Vivid Memories that Last a Lifetime

I didn't sleep much last night--for a lot of reasons, but one was thinking about the youth I serve, the messages they "get" from the world, and my sermon for chapel today. I'm going to use the epistle for Thanksgiving Day.

Philippians 4:4-9

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.

The thing is, the youth I serve, they're not alone. Many of us have had parts of ourselves stripped away slowly and over tie--you know death by a thousand cuts. But I think, or at least I know for me, there are a couple of times that standout.

I was in seventh grade--new school, new friends. The beginning of the year went great. I made a fun group of friends. I felt on top of the world.

Up until this time, I had always been confident in my scholastic abilities, and I wanted to excel. If I'm honest, I wanted to standout--even in seventh grade I wanted to be top of my class. I worked hard.

We had a seventh grade very challenging English teacher--one sentence fragment, one run-on sentence--failing grade. He was challenging but also encouraging. I think his class is when I fell in love with writing. His class and this episode--writing became my refuge.

Vocabulary/spelling tests were always difficult, and this one covered the full semester of words. I studied very hard and began the test confidently. After he told us to put our pencils down, I looked down and realized I had misspelled a word. My heart sank, but then I remembered the bonus word and I was confident I had nailed it.

My teacher told us to switch tests to grade. (Do people do that anymore?) As I handed it to one of my good friends I said, "I know I missed #9, but I also know I got the bonus, so I should still get an A." My friend was also a high achiever, I thought she would understand.

That weekend I wasn't invited to a spend the night party. I didn't know that until Monday morning. (I am SOOOO glad we didn't have social media then.) Monday morning my group of friends were all acting weird hurriedly walking past me saying they were late to wherever they were going. When the lunch bell rang one of the group asked to talk to me. She told me the group didn't want to be friends with me anymore. They decided I was conceited (ironically that was one of our vocabulary words) among other things She used as an example the vocabulary/spelling test. I don't remember anything else about the conversation other than I didn't even try to explain/defend myself. We both walked away. I went to the library instead of lunch.

As a grown-up looking back I have several thoughts. First, I feel for the young girl who was chosen to deliver the "news/verdict" of our friendship or rather the end of the friendship. Did she draw the short straw? Second, I can understand how seventh grade girls could have interpreted that exchange about the test.

I remember and relive that day a lot. I lost confidence that day. I lost healthy self-pride. I lost self-esteem. And I put on the cape of imposter syndrome--never believing I had truly earned or deserved something. I am careful before I share any accomplishments with others, and I always worry about how I am perceived. I do, however, love to celebrate others--no matter how big or small. God is a God of celebration.

Fast forward 12 years. I was at my cousin's bridesmaid's luncheon. I was sitting next to a woman I'd known almost my entire life because she and my cousin had been best friends forever. She had the most beautiful (and loud) laugh. We were laughing and talking--and yes being loud. On the other side of me was another woman I'd known forever, and I loved and admired (looked up to) her. She put her hand on my arm and said, "SHH You're being too loud and obnoxious. Stop acting that way." I thought I had lowered my voice, but a few minutes later she kicked me under the table and through gritted teeth said, "I said STOP." And I did, for years.

I withdrew into myself believing I was too much, believing I didn't know how to behave in public, believing I needed to be less. (Some of you may agree--trying to use a little humor here.) Over time, a part of that person began to re-emerge, but the doubt remains, the insecurity remains, the hurt remains. One "weird" look from someone I love and respect, one whispered "stop" and I am right back there.

Last night as I tossed and turned I thought about the passage from Philippines as well as Jeremiah 1:5, "Before I created you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I set you apart," God created each of us in God's image. God created all of us--the parts we like and the parts we don't. The parts others like and the parts they don't. We can grow into that image, and we can also learn/be taught to deny parts of it. But I believe every part of who we are is pure, commendable, pleasing, and worthy of praise. We, with God's help, grow into those parts of us. It takes time--probably a life-time--but there is no part of ourselves God wants to excise.

Today I'm going to ask those in chapel to think about a part of themselves they have been told or learned to diminish and to give thanks for that part of who they are. I'm going to ask them to pray that God will help them regain the goodness in that trait/part of themselves.

And I will pray it won't take them a lifetime to do so.

What If?

 

What if that voice in your head was right?

        The voice you were told wasn't real

        The voice you tried to silence

        The voice you tried to ignore

         The voice that grew quieter over the years

                    But was never completely silenced.

What if the voice in your head was right?

        The voice who told you who you really were

        The voice who told you what was wrong

                    With you

                    With relationships

                    With the world

What if the voice in your head was right?

        And you ignored it

        And lived a different life

        Instead of living into the voice

        And lived a different life

        And learned from the voice

        And lived a different life

        Instead of the life you lived

                    That is now crashing down

            

Could Have Been the Start of a Bad Joke

 

Last Thursday I was traveling home from New York. Traveling in the dining car was a Rabbi, two Presbyterian ministers (from 2 different sects), a Methodist minister, and me an Episcopal priest. (No this is not the beginning of a bad joke.) Also traveling in the car was a transwoman.

We had all said brief hellos and over the first two hours engaged in short conversations interspersed with longer times of silence. I’m not sure how this conversation got started, but I overheard one of the male ministers ask the transwoman if he could ask her some questions because he really wanted to understand her world. My ears opened as did the other people in the car. She responded, “Certainly. I don’t mind at all. I actually would like it. And don't worry you can't ask me anything I haven't been asked before.” He responded, "But please reserve the right to not answer anything you don't want to answer." I am not going to share specifics as I truly believe the conversations we had were personal and sacred and deserved to be preserved for the people in the conversation. But I would like to share some things.

We all gathered around and began talking, questioning, and most importantly listening. There was a lot of conversation, questions, explanations, and long silences. We began sharing perspectives from our different denominations, our own experiences, and culture. We talked about how the past and current administration and their policies impacted our lives on a daily basis. One question I was asked, “How is it impacting you sharing your faith with me a man who serves in a denomination that doesn’t recognize women’s ordination?” Instantly I responded, “Sad.” His reply, “Me too.”

These conversations went on for over 3 hours. As we were beginning to pull into the station where all but 2 of us were getting off, the car became silent, and I saw a notification come across my phone. A woman who has been a friend for many years and who went to high school with my husband has a son who after surgery had a complication and was being transported to Children’s Hospital ICU. She was asking for prayer.

I looked up at everyone and read her post. No words were spoken as we all stood up and clasped hands. And then we began to pray. 

So no, the gathering of these particular people in this particular dining car at this particular time wasn’t the start of a bad joke. It wasn't a joke;
it was a glimpse of the Kingdom of God.

Too Woke

I went to bed angry. I didn't sleep much, and I got out of bed angry. Not angry like I want to hurt someone or damage something. Angry like my heart is broken, and I don't understand the world. Lots of angry tears....

There are accusations of people (me included) of being "too woke." Here's the thing, people aren't even using the term correctly. Instead, a word that started being used in the 1930's to raise awareness of social and political issues affecting the African American community has been weaponized. (OriginalDefination) It has been weaponized, in my opinion, to criticize and demean those who think differently. And I'll say it, pretty sure I'll get backlash, but I see it being used to continue to marginalize and control.

Cause here's the thing. If....

Respecting the honor and dignity of every human being regardless of age, gender, race, sexuality, profession or any other "catagory."

Apologizing to others when I have wronged them regardless of their age, gender, race--you get it read the above.

Respecting that others' faiths are valid.

Understanding that people are complex and one action, one word, one experience does not define their complete humanity.

Caring for others with empathy, compassion and grace

Understanding I don't have all the answers and that through talking and sharing with others who are different, I can grow and be transformed. 

Admitting I can be and sometimes am wrong.

Striving for justice and peace for all people not just the ones I like.

Believing that every child deserves to feel safe and loved, deserves access to education and healthcare, shouldn't have to go to bed hungry and cold--really not just every child, but every person.

Recognizing that when we demean and tear others down, we are demeaning and tearing down the image of God in whom we were all created.

Listening to others stories and understanding their life experiences are different than mine and just like my life has been shaped by my experiences, so have theirs.

Recognizing that actions have consequences but also that doesn't mean second and third, maybe even fourth chances may be necessary for people who are just trying to do the best they can. Isn't God about second and third and more chances?

If all that is being too woke, then actually people are wrong,  I'm not woke enough. 

But I'm trying. 

(And maybe we can just call it being a good human being and following God's command to love others as we love ourselves.)

Things I Wonder

 I went to get a massage this afternoon. In full disclosure, I get them fairly regularly--at least monthly.

Today it was different. She was yanking on my limbs and stretching them in a way she never has before. I'm not complaining; it felt great. It was just different. Half way through I asked her why things were different. She responded, "You are so tight like you've been living in the fetal position with your head between your knees." I'm not sure why but the image of the woman caught in adultery about to be stoned popped into my head and wouldn't leave. (John 8:1-11)

I started thinking about it, and I thought I remembered it wasn't explicitly said she was caught in adultery. Alas, maybe that's what I wanted to believe. The story actually does begin with the words, "The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and, making her stand before all of them,  they said to him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery." It doesn't say who caught her in adultery. Was she set up? Did someone lie? Or, was it true? Any or all could be the truth. But that's not what I dwelled on while lying on the table having my limbs stretched.

I thought about how Jesus knelt down and was writing in the dirt. I have always imagined he did that for two reasons. One he wanted to write whatever he was writing (we don't know what it was) and also because he wanted to be face to face and eye to eye. I imagine her head was down. I definitely could be wrong about that. Perhaps she was defiant and staring the men accusing her down. But knowing what I know about women's positions in the first century, I find that hard to believe.

I also wonder why she was committing adultery. Was she a woman in love with someone she shouldn't have been? Or just as likely was she a widow trying to find a way to support herself and possibly her family? 

What I can imagine is the woman holding her head down and perhaps thinking, "Just get this over with. I am standing here in front of all these people and I'm ready to just be gone." I wonder if she hung her head because she was thinking not only of this sin but also of every mistake she had ever made intentionally or not. I wonder if she was thinking about every moment of her life and how she had failed her friends, her family and her God? I wonder if she didn't want to look up because maybe she had children or friends or family in the vicinity. I wonder if she was trying to hide her shame, but also wanting to prevent those she loved from experiencing pain. 

Jesus challenges those standing around for the person without sin to throw the first stone. One by one they all go away. Today lying on the massage table I wondered if she wished they hadn't. Yes her life was spared, but what will her life look like now? Will those who walked away welcome her back into their community? Will her family accept her again despite her sins or will she now be truly alone?

Jesus forgives her. That is the point of the story; that and to point out there are none of us without sin. I imagine she did feel some relief (but we don't really know what she even knew about Jesus and who he was). Forgiveness from God without reconciliation with community sounds and feels pretty lonely to me.

There definitely could be people she hurt with her actions. And those actions have consequences, but I keep wondering, "What happened to her? What was her life like moving forward?" Was there ever any reconciliation? 

She has messed up in her life as we all have. Perhaps she did commit adultery and was caught in the act, but even if that wasn't it, I'm sure there was something else. Today I'm wondering. Did her life get better or were there some days she wished Jesus had just let them stone her?

I wonder if she began to walk straighter, looked people in the eye and lived a full life. Or, if she desperately needed a massage table because she couldn't and didn't forgive herself. 

But still

 Alone in the house

    it's quiet

Alone in the bathroom

     but still I close the door

The bathtub doesn't work

    but still I sit

water runs down on my head

    and down my cheeks

Joy and pain

    inextricably linked.

Unexpected Places, Unexpected Blessings

On Shrove Tuesday, Emmanuel Episcopal held its annual pancake supper. Every year the community of Covington looks forward to the all you can eat pancakes. I love mingling through the tables, greeting familiar faces, and meeting new people. This year I spent some time with the band Close to You—a Carpenters tribute band. Lisa, the lead singer, asked me if I would bring ashes to the concert the following evening as she wouldn’t be able to be at the service. She then turned to her bandmates and asked them if they would also like to receive the imposition of ashes following the concert. One said yes, one said no thank you, and one said, “I respectfully decline.”

Mr. “I respectfully decline” later took a picture of Chris and I on his phone. (Stay with me, this is actually part of the story.) I asked him to text it to me and he did. Wednesday morning, I started receiving texts from his number with pictures of food. A text followed explaining, “I meant to send these to my husband. Sorry!” I responded, “No problem. Happy Valentine’s to you and your husband.”

Wednesday evening, I brought the ashes to the theater intending to impose ashes following the performance. Instead, word got out I had them, and several people approached me as they waited in line for the doors to open. It was kind of like a pop-up ashes to go! Following the concert (which was very good I might add), I went downstairs to meet those in the band who had requested ashes. We chatted for a few minutes and then I imposed the ashes. As I was getting ready to leave, Mr. “I respectfully decline” approached me with tears streaming down his face and asked if he was too late to get ashes. As I was imposing the ashes his voice cracked as he said, “I have had nothing to do with the church in several decades. They were horrible to me when I came out. I didn’t think I would ever receive another sacramental touch. Thank you.” We embraced and I whispered in his ear, “You are a beloved child of God.” As we parted he gripped my hand again and said, “Bless you.”

Oh, I definitely was blessed Mr. “I respectfully decline.” Thank you.