Life is Not a Competition; Faith is Not a Competition

I woke up Tuesday morning and did not want to get out of bed. Nothing particular had happened—just felt like a gerbil in a habitrail—same ole thing day after day—or at least that’s how I felt that day. But the dogs were barking, so I got up, let them out, and laid down on the sofa in the den. Some time passed,

and wouldn’t you know it? Those darn dogs wanted to come back in (read above), so I let them back in and moved to the sofa in the living room.

 

So slight confession here—when Chris got up I pretended I was asleep so he would make the coffee. That seems to be the extent of our change in routine—who makes the coffee.

 

I started to get up and thought to myself, “I don’t want to get out of my pj’s today. I just want to lounge around doing what I want.” But then I remembered…

 

August 1^st I joined a Facebook group One for One Hundred. Actually, I joined the group in 2016, and that year I completed it, but I recommitted on August 1^st. Basically, you commit to walking or running at least one mile every day for 100 days straight no exceptions and I had done it—even the day I had an infection. I really didn’t want to do it on Tuesday AND I really didn’t want to be a failure AND I’m a little competitive with myself and others. Not a good combination.

 

I got up and moved to the basement (where there is not another sofa to lie down on). I looked over at the ironing and realized I could iron and be on the zoom calls I had scheduled for that day (truth y’all, ask the Bible study group). Two and half hours later after ironing 37 napkins, 9 pillowcases, 7 sheets, and 4 shirts, I was finished.

 

I was finished ironing and I was finished beating myself up because I didn’t want to and ultimately wasn’t going to complete my mile that day.

 

Here’s where I am—at least for today. Accountability groups are good, lifesaving even (think AA, NA, etc), they are meant to build up and support. Being a part of this accountability group was not doing that for me—it did once, but now instead of being encouraging and supportive, it made me grumpy, self-loathing, and competitive in an unhealthy way. It was standing in the way of me listening to the still small voice (what I consider the Holy Spirit) inside of me saying, “It’s okay. Take this day to do what you need to fill your soul.”

 

While ironing I thought about the upcoming readings for this Sunday. Romans 12:3-4says, “For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all members have the same function.” Faith is not a competition. Life is not a competition. How we live our lives of faith is not a competition. We do not have a measuring stick or measuring cup that proves one person is “more Christian, more Christ-like, more holy, more worthy.”

 

Yes, we are to hold one another accountable, but that does not include making judgments. There is a difference. We each have a calling, a function God is calling us to. For some people it might be marching in protests, for others, it might be stocking food pantries, for others, it might be spending hours in prayer, for others, it might be extending hospitality to all, for others, it might be participating in studies, and the list goes on. There is no particular way that makes someone a “real” Christian.

 

Tuesday the meanie little voice in my head (I call her Darlin’ Devil) was telling me if I didn’t do that mile I wasn’t a “real” runner, a “real” competitor, a “real” athlete. It’s a good group, with good people, and there was a time it was a positive in my life, but not now, and that’s okay.

 

Let’s commit to not being the Darlin’ Devils voice in each other’s head. Let’s support where we are each called because we are all real people created in the image of God and loved unconditionally, no exceptions.

The Power of Voice

During a youth retreat when I was in 8th grade I became very emotional. No, I wasn’t having a mountaintop experience—that’s why I became emotional—because I wasn’t and everyone else seemed to be. I thought there was something wrong with me; being totally honest, I was sure there was something wrong with me. 

Things were really complicated. I went to church ALL. THE. TIME. Daddy was and is Roman Catholic; Mother was United Methodist; we were required to go to both churches every Sunday, Sunday School, CCD, youth group, and I went to Catholic school. So why wasn’t I feeling anything? Why wasn’t I experiencing anything? Why didn’t I feel close to God? What was wrong with me?

My minister approached me, put her arm around me, and asked what was wrong. I told her I didn’t feel close to God and I wasn’t sure why. I told her I didn’t know if I was living a Christian life. She told me to read Romans, confess my sins, and I would find the answers.

So I did.

I read it and nothing happened. So I re-read it, and then I read it in another translation. Still nothing. I was missing something. It didn’t give me a set of rules; I didn’t feel closer to God; but it impacted the way I viewed the BIble and faith well into my adult years.

I believed there was an answer—one specific way to understand the Bible and only one way to think about faithful living. Why did I believe that? Because a minister told me—clearly she would know—she was an authority. She also never asked me another question; she never again mentioned our conversation, and I never brought it up either. I was left feeling like I was on the outside of the group. I wasn’t good enough, holy enough, smart enough—I wasn’t enough.

I wonder how that experience would have changed me if my minister had said let’s read Romans together and talk about it. (Okay, still not really sure about the whole read Romans thing.) I wonder how it would have been different if she had asked me what I thought faithful living looked like. I wonder what would have happened if she said, “Let’s talk about this as a group.” But she didn’t, the conversation was closed, and I felt forgotten and alone.

I have never forgotten that day, her words, and my feelings. It shaped me, and it is a large part of the reason I believe so strongly in the ministry of all people. It is a large part of the reason I don’t believe a collar around my neck and The Reverend before my name means I have all the answers. And it also reminds me that the collar around my neck and The Reverend before my name has power, whether I want it to or not, to bring others closer into relationship with God or to push them away. That experience has helped to shape my voice and instilled within me a deep desire to never silence anyone else’s.

I have a strong and deep faith. I try to live my life from the core of that faith—specifically, I believe God loves everyone no exceptions. I believe God commands us to do the same. And I believe that means standing up for and standing with those on the margins—the poor, the oppressed, the hungry, the homeless—anyone who is on the outside. I believe injustice must be called out AND I believe the words we use are important. And I also believe it doesn’t help to silence other’s voices. 

I was called to ordination. I was called to preach the Gospel—to bring good news, “to declare God’s forgiveness to penitent sinners, to pronounce God’s blessing.” (BCP, p. 531) I was not called to separate people from knowing God’s love, to turn people away from faith, to leave others feeling less than.

Perhaps there are times my voice, my words, are not as strong as others believe it should be. I understand that, but it’s my voice. And others’ have their voices. I do believe whether the power of one’s voice comes from a title or familiarity or fame, it comes with responsibility. The power of voice can lift up or tear down; it can open conversation or shut the door, and it can bring healing or hurt.

I believe every voice deserves to be heard.

Three (negative) Beliefs, Three Authors, and the Trinity

Two things are embarrassingly true about the way I think--wait,

make that three---there could be more, but we're going to talk about three. First, I still have moments when I can't believe people actually saw my call to the priesthood and that I am actually ordained. I rarely feel worthy. Second, I judge/rank holiness. And third, I can be cynical about how God speaks through people to us.

Saturday night the three came to a full blown head-on collision right smack dab in my face!

First, what? I'm really a priest? Who saw that coming? I am so far from the textbook ideal of a priest I'm not even in the library. (Which brings up a whole other conversation about who gets to define the ideal priest...) I'm loud. I am sometimes sarcastic and sometimes have questionable language (language is my star word for the year so hopefully that will improve). I refuse to wear all black. I wear either outrageous over the top high heeled shoes or go barefoot. It is a close call to figure out whether I'd rather talk sports or theology--I prefer to mix the two. I'm often slightly irreverant. I laugh at inappropriate jokes like a middle school boy. I have a very small filter. (You should definitely now be worried about what I actually do filter since you were probably already thinking I have no filter.) And the list goes on.....

Second, I judge/rank holiness or at least my holiness, and I can assuredly say according to how I judge, I am not even on the measuring stick. When I think about holiness I think about quiet people, reverent people, people who can quote scripture in any and all circumstances. I think about people who bring a quiet, peaceful, calm to a room. I imagine people who talk in soft, silky. soothing voices (not porn star silky voices, get your mind out of the gutter). And I am none of those things (not even the porn star)--see above.

And third, I can be cynical about how people hear God speaking to them and through others. It's not that I don't hear and experience God. I do. It's actually how I felt God's call--finding the holy in the ordinary. But those times when I hear people say, "God wants me to tell you this." I'll admit it, I've been known to scoff. Years ago I was in a non denominational bible study for young mothers (think infants and toddlers). The room was always packed. Every week at the end the leader would say, "I hear God telling me there is someone in the room who needs special prayer because she is overwhelmed. Make yourself known and we will lay our hands on you and pray." Every week someone raised her hand and said, "Me." I wanted to be like others who teared up at how God was letting the leader know this about someone, but all I could think was, "No shit, (remember the language thing) we're all overwhelmed because we have all these freaking little kids and we have no idea what we're doing! It doesn't take God or even a semi genius to figure that out!!!!"

This past Saturday, three women decided to destroy my trinity--not the Trinitarian one--the one bouncing around in my mind.

First, I read Sarah Bessey's Miracles and Other Reasonable Things, and she wrote "...a word of knowledge--was a "supernatural revelation of information pertaining to a person of an event, given for a specific purpose, usually having to do with an immediate need." It's one part prophetic, one part discernment, all Spirit-led." She wrote about how it can and is misused and sometimes in very hurtful ways, but she also wrote about several times she and her family had personally experienced it. I've got to admit I was still skeptical, but I, on Saturday morning, decided to at least open my mind to the possibility it could be real. I very much respect Sarah Bessey and believe her.  (And I secretly--I guess not so secretly anymore hope to meet her one day and have a chat.)

Second, this whole holiness thing. In her book Bessey referred to another book, Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Brokenhearted World by Osheta Moore. I circled the book thinking maybe I'd read it at some point. It sounded intriguing, but it also sounded like something I couldn't do. I do know shalom means peace--and remember what my definition of peace is--calm and quiet. The way Bessey described Moore's book made me begin to wonder if there was a different way to think about shalom.

Here's where that whole not much of a filter thing comes in....

We were driving home from Virginia after watching Caroline's game (where I did keep keep from saying any four letter words I can proudly report). I was reading another book by Bessey, but then it started getting dark and my wonderful, only he drives husband also has this thing about me using flashlights or turning on the car light to read in the dark. But I wanted to keep reading. What I had been reading was making me feel alive and inspired and energized. So I did what any neurotic, can't wait until tomorrow and certainly don't want to just sit in the car person does--I bought Moore's book on kindle and downloaded it to my phone! Yes, I admit it--only because it was dark.

You know what?!?!?! Bessey was RIGHT! (I told you she writes truth). Moore did write, "Shalom is what happens when the love of God meets our most tender places." which made me a little nervous because I think of tender kind of like that whole peace thing--quiet and calm. But she writes MORE!!! She writes about how shalom is "the breadth, depth, climate and smell of the kingdom of God." and I know in God's kingdom we are all beloved even those of us who are loud and obnoxious. She also writes about shalom/peace as being fierce and active and alive. I was starting to really get into this book, but then I was interrupted by my need to check social media. (Did I mention I am also easily distracted as well as a social media over posting groupie?)

I jumped over to twitter and one of my favorites was tweeting up a storm! Apparently while I was driving home in the pouring rain reading theology like a mad woman, Laurie Brock was watching a 70's movie about Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. (Going to just admit this right now, it does my heart good to know that a woman I consider exceptionally holy and an amazing writer and priest watches the kind of thing I would....) AND SHE COMPARED THEM TO CLERGY!!! No
seriously, she did!!!!

Suddenly it was like these three amazing women were speaking straight to me--giving me a word of knowledge. (Maybe now is the time to also admit I am secretly over the top jealous of them because I want to be a published author and so sometimes I don't want to like their books--but I always do.) But back to this moment....

I truly believed and believe God was at work on me right there crossing the state line from West Virginia to Kentucky in the pouring rain. I heard, "God needs and wants and loves and desires priests just like you." Y'all I cannot even explain how light and giddy I suddenly felt. It's not that people haven't said that to me, but I didn't feel it deep down into the bottom of my heart.

Monday morning as I was running, I was still feeling that joy. I kept going over and over what had happened in my mind, and I was brand new falling in love giddy. I also know (because I'm also middle aged) that those giddy feelings don't remain constant, and that sneaky self doubt creature finds ways to wheedle himself into life, so I knew I needed something to remind me. I knew just what to do. I slowed down and texted my exceptionally talented niece and told her I needed a picture asap of a clergy woman wearing white majorette boots and holding pompoms! She's really used to me being crazy...but then TWO MORE THINGS HAPPENED!!

When I opened my phone to text her the last text she had sent me told me I had inspired her! And

then she said okay to my request. Mutual inspiration--it was a dadgum love fest happening right there in the middle of the road.

Twenty four hours later, I have the picture. I put it up in my office at the Dioceses and I'll put it up in my office at St. Thomas. I taped it to my computer, and I'll put a copy in my prayer book and another in my bible. I'll probably even stick one in my wallet. They'll remind me not only that God needs me as I am, but everyone else.
They'll remind me to love myself, accept myself, and then I can more fully love others--I can more fully live into shalom--the loud kind of course!

You know what's really cool? It happened because three authors challenged three of my deepest darkest doubts--you get it three? Like the Trinity--like community and unity. The community of authors spoke to me!!! The community of authors shared a word of knowledge with me!!! Yep, God is speaking....

Now y'all go read these books; the ones I listed and EVERYTHING by these authors!!! They're not just for or even mainly for clergy. They're for EVERYONE!!!  (yes, I'm screaming--in my giddy newly in love way)

Osheta Moore, Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Brokenhearted World (Harrisonburg, VA: Herald Press, 2017), 31.
Sarah Bessey, Miracles and Other Reasonable Things (New York: Simon & Schuster, Inc., 2019), 98.

Dogs and Redemptive Love

I just wanted to walk down the beach and slap the pier--well, that's not really true. I wanted to run down the beach and slap the pier. But since I'm 4 1/2 months post total knee replacement, I had almost resigned myself with that not happening.

Eleven weeks ago we came to the beach during my recovery. I had just been told I could stop using my cane, but I had also been told to be very careful--to not walk much on the beach as it is unstable--so basically I was told walk down to the beach and then just sit. It was not an easy week. So this week was very important to me. It was going to be a redemptive week.

Off the dogs and I went at a fast pace. We got to the pier, and I slapped the fire out of it. I slapped it as a sign of victory and accomplishment, and I slapped it out of frustration and pain. And it felt good.

We turned and began the 2.27 miles back. (Told you I've done this many many times) Bobby was not keeping up. I'd turn around slightly and encourage him, but he was falling further and further behind. I was getting more and more frustrated. I wanted to keep my pace fast and consistent. He was totally ruining it. I decided I would just keep walking and when I got to the path back to the house I'd wait on him.

I got to the path, turned around, and I could see Bobby NOWHERE! I began to panic--how was I going to go back in the house and tell Caroline I had lost her dog. I suddenly knew well the panic Chris felt when he lost William at the Pirates game--possibly a slight exaggeration.

I started walking back to the beach frantically wishing my hysteria away. A half a mile back I found him. My relief was instantaneous and then I was completely irritated. Now not only does he bark at everyone as though he owns the beach, but he also can't keep up. He was ruining everything. My plan had been to walk to the pier EVERY day. Clearly this was not going to be possible for Bobby, and the dogs and I have a routine. There was no way I was going to be able to bring Winnie down and not Bobby. I mean I could, but then Bobby would bark non-stop and wake Caroline. My fear of that far surpassed my fear of losing him.

I'll admit it--I began to pout. And I continued to pout all morning and well into the afternoon. I complained to The Babies non-stop. They kept saying I could just try to leave him on the porch; I wouldn't hear or consider it; there's a possibility I was enjoying the pout.

Then I had a brilliant idea. I would send him home with William on Thursday and board him for the weekend. The week could possibly be saved. It was the perfect plan and it was made even more perfect when the vet just happened to call for another reason and just happened to have a cancellation that very day! Surely this was God at work!!

That evening I walked with the dogs down to the beach again. (My feathers weren't ruffled anymore and I had a plan...plus it is not tradition to walk to the pier in the evening.) As I was heading back to the house I turned around to check on the dogs. Winnie was waiting patiently for Bobby and suddenly I felt lower than a snake's belly in a rut.

I thought about June....

The dogs wanted to run. The dogs wanted the routine we have had for years. The dogs were confused. The dogs stayed with me. The dogs adapted. The dogs loved unconditionally.
And I forgot.

I forgot or maybe I just didn't care. It was about me--both in June and now. In June I needed love, care and comfort; the dogs provided it. This week I needed/wanted to prove myself (to whom I have no idea--I guess myself--darn I hate when I realize how selfish I am); Bobby was in my way. I was perfectly willing to cast him aside and to justify it by faith.

Bobby stayed. We made one more much slower walk to the pier and back. Bobby barked at everyone we saw. And it was okay.

I was reminded of community--of caring for one another. I was reminded that justifying selfish acts with faith is just, well it's just plain wrong. And yet it's so easy to do. I was reminded that in relationships we give and we take; we adjust so we can remain in relationship.

I was reminded of and received the power of redemptive love.

The Truth of the T-Shirts

It popped up on my facebook page, and I laughed out loud recognizing how true it was in our family. My sister didn't need rules--she was so good, but she was pretty bossy.  (and y'all wonder why I have issues...) I definitely gave my parents reasons to make rules (and no I will not share examples), and Dritte--not telling you those stories either!

I suspect my children could fit into these t-shirts too--need one more though.  I was thinking about this yesterday on my run and remembering conversations with, in particular, Sarah Katherine.  One of the things Chris and I have done for better or worse is to admit to our children when we mess up.  I used to say to Sarah Katherine, "You didn't come out with a manual.  I'm doing the best I can." or "You're our practice run; we'll get better as we go along."  Sarcastic?  Funny? But yesterday I realized how very true....

I started thinking about how strict we were about dress.  Only certain things could be worn to church; school dress collared shirts only for the boys and hats NEVER to be worn backwards. (We gave into the collared shirts when I went on a fifth grade field trip with Boss and he was the ONLY one in a collared shirt.)  Change started even earlier--SK went to preschool everyday in a smocked dress,
matching bow, monogramed panties (with matching color to the dress of course) and saddle oxfords; I'll never forget the morning Karin Truitte and I watched our youngest enter preschool in mixed matched clothes (Caroline did have on a smocked dress with a bow barely hanging on her head and not matching) and rain boots--it wasn't raining.  We looked at each other and laughingly said, "There are probably people judging us, but hey they dressed themselves." and we headed off to tennis. (She was on her fifth, I on my fourth--we'd had lots of practice!) As for church dress, now we're thrilled they're in church--sometimes in jeans with shirts untucked (not hats

Backwards cap/sibling love

though); Boss left for school today in athletic shorts, a jersey, and a backwards hat--and the world is not ending.

I did make him take the hat off at the table

A couple of weeks ago we let Boss take my car and drive with four friends to Florida (they were chaperoned when they got there).  SK said, "Are you kidding me?  You would have never let me do that."  She's probably right.  She's also right when she says she was never allowed to miss church and now sometimes the others do. That change has come in just the past year--we have moved from insisting they go to church with their questions and their choice of clothes to them not always going. (Why I Insist My Children Go to Church on Their Terms)--and the world is not ending.

I kept running and I kept thinking.  There is so much truth in those t-shirts although a different truth than the successful attempt at humor.  The truth is rearing children is a life long practice run.  We do the best we can with the information we have at the time.  Over time we sometimes realize we made things important that weren't and we need to make some things more important.  Sometimes by the time the youngest hits the teen years, some of the rules are cast aside.  It's not necessarily as is commonly said because we're just older and tired (although that is true to), but I think the real reason is we've been practicing and we recognize the game plan may need to change.  I think what we've also learned is sometimes the rules aren't nearly as important as other things.  We learn to choose relationship over rules.

Isn't a life of faith like that?  As we live we are constantly practicing.  Practicing living into the people God calls us to be; practicing being in relationship with all of God's creation, practicing tolerance, inclusion, forgiveness, redemption, and grace.  Practicing and changing; recognizing there are things we have to let go of--things we used to think were so important, and there are things we need to cling onto.  Wendall Berry writes in "Practicing Resurrection" (Full text: Practicing Resurrection)

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

I Am a Modern Day Doubting Thomas

It had been a wonderful Easter weekend; I woke up to a bright sunny Easter Monday; sat down and opened my computer to read the readings for the upcoming Sunday.  I started, as I always do, with the Gospel.  Dear G--why do I have to have routine. Doubting Thomas!  Seriously?!?!?  I may have screamed it aloud, "I DO NOT WANT TO PREACH ON DOUBTING THOMAS!"  I'm not exaggerating when I say my body began to shake.

Why in the world did I agree to preach on Easter 2?  That was the stupidest thing I've ever done.  I have to leave the beach a day early just to preach on Doubting Thomas?  I must have had a momentary complete lapse of judgment when I agreed to that; now how to get out of it?

Dangnabit!  I can't get out of it.  Now I remembered.  The reason I agreed was because it was for my dear friend and colleague.  Why did I have to like him so much?  Why did I want to help him?  Then a lightbulb went on.  I'll use one of the other readings--okay it was a dim lightbulb--who doesn't preach on the Gospel this Sunday?  The lightbulb brightened; I can use my sermon from last year--

same text (John 20:19-31) different church. And if I remembered correctly, it was fairly well received.  Problem solved--now to head out for a run.

I began my run not yet turning on the book I was listening to and heard a voice in my head--the more reasonable voice in my head--"You cannot preach the same sermon.  Different community, different context, different time.  If you preach that same sermon you are in essence (see it was a different voice, who in the world says, 'in essence' to themselves?) saying that nothing has changed since last year.  You have not changed; the world has not changed; there has been no transformation.  If you preach that sermon you are saying that one Easter--one Holy Week--one journey into death and resurrection is all we have, and in essence (stupid words again) the powers of the world have won--will always win."

I began to cry.  I seem to be doing that a lot lately.  I began to cry because I realized that this Lent for the first time in my entire life I did journey into that deep dark place of pain and death--into doubt.  I cried because for the first time  in my life I did question the existence of God.  How in the world could I, a priest--a woman ordained in the Episcopal Church,  proclaim the Gospel when I in fact was Doubting Thomas in the flesh?

People were beginning to stare at me so I turned on my book hoping that would make me forget.  I was listening to Marcus Borg's and John Crossan's book, The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus' Final Days in Jerusalem. (Harper One; January 2007)  Whatever anyone thinks about these two men as theologians, scholars, liberals or conservatives, I highly recommend this book.  (At least I do now...)

First sentence, seriously very first sentence I heard was, "Growing up the only thing worse than being called a Doubting Thomas was being called Judas."  That did NOT help stop the tears.  But I was crossing the road so I couldn't look down and turn off the book without being hit by a car--the next sentence was something to the effect of, "Just because Thomas doubted doesn't mean he didn't have faith.  But Jesus wanted Thomas to believe and in the Gospel of John believing is about relationship. Jesus wanted to be in relationship with Thomas." And, I thought, Thomas desperately wanted to be in relationship with Jesus.

Perhaps, and possibly worth exploring, I have also been Judas; however, what mattered to me in that moment is that I felt the deep deep pain of Thomas.  I suppose he felt left out and alone.  He hadn't been there with the others--the others believed, had a relationship, and Thomas desperately wanted to believe--to still be in relationship.  I realized that was exactly what happened to me; I was feeling left out and alone--abandoned.  And it struck me hard--what Thomas needed to believe--to be in relationship, to feel relationship--was to touch the wounds of Jesus.  Last year I preached, "Jesus
meets us where we are and in the way we need to be met." I remembered; I had been met where I needed to be met--in and through my wonderful community of teachers and friends--God had not abandoned me; I experienced God through these people. Through them God's existence was again clear--okay not crystal clear but becoming more clear and definitely real and good.  Through my friends I re-believed that God was working to end my pain and was still clearly working in the world to end pain.  My friends and many others are participating with God.

I have to admit, I wasn't entirely convinced I could preach this sermon.  Words of my preaching professors floated in and out of my mind--"do not make the sermon about you.  Make certain your sermon is about proclaiming the Gospel and not a self help talk."  This was going to be a struggle.  I am still hurting; how do I hide that so that I don't make it about me?

I'm not sure....what I did realize on that run was that God was and is transforming the world.  God was and is transforming both personal lives and communities--even when we as individuals, me as an individual don't see it.   As the book says, "Jesus passion was the Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of God is about compassion."  The book continues by saying if we are to follow "the way" we are to enter into personal and political transformation--dying to egoism defined as centering in the anxious and fearful self; its concerns and desires and further compassion and love is central to the life of Jesus and justice is the social form of compassion.

God invites us to participate in the continuing transformation of the world, and I have seen that this year.  I have seen people, communities become passionate about God's passion.  I have seen people and communities come together to love and to strive for justice--people whose only common bond is belief in equality.  As Bishop White says, "God loves everyone no exceptions."  I have seen people living out this truth.

Borg and Crossan write (I'm remembering this and tried to write it down as I was listening so this is not directly quoting) that love is the soul of justice and justice is the flesh--the body of love.  Good Friday is about how powerful the forces of the world are but Easter affirms the Jesus is Lord--the power of the world is not.

I've procrastinated working on this sermon although it's been in floating in the recesses of my mind all week.  I have never been able to totally get away from it.  Yesterday I was touring the College of Charleston with William (a whole other blog--seriously I have a third child getting ready for college?) and as we were standing in front of the library we saw and heard a group of protestors--all

ages, all races, approaching, "Show me what democracy looks like?  This is what democracy looks like." they shouted over and over.  I heard, "Show me what the Kingdom of God looks like?  This is what the Kingdom looks like."  (yes, it's true I teared up).

I know I have to preach on this--from the depths of my soul, from my personal pain and from the hope I have seen in the world.  I have 10 hours in the car today to think about it--I have no idea what the sermon will be but I believe what Borg and Crossan say, "Easter mean's God's great clean up of the world has begun."

My Ego, My Faith, and My Blog

I had a conversation with another female priest yesterday.  (I'm adding the "female" part in because there will be a blog about that some day soon...)  Anyway, we were talking about how we live and believe so many of the same things,  but there are also differences in how we live our ministries.  So I started thinking about mine....

Part of my ministry I firmly believe is writing, but it goes back even further than this blog; it's more than just about writing.  The call I heard back in August 1997 was "I want you to be an ordinary priest living an ordinary life and telling people about it.  I want you to share how to find the Holy in the ordinary."  I wrote about it a bit in a sermon given the day following my Ordination: Answering God's Call; It's Not a Choice.  I still believe that is my call, and I firmly believe that a part of that call is admitting where I struggle, exposing myself--my vulnerabilities, my doubts and my fears.  I also unequivocally know God is in my writing--directing my writing even--that's why when I  have something to write I get tunnel vision until it's done.  But....

God is in my writing, directing my writing, and yet I'm not a puppet on a string.  I have choices about how I write, how much I say, how much I share, and sometimes, perhaps more than sometimes I allow my own ego, my own need to be recognized, to be affirmed, to be "popular" to cloud the voice and direction of God.

Part of my writing is about my struggle with faith and life; part of that struggle is, I think, a struggle we all have which is, "Are the lives we're living and the faiths we profess congruent?"  The other day I was slapped in the face like a red headed step child (thank you Thomas Tomlinson that I've never been able to forget that phrase even though it is completely and totally politically incorrect--yet, I'm still saying it--high school days invade my ministry, now there's a blog waiting to happen...), with a situation where I sincerely doubted mine was, and I wrote about it. (Homosexuality: Haunted and Hopeful)

That blog had lots of response, lots of reaction both for me and others.  Last night my very bright, compassionate, faith filled daughter and I had a conversation not just about that blog but about faith and life.  We talked about how sometimes living our faith, professing our faith makes other people uncomfortable.  I know the way I live mine so out there and unedited can definitely make people uncomfortable.  And I recognize that my living that way impacts my family--sometimes not in a positive way.  She shared with me that someone told her that because of how active she is in standing up and declaring that racism in the world is wrong, she may be labeled and criticized.  She told me, "it scares the hell out of me how strongly I believe in some things and how important I’ve come to realize some things are to me, especially this year."  (Moving into oversharing proud Mama mode--can I tell you how proud I am of her not just for what she's doing but for recognizing these things about herself at such a young age?  I can promise you--and my high school and college friends can attest to it, that I did not.  But SK and her friends do...I wrote about it twice-- I Go to UVA--So What? and Who Cares if You're in a Sorority?)  I didn't tell her this (because I didn't think about it until right now), but that someone who talked to her is so right.

We are white privileged women and the "causes" we choose to defend, to talk about, sometimes make other privileged people--our friends even--uncomfortable.  People, even really really good people, don't like to be uncomfortable--privileged people, myself included, even less so.  There is an internal battle to keep life stabilized--even keeled--to not rock the boat.  I do believe, however,  that sometimes we need to be uncomfortable because it is in our discomfort and in our struggle where we grow.  We need to challenge each other, to stir up the pools of questions and discomfort, and I think my writing sometimes does that. Yet there is a balance....

She said something else that I found powerful and profound, “I was very stuck between what I think is morally and theologically important and not wanting to make my friend uncomfortable.”  What I realized throughout my sleepless night as I turned the many conversations I've had these past few days over and over in my mind looking at the many different edges and angles, is one does not ALWAYS trump the other.

If it were just easier to get unstuck...

*Two disclaimers:  First, I have permission from said amazing daughter to use her quote. And second, as I read my writing, it is very clear to me why I have a son with ADD.  Thank you for jumping with my mind... And third (so I lied about two) I am so grateful I have life long friends who still influence me and remind me of who I was and who I am--for better or worse.