also uses some holistic practices. They said using the Benadryl for now is ok, and they made an appointment for Friday.

Our own vet had called while I was on the phone. (sigh)

I feel a little sad. This isn't the one who yelled at me. This is another doctor at the same clinic, a woman who has shepherded Scout through her broken leg, the time when she ate a dog bootie (long story), and her long medical history of diarrhea.

I will keep you updated on how Scout is feeling.

UPDATE: I got my appointment changed from 11:00 tomorrow to 4:30 this afternoon. They had a cancellation!

FURTHER UPDATE: Just returned from very nice vet with (as my husband calls it) the lampshade, a very strong antibiotic and antibiotic spray. We will return in one week. He said it was the worst case of a "hot spot" (lay term) that he had ever seen. Moved very fast from Monday, when it was just a little sore, to Wednesday a.m., when it was alarming. We don't have any idea what caused it, and at this point, it's more important to treat it than figure it out. We will have to watch her carefully for the next few days, but I am really relieved this evening.

Sunday Sermon -- finally

"You are who you eat with"

I don't know about you, but it seems that I have spent a good part of my life trying to find the right place to sit. It started when I was a child, I think, because I am left-handed. At the dinner table, I always sat on the end, so that I wouldn't disturb anyone else in the family by bumping elbows with them. This worked pretty well until we got a new table: round. Luckily, my family still let me eat with them. So, whenever I go out to eat, and particularly when I eat with a large group, I am always looking for the "right" place: the place on the end, where I can eat without bumping into anyone else. Of course, there are other ways that I look for the "right" place to sit, too. Many years ago, I traveled to New York for the first time -- to interview for a position as a missionary in the Lutheran Church. It was my first time to do a lot of things, including taking a cab from an airport, riding on a subway, and eating out by myself in a restaurant I didn't know anything about. To be truthful, I skipped a couple of meals, because I didn't know where to go or what to do. But one morning, I ended up at the Empire State Building, and I found a little cafe right in the building. It was clear when I sat down that everyone else there was a regular customer. The waitress was impatient with me for having to look at a menu, she wanted me to hustle and not waste her time. I was starving and a little desperate. But I can tell you, I felt pretty much that morning as if I had NOT found the right seat. It was stamped across my forehead "You are not from here." In fact, later that morning, a woman leaned over to me on the subway and said, "You're from the Midwest, aren't you"? (How could she tell?" (She was nice about it, though.)

On the other side, I have often been anxious when invited to a wedding reception where I know no one except the bride and groom. Where will I be seated? Will I fit in? I remember once or twice, at least, where the hosts had planned the seating arrangement so carefully, so that even though my husband and I were seated next to strangers, they were people we had something in common with. We ended up having a really good time. Like I said, it seems like I have spent a good part of my life looking for the right place to sit. Is it ever this way for you?

That's the issue this morning in our gospel lesson. Jesus is speaking to people who are, as well, concerned about finding the right seat. He is observing guests are a dinner party, and one of the behaviors he is observing is how guests were trying to figure out what the "best" seats were, and make sure they got them. The best seats they called "the places of honor." They were probably the seats nearest to the host; the closer you could be seated to the host, the more honorable you were. The farther away you sat from the host, the less honorable you would be considered. Now this is all in the eyes of the others at the party. In other words, everybody is trying to figure out who is the greatest and who is the least by figuring out where they are sitting at the dinner party. and all the time, the Pharisees who were the hosts of the party, are keeping a close eye on Jesus.

You might remember from at least one other Gospel story, that Jesus sometimes ate and drank with "sinners." and the Pharisees were scandalized by that. Because, they thought, no they KNEW that 'You are who you eat with.' In other words, if you were righteous, you would eat with other righteous people. If you were a sinner, you would eat with other sinners. If righteous person ate with sinners, they would become identified as a 'sinner' too. In the same way, if you sat next to someone honorable, you would be considered more honorable. And if you sat next to someone at the low end of the table -- that said something about you too. 'You are who you eat with,' remember that. Because then you have a better understanding of Jesus' instructions to guests are the party. In one way, they are just common sense. "don't think of yourself more highly than you ought to think" is one way of putting it. "Have a realistic idea of who you are. Look in the mirror, and say, "you know, I guess I'm not that close to the host. I guess I'm not that great.' But Jesus says more than that, he says, "take the lowest, most humble seat." Sit the farthest away you can, even if it means that everyone is looking at you and wondering about you. Because you know, you are who you eat with.

You might think this is a funny think to believe, 'you are who you eat with.' We don't believe that way now. Goodness or badness does not 'rub off' on us, like when we were children and were worried about whether we had "girl germs" or "boy germs." But think about it another way. As I said before, I think I had spent a good part of my life looking for the right place to sit, the place I will fit in, the place I am 'comfortable.' And I am told that in churches, one of the most common reasons people will visit and not stay is if they don't see anyone else "like them" in the the church. Young or old, male or female, ethnic background, we are all looking for the "right place to sit," for someone who looks like us, someone we would feel comfortable sitting down to eat with. Because you know, 'you are who you eat with.' In the past and sometimes even now, communities were defined by the ethnic background of the people living there. Think "Swede Hollow" or "Snoose Boulevard" in the Cedar-Riverside area. Those are the ones I know from my own background. We lived together with others 'like us', and sometimes it causes stress that our communities are not so much alike any more. We are more diverse, and there are good things about that, but we might not feel like we belong in the same way any more. 'You are who you eat with,' in terms of poverty or wealth or ethnic background, health or illness.

So Jesus' words of advice to guests are somewhat risky to take. But his words to hosts are even more radical. He tells the hosts are the dinner party not to invite those who are similar to them. In those days a host might give a party and invite people because he wanted something from them in return. After he had so generously and graciously served them, they would be expected to do something for the host. That was how it was done. so of course you would invite people to your party who were somehow 'like you.' Jesus says, instead, go out and invite the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind. This is really radical advice for a couple of reasons. First, because, as Jesus says, they can't help you. they can't pay you back. They can't turn around and give you a party. A host who invites the poor, the blind, the lame ... is a truly generous host, not expecting anything in return. and the second reasons this is radical advice is because 'you are who you eat with.' What does it mean to invite the poor, the lame, the blind... the sinner... and to sit down and eat with them? In some sense it is to say, "I'm poor, I'm blind, I'm lame" too. Because we are all looking for the right place to sit,aren't we? The place where we feel comfortable, next to people with whom we have something in common. But Jesus says, when you give a party, invite the poor, invite the lame, invite the blind, invite the sinners.

A number of years ago, a movie called Places in the Heart featured Sally Field as a young widow struggling to keep her farm during the depression. At the beginning, her husband, who also serves as the town sheriff, goes out to help a young black man, who is drunk. He husband is accidentally shot and killed. In the next scene we see that the young black man is hanged by the townspeople. The widow takes on a blind man as her boarder, to help with expenses, and a black man to help her with her farm. The town is against her plan to try to run her farm, and encourages her to sell. but she wants to keep her family together. Near the end of the movie, the black man is run out of town, and there is a devastating tornado. The final scene of the movie takes place in the local church. It's a communion service, and, as is common in the reformed tradition, everyone remains seated and the bread and the wine are passed around. At first it seems like an ordinary scene until the young widow takes the bread and passes it to the person next to her -- her husband. Her in turn passes the bread to the one next to him -- the young man who shot him. later on we see the black man who had been run out of town, the people who had run him out, the blind boarder -- all eating and drinking together. Because Jesus invited them. It's the communion of saints. Or the communion of sinners. 'You are who you eat with,' after all.

Every week we gather around this table, rich and poor, young and old, wounded or healthy. Every week we gather around this table and eat and drink with one another, and with Jesus. "Though he was in the form of God, he humbled himself, and taking the form of a servant, was born in human likeness." He took the lowest place, right next to us, and now he invites us to eat and drink with him, even though we can never pay him back. and then he invites us to go and sit next to, to eat with, to know and to serve the poor an the lame and the sinners ... just as if we were poor an lame and sinners ourselves. Because we are.

But remember, as you come to God's table today: 'You are who you eat with.' AMEN

Rhubarb Cake etc.

Early Sunday morning, I took Scout for a short walk before church. I ended up going to church with several mosquito bites on my face and neck. It is that season.

It was the last 8:00 service out on the lawn for the summer, a beautiful day, despite early sprinkles. At 10:00, two single mothers and their four boys sat all together in a row, redefining family. They both hugged one of the ushers as they came to worship. I mentioned something to one of them about a "reunion" and she replied, "there will be an even bigger reunion next week."

After church, in preparation for our short trip up to Stepson's college in Duluth, I:

1) stopped at Barnes & Noble for a new book, The Ode Less Traveled, by Stephen Fry

2) stopped at the grocery store for a small carton of buttermilk, walnuts and brown sugar

3) put together a rhubarb cake to bring up to Duluth for Stepson (he had lots of rhubarb from working at the Farmers Market this summer)

4) cooked Scout's rice for her evening meal up in Duluth

5) changed clothes

6) packed our bags

7) packed Scout's things, including a cooler for her fresh food.

Then we took off for Duluth, one of our favorite places, where one of our favorite people lives.

In the meantime, I 'm a little preoccupied by some things:

Scout has a sore on her flank that she won't stop licking. I'm concerned. I've been watching it and cleaning it for a couple of days.

I have been working on a Big Project lately; I am disappointed not to be finished tonight. It is turning out to be harder than I thought.

I have a lot at stake in a fall "inreach" we are doing, to get in touch with people in the congregation. I want it to be a success, but feel that I still need more allies.

In closing, here is my recipe for Rhubarb Cake: (from my mom)

1 1/2 cups brown sugar

1/2 cup margarine

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla

1 cup buttermilk

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

2 cups flour

Mix in order. Cut fine 1 3/4 cups rhubarb. Fold in with other ingredients. Place in 13X9 in baking pan (greased and floured) and top with 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1 tsp cinnamon and 1/2 cup chopped walnuts. Bake 40 minutes at 350.

I hear it was delicious.

A Poem by Mary Oliver

Praying

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

from "Thirst", Beacon Press, 2006

This poem seems humble and gracious to me.

We will be traveling up to younger stepson's college tomorrow and overnight, so probably won't get a chance to post my sermon until later.

In the meantime, prayers and blessings to all.

By Popular Demand: the post on Lutfisk

There's a story in my father's family about how one year, when the kids were all teenagers, my grandmother made the traditional Swedish Christmas Eve meal, complete with meatballs and Swedish sausage, boiled potatoes, and, of course, lutfisk (yes, I know, everyone calls it "lutefisk." Lutfisk is the real, Scandinavian spelling.) The children, revealing their true feelings, ordered Chinese food. My grandmother went into the bedroom and cried.

My mom and dad argue good-naturedly about lutfisk. He isn't wild about it; she loves it. She says it's because she learned to eat it the good way, that is, the Norwegian way: with hot melted butter all over it. He, on the other hand, had to eat it with a cream sauce (which, I guess, is a punishment worse than death).

Lutefisk is, literally "lye fish". It has been a popular favorite in Sweden and Norway since medieval times. It is cod soaked in lye. I used to think it was perhaps much more popular with the Scandinavian immigrants than with the Swedes or Norwegians themselves, but I recently found a web site that indicated that they still eat it over in the old country. The Swedes mostly reserve it for Christmas time; the Norwegians like to eat it all year long. Maybe it's because of the butter.

I only remember having lutfisk once or twice as a kid. My grandmother, who didn't learn from experience, served it at least once at Christmas. I tried a bite.

So, not long after I moved into South Dakota (actually, I think it was Labor Day weekend) , a couple from my congregation asked me, "Do you like lutefisk?" (they said it with an "e".) Thinking it was a trick question, I answered, "Why do you ask?" It seemed that there was a very big and very popular lutfisk dinner in nearby large(r) town (1,000 people to my 63) coming up at the end of October. They wanted to show their appreciation for me by taking me to the dinner. It was the nicest thing they could think of to do. But if we didn't buy the tickets during the next week, they would all be gone.

Thinking about my experiences with cultural exchange in Japan, I said "yes." I might learn something. What could it hurt?

My parish members were so proud to have me there with them. They watched me to make sure I ate my lutfisk, said this was about the best dinner in the area. "Really good fish," they said. And it was so crowded! People had to eat in shifts, because the church basement was not big enough. And, at a lutfisk dinner, they don't just have fish. They have meatballs too.

I have found out since, that here in the Twin Cities, you can go online and find a "Lutefisk Dinner" at some church somewhere almost every week once it hits mid-October or so. It's quite a social event for people of a certain age and ethnic persuasian.

The retired pastor who cooks the fish (in a mesh bag, by the way) for my congregation is 90 years old. So it's possible that this social and cultural event will die out someday. But in the meantime, there are still quite a few people left who get together around long tables eating white fish covered with butter. And meatballs.

Remembering Katrina

I can't add anything to all of the wonderful posts encouraging us to pray for and to remember the people of New Orleans. But at Wild and Precious there is an encouragement to get involved, and over at Wounded Bird, a wonderful poem reflecting on Katrina.

Living Liturgy

I remember once when I was a little girl going to visit my uncle and his family. My uncle was a pastor in a small town somewhere in Iowa -- not a Lutheran pastor, though. He was a pastor in the Evangelical Free church. I remember being very disoriented by the bulletin, which hardly had anything in it. Just a couple of songs, and a sermon (a long sermon, I remember). And there was no place in the book (except for the hymns) where I could follow along, as I was used to doing. No prayers to read together, no "Lord, Have Mercy/Christ, Have Mercy/Lord Have Mercy", no "Gloria Patri", no Apostle's Creed.

It was clear to me on that day that this worship service, anyway, was for adults.

I had no such ideas as a child. I grew up with the Red Lutheran Service Book and Hymnal, Settings One and Two. As for me, I never felt bored by the liturgy, even though I didn't understand everything about it. Even without understanding, I could participate by singing along, by praying along, by chanting along. And as I grew, I began to understand some things. I remember that my dad used to sit by me and help me find my place in the hymnal. I loved hearing him sing the Bass part on the three-fold Amen. And when I discovered, in the back of the hymnal, the index of "First Lines and Common Titles", I thought that I had learned the secret handshake! Whenever the sermon got a little too long, I would look up my favorite hymns.

Maybe I was lucky because I was such a reader. I would read anything, even a hymnal; it fascinated me. I still have the 5th grader Sunday School book where we learned the meanings of all of the parts of the liturgy: Invocation and Confession, Introit and Gloria Patri, Kyrie and Gloria in Excelsis and Collect. And I remember my confirmation pastor talking about the liturgy as a great drama, where we remember the mighty acts of God and become a part of them.

Now, it seems, for many people, that the liturgy has become a part of the problem. Empty ritual, they call it. And it can be. Sometimes it does seem as if people are only going through the motions when they participate in the liturgy every week.

So people think that something "freer" is more genuine, more authentic. There is something better about a pentecostal praise service or about a less liturgical Baptist service. "They don't have liturgy," is the reason. But I'm not sure about that.

I remember being involved in a non-denominational Pentecostal church sometime during college. I would go to a Thursday night prayer meeting, and sing intently with all of the enthusiastic songs, and really feel as if my heart was in it. Somewhere along the line, perhaps after a month of two, I started to realize that the opening song selection always followed a similar pattern. They may not have had a printed liturgy, but they did have an order of worship, and it was designed to get a certain emotional effect. It became clear to me that there was a purpose to their "liturgy", even though it was not printed out.

Perhaps one of the things that is missing these days is the sense of the purpose of the liturgy. What is it for? Why do we do it? Why do we design our worship in a certain way (other than the historic integrity)? It is not simply to get an emotional effect, but there is, or should be, a sense of movement, a sense of purpose.

I have been taken recently with Dorothy Bass' series of books, Practicing our Faith. I believe that at least part of the purpose of worship is ritual practice for an authentic life of faith. So when we kneel, we a practicing humility and servanthood. When we sing, we are practicing praise. When we sit for the sermon, we are practicing for a life of sitting at Jesus' feet and learning from him. And when we receive communion, we are practicing putting out our hands and receiving from God.

In one sense, though, there are many different purposes for worship. But in another sense, worship is a gigantic waste of time. When you are in worship, you are not serving the homeless, earning a living, signing a petition, doing laundry. On one blog earlier this week, the insightful author critiqued the maintenance mode of most churches. She said, most people who want to save the world, don't say "I think I'll join a church." People who want to save the world have better ways to use their time. But on another blog recently, I saw a compelling image of a circle: "Save the World/Save the Liturgy", was printed around the circle.

That's the challenge I think. Our mission is to save the world -- but it's a funny way to save the world, isn't it? Somehow, worship is an integral part of this mission.