My Shopping Mask

I've been shopping a lot this summer--reframe that A LOT!  Oh I

haven't been going to the mall or even to my favorite boutiques--but thanks to online shopping and daily emails advertising "best sales ever," I've done my fair share of getting money back into the economy.

Now to be clear, I haven't just been shopping for myself.  I've bought each of the girls quite a few new things as well--one time I bought the boys some shirts (guess I'll be paying for therapy for them...).  When I first started my summer splurge, I convinced myself it was to reward myself and the girls for being back into exercise.  We needed new clothes to fit our new bodies I contended--that worked for awhile.

As I descended deeper and deeper into my shopping (and into my wallet) I justified it by saying, "I haven't been able to spend as much time with them this summer, and while I know buying them

things doesn't make up for it, at least I feel better."  It did make me feel good; it made me happy to see them smile; it stroked my soul to hear them say "thank you." (They are appreciative enablers....) And then the one package that arrived for Chris gave me "permission" to make another purchase--I mean he bought something, couldn't I?  (These junior high kids I am currently camp chaplain to have NOTHING on me when it comes to rationalization.)

And then....then some stupid, meddling, healthy, annoying person gave me this packet of "behaviors" for co-addicts or some other irritating title.  Basically a list of "unhealthy" (yeah what do they know) behaviors that people who are living with or have lived with an addict can find themselves falling into when their lives seem out of control.  Yep, even us co-dependent, enabling, self righteous al anon types can relapse--who would have known?  And we have all these aggravating support people who point it out to us.  (Why do all these therapists and al-anon people have to have so much literature!!!!)

I started reading the list and checking off those things that I was currently doing.  My face started burning and my hands started shaking.  Our of three pages of "activities" I was dabbling in all but 4 or 5.  (I don't know how many there really are because I hightailed to my therapist with list in hand, and guess what we're going to be talking about for the next FOREVER sessions?!?!?!)  One of the things was overspending--I tried to argue with myself, "I've always like clothes."  That's true, but why this summer?  Why right now?  Why to this excess?

This week I have been privileged to again serve as junior high camp chaplain.  We have been talking about hiding behind masks.  We made masks out of plaster gauze (thank you Cindy Sullivan for the idea) and on the inside wrote all the things we were hiding about ourselves. (No one else saw them) On the outside others wrote the qualities they see in us. Some were shocked at what others saw. I stood before these young men and women telling them God loves them no exceptions.  God loves them with their brokenness, their vulnerabilities, their weaknesses and God sees in them goodness and love just like their fellow campers see in them.  And I do believe it to my very core but....

As I was running I began to think about my shopping(seriously, why do I run?!?!?!), and it occurred to me, new clothes, new accessories--these were my masks.  I'd see a picture of a happy, healthy, fashionable person wearing an outfit, and I'd want to be her.  I wanted to look carefree and problem free, insecurity free, vulnerable free (I also like to make up phrases).  I wanted to look like because I wanted to feel like I had it all together, like my life was one big happy perfect world where I was in total control.  That's what I really wanted....

Last night these incredibly courageous youth took off their masks.  They
walked into the labyrinth masks in hand and when they reached the center they left them there.  They took all of themselves--the hidden broken parts and the parts that others saw and they didn't necessarily recognize, and they gave them all to God.  They left them with God where God will bind up their brokenness and wounds and make their whole being holy and good.  And then they walked out with tears streaming down their faces; they huddled on the ground their arms around one another, comforting one another, loving one another, recognizing each others unspoken vulnerabilities and insecurities, but mostly seeing in each other what God sees--holy people created in God's image worthy of love and acceptance despite or maybe because of those hidden parts of ourselves.

This morning I am still shaken by the bravery I saw last night.  I am humbled by the example these young people have been and continue to be for me.  I thought I want to take off my mask, but how?  I can't return all these clothes--some of them have been worn and besides they were mostly bought on final clearance (I'm a thrifty shopping addict).

But I can write this--

What masks do you need to take off?

I Am Mary Full of Shame

I've been accused of being too out there--too transparent, too unfiltered.  I suppose (I know) it's true, and I know it makes some people very uncomfortable.  I'll be honest, sometimes it makes me uncomfortable, and yet when I try to silence my voice, when I try to fit in, my stomach hurts, my mind races and I can't sleep.  So here I go again....

I preached this week; I wasn't supposed to, but late last week I was asked to fill in for a colleague.  (darn her) I opened the bible to read the gospel--"why did I agree to preach?",I thought.  (Mark 3:20-35) The gospel story was about Mary (and Jesus' siblings) trying to get to Jesus, her son, because she was afraid for him, afraid of what was happening to him, afraid of losing him--it hit too close to home.

Each week preachers come to the text and we try to be objective; we try to hear what God is saying to us through the text and what God wants us to proclaim.  We've been trained by seminaries to leave our own "stuff" out of it.  I so wish it were that easy.  Actually I've been reading David Lose's book Preaching at the Crossroads, and he says, "To put it another way, we preachers do not come to Scripture without a set of questions influenced by our own context and experience.  And we should not, as our questions are what bring us to the text in the first place." (Lose, David (2013) Preaching at the Crossroads. Minneapolis, MN, Fortress Press. p. 41) Perhaps we need to honor that--to own that--to be transparent about that.

As I read the gospel, my heart raced, my palms were sweaty.  I could feel Mary's panic, and I could feel her shame.  In the first century, family was everything--family was the social organizing unity, the family was how you were identified, how you were known--to leave family was to bring shame on the family--to be "out there," to be different was to bring shame on the family.  Life isn't really much different today.  (read at all)

I understood all too well trying to protect a child who others may not understand.  I understood all too well how it felt to not understand my own child.  I understood what it felt like to be kept from my child either physically or emotionally and the panic that takes over as you realize you are completely out of control--I understood what it felt like to be the mother of a child and to be powerless. And, I understood the shame that washes over a mother's body because a child's behavior doesn't fit the norm and the guilt that comes because of the feelings of shame.

I needed to preach the Good News; I needed to leave my "stuff" behind, and yet I couldn't.  I believe we all come to the gospel, to church, to community with our own shame, our own hidden hurts, our own secrets.  I believe there are so many people who show up each week in our church buildings putting on a good face, dressing up our outer selves while we dress down our inner selves, and I wonder why?

But I know why--it's because we're afraid; it's because we live in our own honor/shame culture; it's because we know people even and possibly mostly church leaders are judgmental.  It's because culture has taught us to admit weakness, vulnerability, brokenness is the worst thing we can do.  To admit our world is not perfect, that we are not in complete control is to admit that we are not enough. But we are enough--we are more than enough even with and possibly even more because of all the stuff we bring.

I love Karoline Lewis a professor at Luther Seminary.  I think she's amazing and most of the time I agree with everything she says; but, (you heard a but coming didn't you?) this week I vehemently disagree.  She writes, "I think this is one of the most difficult challenges of parish life for a pastor, for a preacher. You have a lot of family discord to negotiate -- your own, of course, which you can’t let anyone see or know about and which itself creates a loneliness unmatched by other professions." (Quoted here)  That is a lonely place to be, but I don't believe we have to be there--we have to navigate discretion, but not deny. It's a balancing act--a continual challenge.

This week alone I have been privileged to hear about colleagues challenges in their own personal lives--both lay and ordained--and I have heard them say (as I have) that we can't let people know, that we have to keep it secret because we know there are some (we can even name them) who will judge us, who will use our pain, our struggles against us.  I wonder, what would happen if we didn't?  What would happen if we admitted we were struggling--not necessarily spewing all our details, but what if we admitted there were things going on in our own lives that brought us challenges, that brought us to our knees, that brought us to a community where we wanted nothing more than unconditional love and acceptance?

I think what the gospel taught me this week is that I do carry shame and fear, and I am not alone. Mothers have lived with these feelings for centuries; people have lived with these truths for centuries. With all its brokenness, its humanness, I also believe the church in community (and sometimes within the actual walls) can be the place where we find unconditional love, grace, mercy, and acceptance.  I believe we can learn to leave our shame and fear at the door and enter into a community that opens wide its arms and loves us just as we are.  But I believe we all--clergy and laity--have to take that first step and shed our masks--I wonder if we can?

Disclaimer--This isn't the post I wanted to write-the one I'd constructed in my head.  That was all about Mary, but this is what came out.  

Changing the Religious Landscape without Changing Hats

Last week I began thinking about this post--I was writing it in my

head--"My Crazy Multiple Personality Weekend."  I was going to write about how it was a good thing I was good at color coding because I was going to need to carry color coded cards that Chris could flash at me so I would know who I was--starting Thursday I was back and forth between corporate wife, Mama to four (make that 5--foreign exchange student is still here), priest, friend and all in a rotating schedule that was hard to remember.

I was going to write about how over the course of 4 days, I was corporate wife at Pimlico (closing bigdeals, dancing in high heels--wait that's a song, but I was closing deals right Liz?), rushed home to be prom mama (read prom paparazzi), preached and celebrated Sunday morning, quick nap, priest colleague at Celebration of New Ministry (not vesting because....) rush to lax banquet, and then collapse at home counting down the hours until I could be in my therapist office where she would reintegrate my personalities and make me just me.  Yep, I was going to write all that and then for a bonus last night happened and I got to have a flinging fit which put insane woman as part of my personality this weekend (that will probably show up in a blog later), so I was going to write all that and post it on my fun blog Growing Up Doyle.  But....

The weekend didn't go exactly as smoothly changing roles.  Instead I found myself  texting a colleague who was sitting at his mother's bedside as she slowly passed away at the same time I was taking pictures of my husband presenting a trophy; I was transferring money for the teens, answering texts about curfews while placing bets; I was communicating with the girlfriend's mother about the night before while vesting for service; and I was celebrating with my friend Bill and the rest of the clergy of the Diocese of Kentucky as I ran to the lacrosse banquet--the roles didn't change, they overlapped.  Additionally the pew forum research on America's Changing Religious Landscape was released, I listened to the Diane Rehm show, Bishop Chilton Knudsen posted in Breaking the Glass Ceiling, I went running--there was my major mistake--I went running which always leads to thinking, and then The Rev. Tim Mitchell preached a sermon on collaborative ministry, in fact the whole celebration of new ministry celebrated, raised up collaborative ministry--lay and ordained---(stay with me, by the end I think I can pull it all together)

I started thinking about comments I heard or facebook posts clergy were making about why the nominals are becoming nones--basically the people "on the fence", the ones some colleagues would say aren't totally committed anyway, now considered themselves Nones--no religious affiliation.  I was thinking that we the clergy can spin this research anyway we want.  We can say, "we'd rather they just admit they really don't believe anyway." We can deny there is a decrease in attendance (in my nuclear family less than 50% attend on a weekly basis--there I've admitted it my teens don't go to church every week and I'm a priest--one even says he doesn't know what he believes anymore and he argues with me about infant baptism--the world didn't just end when I told the truth); we can inflate the average Sunday attendance numbers, blame transition; we can do a lot of things, but what I think we need to do is take responsibility.  I think we need to listen; I think we need to think about what kept these nominals from falling off the fence onto the side that embraces faith.  I think we need to think about what our role is in the declining numbers and maybe even (read definitely) make some changes.  (Disclaimer: these are my thoughts--I welcome dialogue, but if you're going to personally attack me, please do it before 11 am--that's when I'll be in my therapist office...)

It's not a bug on my collar--it's monogrammed

One of the points the guests on the Diane Rehm show pointed out was  people today don't see the church as the place of authority anymore--they think independently--they don't need to go to the church for all the answers.  They don't want to be TOLD what to believe, how to behave, they want to think. I started thinking how true that is not only in the church but across the spectrum of our lives. Gone are the days when people just accept exactly what a doctor tells them.  Patients bring in their questions, they challenge, they do research--the doctor remains the trained expert, but there is conversation--the patient is not seen as a body to be "fixed" with no input, but rather as a body who knows his/her own body, who has a mind, who has something to contribute. The medical field has had to change or their practices decline--hmmm sounds familiar.  (So most people ask questions, I still don't, but that's because I'm a doctor's daughter and I know I'm going to sign that paper which says the doctor can talk to my Daddy and he'll do the questioning.  One day I'll take over--maybe.)

I think as clergy we have to re-think how we see ourselves--how we view our authority.  We can no longer present ourselves as the paternal, has all the answers, saver of souls, hierarchical expert. Because guess what?  We're not--it's all been a farce anyway and people know it.  We are the trained experts in homiletics, exegesis, Hebrew and Greek (along with many other subjects) and we've had experiences as we've lived out our ministry that is helpful to the conversation, but those who enter our churches (and by the way why do they have to come to us--I think that's a new post to be written), they bring with themselves life experience, expertise in their fields--even and perhaps those most open are our children and youth. If we want people to be open, honest, and vulnerable in our faith communities, don't we have to be too? I believe people want a place where they can bring their questions, their fears, their doubts and we can journey together--and they don't want labels and all or nothing dogma and doctrine.

More and more people are identifying in the political world as independent instead of democrat or republican.  As I was running I was thinking that seems to be indicative of people not wanting a boxed political ideology.  People want to think about individuals issues and not have to "buy into" the whole party line because it's complicated.  I think we have to think about that--if we as the clergy say to belong to this church you have to believe and accept and then give them a list of musts, well, seriously it's no wonder they're leaving.  Let's talk about what we say in the creeds, in the Baptismal covenant, in the Gospels.  Let's hear how people are experiencing these truths in their lives, and perhaps most importantly, let's stop pretending we have all the answers.

Which brings me to Bishop Knudsen (it's coming together, just be a little more patient). she wrote, "the church is losing credibility as a place to bring questions" and that "all of us need to venture into deeper levels of vulnerability and truthfulness."  She wrote in her post on Breaking the Episcopal Glass Ceiling that she feels she is beginning a new ministry that she has been preparing for her entire life.   She has been open about her alcoholism and recovery and both of those have been part of her preparation for this new ministry.  As a person who has been criticized for being too transparent, has been told she shouldn't let people know about parenting mistakes, about any mistakes, who shouldn't be so out there, I give special thanks for Bishop Knudsen and her openness, and I vow to try to have her strength, courage and vulnerability.  Bishop Knudsen brings all of herself into her ministry, I'd like to have the strength, the bravery to do the same--

That's how this post all comes together.  I can't put hats on and off (although I had a gorgeous hat

thanks to Penny--even looked good with jeans and a sweatshirt).  I can't change roles as though they don't overlap, shedding one for the other, because they do.  All of these roles come together as I step into the pulpit and behind the altar on Sunday mornings.  I am a corporate wife who worries I might say something wrong and ruin my husband's career (clearly a dramatic corporate wife) and who also enjoys the people with whom he works.  They are my good friends.  I am also the mother of teens who worries about grades. drinking, and drinking and driving every night but particularly on prom night, because I know it can and does happen, and I am a mother who is grateful she has an open relationship with other parents (even though it may creep Boss out that I text the girlfriend's mother--I really like her--they may break up one day but I've found a friend).  I am a priest that wants to celebrate the new ministry of a colleague, is grateful for shared ministry, who pastors colleagues even long distance and through texts, and who wants to be at every game, banquet, play, and everything else for her children. I am a neurotic person (again that post will come later) who sees a therapist, who has a loving understanding husband, who is the daughter of an alcoholic, and is a person recovering from an eating disorder. All of these things inform my ministry; all of these things are part of my ministry; all of these things are preparation for current and future ministry. All of these things are me..

I believe we can change the religious landscape of America but we have to change first--we have to live into our vulnerability, our fears--we have to stop hiding who we are for fear of losing our authority, and we have to share our questions, doubts, pain and celebration in ministry equally and collaboratively among the priesthood of all believers.  Instead of worrying about which side of the fence the nominals will fall, perhaps we should just tear down the fence.

Let Me Serve You

I am so tired and I really don't want to write, but as I've said before, when the urge to write comes it's like an uncontrollable bladder, (and after 4 children you know I have one), plus it's the 2 posts in one day sacrilege my children warn me about--but this is important, at least to me--

I had no part in the Maundy Thursday service tonight other than being a congregant.  How easily we forget how important that role, that place is.  How easily we forget as we are preparing perfect liturgies that what matters really matters is whether our liturgies, perfect or not, reach the people we are serving.  Tonight's liturgy reached me; it reached out its long arms and embraced me, brought me in and then held me at arm's length and unearthed a vulnerability I have had buried for many years.

Mother Betty gave a warm, challenging, provoking sermon.  Two lines, however, are sticking to me like flies to honey on a mason jar in July.  The first, "Jesus paid close attention to the voices of those whose voices were muffled." I love that and will probably use it--giving credit of course.  But that's not the line that has me sitting up in bed late  (I'm old 10 pm is late!) writing.  She also said, "Jesus came to serve--to serve us all." And she may or may not have said, "Why won't you let him serve you?  Why are you trying so hard to keep him at arms length in the name of holiness?"  Okay, she didn't say exactly that, but it's what I heard.

I'm a total control freak and I love ministry.  You would think those two things might work well together, but right now they absolutely do not.  I want to know today what the plan is for me tomorrow and so I work and work to figure it out.  I look for signs; I grasp at any and everything set before me turning it over and over and inspecting it for all it's perfections and imperfections.  I keep crying out during my sleepless pain filled nights, "I don't understand--God I just want to serve you."

Tonight I heard through Mother Betty's voice--"Katherine, I want to serve you.  Will you let me serve you?"  And like Peter I shook my head and said, "No, no, no.  You are my Lord, I am here to serve you."  I sat in the pews and kept hearing Jesus' voice, "I want to serve you and until you allow me to serve you, serve you, not just comfort you, not just help you through a crisis but totally serve you, you will not be able to serve anyone else."

Most Maundy Thursday sermons I have heard and/or given focus on how we are to learn to serve as Christ served.  There is no mistaken that is clearly what Jesus has called us to do--it's what he told his disciples to do. (John 13:17)  But first he served them; first he cared for them; first he forced them to expose themselves and their vulnerabilities and he gently cared for them as he washed their feet and loved them.

I leave tomorrow and won't hear Mother Betty's continued sermon through this Triduum--I wish I could, but I do know tonight I heard Jesus and somehow, someway I need to respond.


PS--Best part of tonight after the service--learning Mother Betty knows two of the people I love best in the world and they know me and still love me!  I LOVE THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH!!  (Candyce, I felt your love through Betty--it's been a long 24 hours...)

I'll Always Be the Little Sister, But...

I left for Charlotte determined not to be vulnerable--determined not to expose myself--determined not to share.  Seriously I have no idea why (therapist anyone?).  My sister and I have always been close--best friends in fact, but for whatever reason my defenses were up--perhaps that should read my insecurities were up.

I suppose I could psychoanalyze myself (as though I don't do that enough already)  I have been feeling vulnerable, insecure, and frankly somewhat (totally) like a failure.  While we have always been close, I have also always felt a bit inadequate.  There I've said it--admitting it is the first step right?

I suppose some of it comes from childhood.  I know it wasn't intentional, but it was always made clear that Meredith was the petite one (read the one whose body and therefore her worth just a tad bit better).  I guess that translated in my adolescent and then never quite grown up mind into she was "better" overall.  And I've spent years trying to measure up.  (I think my therapist may get to retire on me...)

The thing is she is amazing.  I know that, and I'm incredibly proud of her.  She's a dedicated athlete,

an amazing school counselor, an advocate for her children, a supporter of her husband, a true friend, a beautiful hostess, a great cook--anyone else feeling inadequate now?  Because of my past few months I felt, well inadequate--not enough,  and I didn't want her to see that--let's be honest, I don't want to see much less feel that, so up went the walls of protection--the barriers of my soul.

Monday afternoon and night was going so well.  We were having fun.  I was laughing, relaxing--turning into the cared for little sister.  The next morning she told me she was going to take off around 11 for sister time.  My heart was so full of love but my mind was screaming, "NO!!  You might have to tell her something." I even told her she didn't have to--she did anyway.

She came home; we went to lunch with my brother-in-law (who by the way is hysterical which also isn't good because I could feel myself relaxing and I didn't need to relax--had to keep my game on) but all seemed to be going fine.  While getting ready for a walk; I checked my email--big mistake.  I had an email about which I will not share, but an email that shook me to my core.  I debated telling her I was sick and couldn't go.  Nope that wouldn't work, so I promised myself I wouldn't say a word about it.  I would hold it together.

We started walking with Colonel (maybe that was the problem we had God's gift with us (Colonel--A Gift from God), but she kept asking about me!!  "Shut up," I was screaming in my mind, "Just tell me about you.  Let's talk about you.  I don't want to talk about me!!!"  I kept darting and trying to change the subject and she kept asking--she was like a dog with a bone....Suddenly before I could stop myself I spewed the whole email story and all the other parts of my life that feel so out of control. And she just listened..then she asked questions, she tried to understand.

We walked five miles sharing our lives--I tried to explain mine and what the future might hold for me.  (Hard to do when I don't really know...) She asked questions, offered her perspective and it was a good walk.  And I didn't cry-BONUS!!!  (See not crying proves I'm not vulnerable....how many appointments do I need?!?!?)

Home and hanging on the porch.  Chris called--and I began sobbing.  See it's all HIS fault!!!  I quickly left the porch and hid in my room with the sink running so she wouldn't hear me.  We talked, he tried to calm me down--I hated it for him.  I knew he felt powerless.  When I returned to the porch she HAD TO ASK, "You okay?"  I tried to pretend I was and then the walls like Jericho came tumbling down..."I'm wondering if I should revoke my vows.  I don't know if I'm worthy to be a priest, if I should be a priest."  There it was my deepest fear and my feelings of complete brokenness. I plopped myself on the couch completely fatigued and defeated and ready for her shock. "Well," she said as she casually walked by as though I had just told her I had a hangnail, "I don't think that's your choice.  Seems to me God called you.  We all know God called you, so I guess that's not an option." No drama, no shock just validation.  Validation as my sister and I believe in that moment validation from God. And with those words I knew, while I might feel less than that is not how she sees me. Beyond that I knew God didn't see me that way.

I'll always be the little sister, and honestly who am I kidding--I'll still have feelings of inadequacy; I'll still feel like I have to measure up, but I'm working on it.  Everything didn't heal immediately, the email is still haunting me; I am still terrified about the future; I still have doubts about my faith; I will still worry I'm not a good enough mother, a good enough wife, a good enough friend, but for that moment--actually for two days in Charlotte I felt more than enough.  Meredith believes I am enough and through her I was reminded that so God does too.

Sometimes walls are important but we all need places where there are no walls, where we can let ourselves be totally vulnerable, totally exposed, and totally loved--I found that one of my places is in Charlotte--where's yours?

*added disclaimer--I read a blog this morning from a dear friend who said play-by-play blogposts are usually boring.  My narcissistic side immediately went to, "She's talking about me." and then I panicked as I was writing this...I did it anyway--play-by-play.  I consider it a form of therapy--free therapy!