I Wonder

In August when we took Sarah Katherine to UVA, Chris, SK, Daddy, Marguerite and I all attended the legacy brunch.  As we got our plates and made our way to a table I pointed out to SK people with whom I had gone to school.  Daddy has been involved with the University far more than I so there were many people he knew, some I had met before and some I hadn't.  As we were eating a woman approached the table.  She was dressed in what appeared to be a "fancy" track suit.  As she arrived at our table, Daddy stood up and hugged her.  Marguerite did the same.  I recognized her; I knew I should know her, and I began racking my brain trying to remember who she was.  It wasn't coming to me, so I decided to just be honest.  I stood up, "Hey, I'm Katherine.  I know I have met you before and should know you, but I can't remember your name."  She reached out to shake my hand and said, "It's nice to see you again.  I'm Teresa Sullivan."  (For those who don't know, that would be the president of the University of Virginia.)  I sat back down and as she walked away my family burst into laughter.  Defensively (and sheepishly) I said, "Well she isn't dressed like I would expect the president of the university to dress."

This past week as I was working on my sermon I kept thinking about how people didn't recognize who Jesus was.  They were expecting a warrior king a Savior who would rule from on high full of majesty and glory, and instead the Son of God came as a poor carpenter's son.  The Son of God came and ate with prostitutes, touched lepers, and stayed in the homes of tax collectors.  They didn't recognize who Jesus was partly because he wasn't what they expected.

It makes me wonder, what expectations do we have that prevent us from seeing God?  What expectations do we have of other people that keeps us from seeing the holy in front of us, that keeps us from seeing the holy in one another?

I wonder....

Family Traditions

Kate is now part of our family!

When we lived in Lynchburg VA, we often drove I 64 to and from Louisville.  The first time we made the trip, we drove past the state capital in Charleston WV and I told the children, "When Mommy was in college, she went to a formal in that building with the gold on top."  Caroline looked at me with wide eyes and amazement, "Mommy, were you a princess?"  Well obviously I wasn't (although I now tell the girls I'm fine with them being their Daddy's princesses because that makes me the queen), but in that moment with her adoring eyes looking at me, I felt like I must have been. And so every time we drive past the capital I repeat, "I went to a formal in that building with the gold on top."  I suppose I want to recapture that look-mainly I get eye rolls now.  But it's become a part of our family.  If Caroline isn't with me now, I either text or call her just to tell her again.  And now she responds with a "cool Katherine".  That has also become part of our tradition.  It has become so much a part of our family that as we drove by on Thursday SK, without me reminding her, slowed down and rolled down my window so I could take a picture.  On the way home I began fretting because Caroline had sent me an email that her phone was broken.  I really did tear up thinking I wouldn't be able to contact her and that a family tradition would be broken. (It might also have little to do with just leaving SK again).  I thought and thought and then light bulb on---I have her friend's number!

As I was thinking about this family tradition and how it started I began thinking about all our family traditions and how they started and what they mean...

In the spring of 2002, Chris was in his final year of business school.  The children were 1,3,4, and 6. We were okay, but finances were tight--we had to really manage our money well.  At that time you couldn't pay bills online, so I would write out checks and date the back of the envelope with the day to mail them.  I had a 3 shelf file on the wall where I kept the envelopes and moved them down as the date got closer to when each had to be mailed.  Mail one; lower the others.  I spent hours strategically planning which would get sent when; I had a system.  Most of the time it worked....

We went to the beach for spring break (it's great to have parents with a beach house so even as poor graduate students you get to vacation.)  We returned home late Saturday afternoon having learned that coming home the day before heading back to school was a bad idea--another system I managed well.  As we pulled up to the house we noticed a red tag on the door.  "What's that?" Chris asked. "I have no idea," I answered "I promise I haven't ordered anything else."  (Was I little defensive? Probably but he was also wise--I may be the only person in the history of the world who was invited to her UPS delivery man's wedding.)  We walked up to the door and saw that it was a tag telling us our water had been cut off because we hadn't paid the bill.  Chris looked at me quizzically but not critically (he usually trusts my systems--especially when they're color coded), "Did you pay the bill?" "I'm sure I did." I answered.  "That's odd," he said, "I would think they would send a second notice before just turning off the water."  I froze (not because it was cold) but I vividly remembered a second bill coming and me throwing it away because I was certain I had already mailed the first.  I said nothing but ran into the house and to my well organized filing system.  I dug down into the bottom of the bottom cubby--and there I found it--the crunched up bill with the check.  Just as I pulled it out the boys came running into the kitchen with SK all screaming at once.  SK, "One of the boys went potty and didn't put the seat down."  I looked over at them.  Boss, "We both did; we team pottied. But now Sarah Katherine won't flush the potty and she says we broke it."  I looked over at Chris, held up the crumpled bill and sent the children outside to play.  Chris and I put our creative heads together--obviously we weren't going to have water until at least Monday so we had to be creative. We had to come up with a plan.  We tossed around several ideas none of which was call a friend and go stay with them--these were during the days when I tried to pretend I had it all together and before I blabbed our lives to the world.  Surprisingly we were calm (perhaps that was the continued effect of having just spent a week at the beach), and we came up with what we considered the best plan ever--

We walked outside and said, "Everyone back in the car.  We're going on a mystery adventure."  They climbed back into their car seats (yes all four were in car seats) and we headed for Atlanta.  We found a hotel where Chris had points, breakfast was free and there was in indoor swimming pool.  (It had been too cold at the beach to swim much.)  We ate dinner at a restaurant where kids under 6 ate free (there are a few benefits to four in four and a half years) and then we returned to the hotel.  We had a great time swimming until late at night (maybe it was only 9 pm, but they never got to stay up past 7:30 so we considered it late); we then put the children to bed and sat in the hall of the hotel drinking wine and congratulating ourselves for being so creative.  The next day we visited the science center--made sure everyone stayed semi clean and then very late drove back to our waterless house.  At 7 am I was at the water department and by 9 we had water.  I don't know if we've ever told the children the truth about that trip, but the Doyle Mystery Adventure family tradition began.  They never knew when they might come or what we might do, but when Chris or I yelled, "Mystery Adventure Day" four excited children scrambled into the car ready for family time.  Mystery Adventures continued for years but finally for many reasons came to a stop--I miss them.

As I drove and thought about how Mystery Adventures started I laughed out loud.  (I think the truck drivers around Huntington WV thought I was insane.)  Who would have thought we could take something as frustrating, embarrassing, and tension filled as returning to a waterless house with four young children and turn it into a loving lasting family tradition?  And I thought about how God works through everything--the frustrating, the embarrassing, the tensions of life, through the good and the bad; pain and joy; weakness and strength.  I in no way believe that God makes things happen so that God can then do something, but I do believe that God can and does work through everything and everybody--we just have to pay attention and maybe be a little creative.

Holiness Found at a New Year's Day Gathering

An email came a couple of weeks before New Year's and this is how I remember reading it.  "Drop in at the Fulton's around 1:30.   Bring a nibble if you'd like.  Tom Fulton will be making his famous bloody marys." I knew the group that was gathering; it was a group that had been gathering for years. We were invited last year but couldn't go so I was so glad we were kept on the list.  (See that's the high school adolescent voice in my head that tells me people keep score.)  I was really looking forward to the gathering.

New Year's Day came and I got hung up with a phone call so we were about 45 minutes late leaving the house.  I reminded my neurotic "it's rude to be late" self that it said drop-in (Chris reminded me too because I don't always like to listen to myself--which actually may be a good thing.  Voices in my Head)  We drove through the park--if you're married to someone from Louisville you HAVE to drive through the park no matter where you're going.  This time it actually made sense as they live on the park, but I digress.  We arrived and walked up the street as Chris said, "Let's not stay for hours; I'd like to watch a little football and relax before we go to the other party."  (That can be read 'do not talk too much and look like the desperate person that is the last to leave'--yeah, that's the adolescent voice again!)

I walked in first, glanced in the living room and saw all WOMEN seated in chairs, on the sofa, and on the floor around a coffee table filled with fabulous nibbles.  Laura, the hostess, walked over to me and I whispered, "I didn't know Chris wasn't supposed to come.  I'll get him to go and get another ride home."  Laura looked at me and didn't whisper as she said, "Of course he's supposed to be here."  She led him over to the made by Tom and then fled from the house bloody marys (which indeed are as good as promised) and we joined the group. Most Chris knew either from church, one he'd known longer than he's known me, and former Collegiate moms and teachers.

The ladies made room for Chris on the couch and the conversation continued to flow.  We talked religion, politics, current events and even about sex, and it seemed perfectly normal.  There were no awkward silences, no pauses and changing of conversation because of the male in the room--the conversation, the laughter, the love just flowed--effortlessly.  We'd been there about an hour when Ruth said, "It's time to eat."  I also had missed the part that it was an actual meal and since we were there so late, I suspected Chris had already eaten, plus we'd both eaten plenty of the nibbles. I was completely full and I knew Chris probably was as well.  As we headed for the dining room to fix our plates Sally said to Chris, "It's perfect you're here so you can have your hummingbird cake you didn't get last night at our house."  Chris took the plate Sally handed him said, "I'm so glad I get some today" filled the plate with more food and we returned to the living room and more conversation. Around 4:15 I said, "We should go."  As we were driving home I texted Callie (who couldn't be there because she was sick) and said, "Didn't know it was just women.  Chris came."  She responded, "I'm sure all were delighted."  And you know I think they probably were--I also think if I'm not black balled after this major faux pas I won't bring him next year, but it's a story we'll tell for years. And the point of the story will be the incredible generous love and hospitality that we experienced.

I knew I would blog about this but I thought it would be on my other blog, you know the totally irreverent, only read if you are over a certain age, rated at lease PG13 if not beyond, Growing Up Doyle blog.  But I keep thinking about these incredible women and their gracious loving hospitality. Their total acceptance of Chris into the group and how they went out of their was to make sure we felt comfortable and welcome and as though we both belonged.  And while it is a funny story, and I suspect Chris will be teased by their husbands, the story isn't all funny--the story is sacred; it is holy. The holy found in the ordinary world of New Year's Day gatherings.

These women showed the unconditional love of Christ--the love we should all show every single person who walks into our homes and into our church buildings.  The gracious hospitality we should show every person who comes to our altar, and the generous love and hospitality we should take from our altar out into the world.  All are welcome; all are worthy; all are included; all belong.

As we walked back to our car Chris and I laughed and then he said, "But after the initial shock of being the only male there, it felt alright."  May all whom we meet; may all who come to the table leave feeling alright and with the knowledge they too belong.

A message of hope; Thank you +Porter Taylor

It's the New Year--time to make resolutions, promises--time to set goals, make plans.  It's a time of nostalgia for the previous year as well as a time of letting go of the pain and sorrow that may have happened.  It is a time of hope for many--hope in what the New Year holds in store.  For others it is a time of sorrow as they enter the New Year without people they love either taken by death or broken relationships.  It can be a time of hope for new adventures, new careers, new opportunities and a time of pain as people say good bye to places they've lived, jobs they've loved or friends they've made. Every year for me I'm somewhere in the middle and every year I try to understand both the previous year--what I learned, what I gained (both in joy and sorrow) and I also think about the future.  It usually leads me to some activity--one year I decided that once a month I was going to send a note to someone who had impacted my life and maybe didn't know it.  I wrote a previous coach, a professor, my fourth grade teacher among others.  It was a chance to focus on the positive in my life and to let people know.  I've thought about doing that again this year; I might who knows?

This year I'm haunted by the previous week some which has been public and some which hasn't. Truth? I'm obsessing--trying to make it matter; trying to bring resurrection and life--hope and love. That haunting and my previous New Year letter writing scheme have been swirling in my head like the fall leaves that never were  completely raked in our yard.  Swirling in a frenzy like a tornado and swirling in beauty like a ballet.  It's that both/and....and I remember...

Years ago when the children were very small (all under 5 years) and Chris was in his first year of business school, something was happening at the church we had called home for 4 1/2 years, the church where our children were baptized and the church where we made some of the best friends of our life.  (Still to this day)  I don't remember the particulars, truly I don't.  Perhaps I was too sleep deprived, too young, too naive, but really all I remember was their was conflict and people were leaving.  Over a period of a few months Chris and I realized that we were using any excuse on a Sunday morning to not go to church--we were avoiding, hiding, running away--you pick the verb, but we weren't going to church and that mattered to us.  We had vowed to rear our children in the faith and so we decided to try the other Episcopal church in town.

I remember that first Sunday so well.  We arrived just a few minutes before service and it seemed that everyone was looking at us.  (They probably were--we had four children dressed alike in smocked outfits under 5--not your typical "visitor")  We walked in and sat to the side by what I remember as sliding glass doors (I'm sure it wasn't) in a very contemporary style church.  Everyone was nice; they welcomed us, but when we got back in the car I cried.  (I did a lot of that back then--call it sleep derivation or hormones...)  It didn't "look" like a church.  It wasn't a traditional building; I missed my other church--but we kept going back.

I'm going to be really honest here.  I didn't want to love this new church; my heart still belonged in the other, but we were changed.  Porter Taylor, was the rector, and he gave the most amazing sermons.  He connected the sacred and the secular in ways that I understood. He inspired in me my desire to make the holy ordinary--to connect every day living with faith.  He challenged us, encouraged us and led amazing formation classes.  (One on Dante's Inferno--awesome!)  One Sunday after church as the children ran around Porter said, "We are so glad you're here; ya'll are adding so much to our congregation."  (I'm not sure what that was other than the spectacle of four children being corralled in service, but he seemed genuine.)   I don't know what came over me but I blurted out, "We're not transferring our letter."  (That is epsicospeak for moving our membership from one church to another.)  I think Chris turned bright red (we hadn't been married that long yet so he wasn't as used to my lack of filter), but Porter didn't flinch.  He touched my arm and said, "That is absolutely fine.  Just know you are welcome here for as long as you want to be here in whatever way that is."  In that moment, Porter became my priest.

Over the next year we cautiously became more involved.  Porter suggested EfM to me.  Chris and I talked about it; he wanted me to do it, but we didn't have the money.  I called Porter back and made up some excuse about timing; I know he saw right through me.  A few days later I received a call from the mentor of the group who said, "I know you said timing might not work but if you can work it out we'd love to have you.  Oh, and we have a scholarship we have to give to a first year so it's yours if you want it."  I took it and so began my love of EfM--14 years later I'm still involved.  I finally understand (or at least suspect) that scholarship was Porter's discretionary fund.  I wasn't ready to commit to this parish, and I made that clear, but they were ready to commit to me--unconditionally; expecting nothing in return.  A true witness to God's amazing unconditional love.

Chris finished graduate school and we moved to Pittsburgh (and to another parish we LOVE).  I heard Porter had moved on but didn't know where.  Several years ago I reconnected with Porter on facebook (I didn't think he'd remember me but he says he did--I choose to believe him.)  He was now a bishop and I was preparing for ordination.  He sent me a message telling me that one of his spiritual disciplines was to read Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation every year.  He suggested I might want to try it; see if it was helpful to me.  Being the rule follower I am, (I know he didn't mean for it to be a rule, but when you respect someone the way I do Porter you turn their suggestions into rules...or at least neurotic people do.)  I have done this for the past 3 years.  As an aside this year it was early December and I hadn't finished so I bought it on audible and told Porter that I was going to make the babies listen to it on our road trip.  He suggested I let them listen to a novel and just try to read one chapter a day by myself--they are grateful.)

I guess I have connected the two--the pain of last week and remembering those who have made a difference in my life.  Porter Taylor showed me then what unconditional love in a church can and does look like.  That church can both bring hurt but it can also be a place of healing, reconciliation, and total love--a place of acceptance, a place where all are welcome in whatever way they can be.  A place where need is met and hope is given.  The church isn't a building--traditional or contemporary--it is the people; the people who seek to live lives of mercy, grace, and love.

Today I give thanks for Porter Taylor and his ministry, for the witness he has shown me, for what I have learned from him--being a priest and being a person.  And today I move forward in hope that love will win in the church and in the world.

PS--He gave me another list of books to read this year if anyone's interested--

A Painful Post

Last Saturday and Sunday this article was sent to me via text, email, facebook messages and posted on my wall. I Will be Your Mother   Most people that sent it said nothing--just sent it.  I kept receiving it but because I was in the midst of my role as mother of a basketball playing son, I had not had a chance to read it.  I had no idea what it was about.  Then in the gym I received a text from one of my very best friends with the words, "You are my mother."  I love this man so incredibly much that I knew I had to read the article.  So on the way home from the tournament I opened it and read it.

I read it through a lens.  I read it through the lens of an assistant who had just resigned and was leaving a congregation and people I love dearly.  That lens told me, "you too can continue relationships with those you love, with those who you have learned from, with those whom you have traveled spiritual and social roads."  And so I read it with hope, and I read it with my focus on the beauty of mutual ministry, mutual affection, mutual relationship between clergy and lay--something I hold very dear.  And if I'm honest because of my friend's text "you are my mother" I read it with a little bit of pride.  (Okay a lot of pride...)  And so I re posted it on my facebook wall with this status:

This article has been sent to me almost a dozen times over the last 48 hours via text, email, and facebook. Most people don't tell me why they are sending it to me but I feel like I have to say something about it. This is the congregation I have served and loved for almost 3 years and will leave in January. I know many of the people in the story and know of others. I know the story although not the particulars.
What I do know all too well is the hurt that can happen in churches--often unintentionally but it still hurts. My hope is that I can be a "mother" for others through their joys and pain. Rhonda's coffee cup sits on my desk....

I did begin to hear rumblings that not all were happy about the article, but no one said anything to me specifically.  And again to be honest, I had a conversation with a fellow staff member who also saw the beauty in the article (and has been a parishioner for many many years) so I was able to silence in my head the other--until....

I got home from work yesterday and there was a response to my post from a dear parishioner and a dear friend.  In fact one of those parishioners whom I thought of when I read the article.  A person from whom I had learned a great deal, loved a great deal and I believe loves me back.  His response was very articulate and very passionate and very counter to mine. So I re read the article through the lens he identified.  The lens of someone who had been there during this time and had loved Ned unconditionally.  The lens of someone who now felt betrayed.  I read the article that way and I saw exactly why he was hurt.  And I picked up the phone...

My Bishop told me after ordination, "There will be times you anger or hurt people.  Times you will disappoint people and that is going to be hard for you.  You like to please people all the time and you won't be able to.  Sometimes you won't even be able to defend yourself.  Learn to live with that discomfort."  (Did I mention I have a very wise Bishop who knows me well?)  I suspect this wasn't the first time someone has been upset with me, but it's the first time it hurt so deeply and it was the first time I felt so terrible about  my role in his hurt.  I was so grateful that this was not one of those times I couldn't speak up, and so I called him.  My hands shook, my voice probably cracked (for the record I didn't cry until after talking to him) and we talked.  We shared our lenses and I hope I honored his because I really do understand it.  More importantly I pray our relationship hasn't been fractured beyond repair but that is for time to tell.  And possibly one of the most important things I learned is that we all have lenses through which we view the world and through which we hear and read things, and because of that misunderstandings and pain, deep anguished pain, often unintentionally result.  I have written before about the power of words Sticks and Stones and The Power of Words (and probably some others) but this time I was knocked flat.

Even after our phone conversation I couldn't let it go; I was desperate to understand to be able to fix this for everyone and so I began re reading the article from every lens I could imagine.  I reread it from the lens of the priest in the parish (keeping in mind we don't actually know what really happened in that office).  I remembered the spring of 2009 when I was interning at St. Mark's, my parents were going through a divorce, I was in my first semester of seminary and both our boys were in and out of the hospital with severe asthma.  In and out of the hospital via ambulance, PICU--serious stuff.  I wouldn't leave them except to go to class because I was and am still haunted by the time I left Caroline and she wound up well-- that's another story and irrational but it's why I wouldn't leave.  I would sit on the floor in the hall outside of their rooms until very late at night and very early in the morning reading and writing papers so I didn't get behind.  I was exhausted but I refused to let anything go.  One day when neither was in the hospital I was sitting in my office at St Marks when Charles came in and knelt down beside me.  "Sometimes," he said with tears in his eyes, "Not often but sometimes as priests we have to take a more firm role--almost a parental role.  And this is one of those times.  I think you need to talk to the Bishop and to Isaac and withdraw from CPE this summer. (CPE is an intense three months of hospital chaplaincy and I had just learned I was accepted to my first choice.)  You are emotionally and physically exhausted and you need to just be with your family.  Go to the beach for the whole summer and just be."  Oh I was furious!!!  What right did he have to tell me what I should do?  I was in control; I was succeeding--I had good grades and I wasn't letting my family down. Laundry and ironing were done, meals were on the table, I made sure the children got to every activity they had, and I was at every ballet performance, basketball game.  I was FINE; my family was FINE!  (Oh that pride thing again)  Charles left the office and I know I called people and let them know how rude he was, how angry I was, how I wasn't going to let him tell me what to do.  I probably found people who agreed with me, told me it was none of his business--I can't remember that; I was too tired.

Just three weeks later I was sitting in our apartment (did I mention we also discovered the boys were allergic to our house so we had to move within 48 hours? And we moved into seminary housing 900 square feet for a family of six.), Chris was out of town, and the school called.  William had again stopped breathing and was on his way to Kosair.  I jumped in the car and I can tell you exactly where I was, what I was wearing and what song was on the radio when I called Charles sobbing and said, "Please get me out of CPE.  Please, please I can't take anymore."  He's never told me how he "got me out of it" but he did.  He didn't make it my responsibility.  He took care of me; I was deferred for a year.  I arrived at the hospital and shortly thereafter Charles walked in.  He took me in his arms and let me cry.  He never said, "I told you so."  He never spoke of it again; he was and is my priest and my friend.

I suppose that lens I read through was both the lens of the priest as well as the lens of someone who it seems that like Ned was angered and hurt by the church.  (Again I don't know what really happened just what I've read.)  But through that lens I also saw the compassion and love the priest in the article was showing to Ned.  And I saw how hard that conversation must have been for both.  And I know that Charles and I are still in relationship so even though difficult conversations sometimes have to happen, I know, I have seen, there is power in love and in honest loving mutual relationships.

I go back to my original post and I believe it is even more clear.  People hurt one another; they deeply wound one another sometimes in ways that in this world may not be able to be reconciled.  No one is free of the ability to hurt--to unintentionally hurt.  We can hurt others even when we believe we are acting in love, even when we believe we are showing God's love, even when there is nothing within us that would ever want to hurt others.  And I think hurt that comes through the church is the most painful hurt out there.  I know I have been hurt and I know I have hurt others.  It pains me deeply--I haven't found the ability to live with the discomfort. I'm not sure I ever will.  

I don't know what other fallout there may be from this article.  I don't know who else has been hurt or who else has been uplifted by the article  But I believe in God's powerful redeeming and reconciling love.  And I believe ultimately love wins.

Voices in My Head

Got up this morning around 4:30, started some laundry, made the coffee and then thought to myself, "Now what chores can I get done before everyone gets up?  I know I'll polish all the silver."  And then I froze.  A little voice inside my head said, "Build a fire and just be.  Read, journal, pray.  Be still."  I so don't like that little voice.  I don't want to be still; when I'm still I think; when I think I feel; when I feel I cry; and I don't want ANY of that!  But I know the voice is right.  Sometimes we need to just sit.  (Caroline if you're reading this that doesn't mean sit in front of netflix for three days straight watching episode after episode of Grey's Anatomy.)  So I sat down, read the daily office, journaled, thought, prayed and cried.  I KNEW THAT WOULD HAPPEN!!!

I'm going to try to be coherent, but one thing I have learned is that when you sit and think the things that get connected don't always make sense.  Stick with me if you can.

The first thing I read was Psalm 46 "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear (yeah, right), though the earth be moved..." and I stopped and created my own thoughs--though I'm leaving a job I love, though I don't know what next year (which is coming tomorrow) holds for me, though I don't know how we're going to pay four tuitions, though I don't know who I am.  I really hated that last one.  Why the heck don't I know who I am; where did that thought come from!?!?!?!  I know who I am--I've been in therapy for crying out loud so I can know who I am.  I decided to ignore that thought because I didn't like it; I didn't believe it, and I convinced myself I could forget it and move on--maybe I hadn't had enough coffee.

Next I read Corinthians II 5:16-6:2--"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new."  I like that I thought.  Tomorrow is a New Year and all things can become new.  It will be a New Year filled with new possibilities.  I am leaving a job I love but I know God will be with me in the New Year with whatever God has in store for me. This is going to be great--so why did I keep reading?  "All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them..."  That's fine, I thought, I can begin the New Year living fully reconciled--really what do I have to reconcile?  I'm fine; life is good--and then the tears started falling and that stupid voice in my head said, "You are so angry; you are so angry and so sad; just admit it.  You are angry and sad because you don't know who you are or because you have forgotten who you are, because you have allowed others to tell you what you should be, how you should be.  Own it."  Now I didn't just not like that little voice, I HATED that voice.  I really should have polished silver....

I sat, I journaled and I owned it.  I have been trying, really trying but I have not been able to let go of roles and expectations.  I have allowed others voices (some who didn't even mean to) to invade my head and tell me how I am supposed to be as a mother, as a wife, as a priest.  (I've already made a list of all the things I'm going to do in the house after the 18th so I can be the perfect wife keeping the perfect house, so I can feel worthy--that's another post, back to this one.) As much as I've tried to have my own voice, be my own person, those voices often drown me out and that is why I'm angry; that is why I need to accept that I am not fully reconciled; that is why I need to own my fear--wait what?  Fear of what?  Two things came--the fear of losing myself to the other voices and the fear of becoming one of those voices in someone else's head.

As I sat there a conversation with William from the previous night popped into my head (I told you this was all over the place.)  We were talking about the basketball team and different players.  "You know E?" William asked.  "He is the nicest senior out there.  He plays with heart and he cares about everyone.  When I'm a senior I want people to think of me like they do of him.  I want to be E.  And please don't tell his mother.  I'll be embarrassed"  (I need a priest out there to give me absolution because I did indeed text his mother; we need to hear positive things about our children; sorry William.)  I responded, "Really?  He seems so quiet."  "Mama," William continued, "You don't have to talk much to be a leader."  I kept repeating that conversation in my mind and thought, "I need to tell William he doesn't need to be E; he needs to be himself.  Learn from his leadership but then find your own way of being."  (I'm really good at telling other people what to do.)  Then E taught me--I returned to the he's quiet; and the "you don't have to talk much to be a leader."  E isn't trying to make people become him--E isn't trying to build himself up by having a bunch of little E's running around. E is leading in a way that allows others to become what they can be.  He may not even realize it, but his leadership is really mentoring.  Webster defines mentor as, "a trusted counselor or guide." Mentoring is not trying to replicate yourself, but sometimes because you are a good mentor people want to replicate you.  E is a mentor and because of that William respects E, wants to be E, not because E expects it but because he doesn't.

My mind jumped back to 2010--jump with me--I was interning at St. Mark's.  The Rev. Charles Hawkins and The Rev. Anne Vouga were the priests.  They are two of the smartest, most well read, articulate people I have ever met.  (And I am blessed beyond measure they are both my mentors and my friends.)  One day during our supervision time I said, "Charles I don't know if I want to preach here anymore."  Charles sat there silently--he has this annoying habit of NOT talking (kind of like E in case you don't get the connection).  I sat and squirmed a bit and then blurted out, "I can't preach like you and Anne.  Ya'll are so much smarter than I am.  You use examples from medieval literature and art--examples I've never heard of.  I use examples from football games."  He kept sitting there looking at me.  Finally he spoke, "And that Katherine is why you will continue to preach.  They don't need to hear my voice every Sunday.  They need to hear you and you need to claim your voice."

So I still sit here knowing I have tons of work to do but giving thanks for all those who have mentored me but today especially for Charles and E.  Ya'll's voices can stay in my head--

Details Don't Define Us

Sixteen years ago today our second son and third child was born.

And so I know that today, like every year we will retell the story of his birth. He was born six weeks early--a scheduled c-section.   I had been in and out of the hospital with kidney stones for the last three months--I will say again, "It wasn't so bad."
 Chris, who was running our own business and caring for a just turned 3  and 17 month old with no family in town, will say, "What do you know?  You were on morphine!"  (Can I get an 'Amen'- Lucy, Gillian, and Leslie?)  We will tell the story of how William was the only one we found out the gender of before and that SK prayed every Sunday during children's chapel that "that boy baby would turn into a girl"  because she already had a brother and needed a sister.  (She tricked me by asking me if God could do anything; I answered yes to which she said, "Then God can turn that baby into a girl." and so began her prayer crusade.) Later she would get a sister--for now Boss got a brother and a best friend.

 Just before Christmas (actually on our anniversary...) I had an amniocentesis and the doctor's said his lungs were ready.  They gave us the choice of December 28 or January 3.  Chris asked the question, "Are you sure it's safe?"  With an affirmative answer my fiscally conservative husband (he is such a balance to me) said, "We'll take the 28th.  I can write him off on this year's taxes and make it to the Peach Bowl."

We tell the story and it becomes part of our family.  The details say something about our family--we try (Chris tries) to be fiscally responsible, we believe strongly in the power of prayer and in living faith,  the siblings are close (most of the time) and we're neurotic sports fans.  Our family is not alone--people everywhere tell and retell birth stories--they become part of family stories sometimes for generations, and they begin to describe family life and family values.  The birth story we heard on Christmas Eve had a lot of details--the poor couple living in an occupied world,  the dirty stable, the shepherds, the fear--these details tell us something about God, about who God is--God came in the flesh amidst the brokenness, the dirtiness, the messiness of the world.  God came in the flesh and joined with the poor, the oppressed--God came in humility. But there are other details--the angels and the glory of heaven--these details also tell us about God.  They tell us about God's majesty, God's power, God's love.  These details which seem to contradict one another--I believe, actually describe the reality of the world and in fact the reality of the Christmas season for many people.  There is the joy, the wonder, the amazement, and for some of us, there is also the sorrow, the emptiness, the loneliness, and the brokenness.  We celebrate God's amazing love while at the same time gathering around a table where chairs are empty that should be full.  We are filled with love for those who surround us while we also long for the loving arms of people no longer here.

 The details matter.  The details, all the details, describe the reality of the world, the story of us, the people of God.  Our Gospel today, John's Gospel, leaves out the details.  Just as the details in the other Gospels tell us something about who God is and how God loves the world, I believe the lack of details in John's Gospel also tell us something.  In John's Gospel there is one line of the birth narrative, "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us."  The word became flesh and dwelt among us--us, the people who live in constant contradiction, in brokenness and in joy.  God came in the flesh and lived the life that we live--a life that is filled with love and with fear, with good times and with times of deep sorrow.  I think maybe John left out the other details because he was ready to move us forward, past just the day  and into what it means that God came in the flesh.  To move us forward into what it means to live Christmas all year long.  It's not that the details don't matter, it's just that there are other things that matter more--

What John tells us is that God came in the flesh so that we might become beloved children of God filled with the power of God through which we can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.  God came in the flesh so that we could be defined in the only way that matters--as beloved children of God.  The details describe--they describe parts of us but contrary to what the world wants us to believe, they don't define us.  It is all too easy to let the details define us--the divorcee, the alcoholic, the successful business person AND if we are honest with ourselves, it is all too easy for us to let the details of others define them.  Our Gospel today reminds us that our definition is we are beloved children of God period.

I've told ya'll before the story of my discernment in England and how I was told that every time I saw a particular person who drove me batty I had to say to myself, "God loves _________ as much as God loves me."  And I've told you how it was hard and every once in awhile I wanted to say, but maybe me just a little more because ____________ is....  I wanted to let descriptions qualify the given--we are both equally beloved children of God.  I've told ya'll that was hard but that over time it got easier and while it didn't make me want to be best friends, it changed me and it changed how I viewed___________.  Today as I was thinking about this sermon I thought, "you know that was hard, but sometimes what is even more difficult is believing it about ourselves.  Sometimes it is harder for us, harder for me, to believe that the only thing that defines us is that we are beloved children of God. and not the details of our lives.  We think about the mistakes we have made in life, the words we have spoken and wish we hadn't, the broken relationships, and we have a hard time accepting, truly accepting, that those are parts of our life but not who we are.  Because God came in the flesh they can't, they don't define us.

I have a challenge for each of us.  For the next month when you get up and look in the mirror, first thing, I want you to say to yourself, "I am a beloved child of God and through God's power working within me I can change the world."  I believe, I really believe that if each of us does that then at the end of January, we

will each be changed, this congregation will be changed, Louisville will be changed, and the world will be changed.  The power of God working within each of us, beloved children of God, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.  Amen