Q & A

I read a very interesting line in a very interesting book yesterday: "Schools present learning backwards, emphasizing answers instead of questions." Huh. The book goes on, "answers are dead ends, even when they are correct. Questions open the galaxies." Uh.....wow. The book I'm quoting is The Teenage Liberation Handbook by Grace Llewellyn. I have a lot to say about her and the book and why I'm reading it, but that will have to be a different post. This quote brought several things to mind. I thought of Beth Maze, my girls' chaplain when they attended the Cathedral School. She is also the foremost knowledge and trainer in our area for Catechesis of the Good Schepherd, that is more a theology than a simple Sunday School curriculum. If you ever get the opportunity to hear her speak about God and children, I would take it. The basic premise, from my uneducated perspective, is that children are born with an inherent knowledge of God, that it isn't our job to teach the children as much as to shepherd them through their own self discovery. The first thing Beth challenges is our way we speak with children about God. Rather than transferring information, she leads discussions with "I wonder....." and allows the children to take it from there. She asks questions that lead to more questions and coaxes the children to do the same. I had never been exposed to this kind of learning before. It sounds a little frightening, letting go of control and allowing the students so much freedom. Yet, so, so intriguing. I also thought about my little ones I've been working with all year. Up until school let out, I've been an assistant with the 4 year old class at a local Luthern early childhood program. Every day we gathered for "Jesus Time," a 15 minute lesson led by the school administrator for the 2,3 and 4 year olds. We would read stories, sing songs, and pray. We stay on the same topic for at least a week and at the beginning of each lesson, she would jog the kids memory to see if they were keeping up. It never failed, whether we were talking about Noah, Moses, Adam and Eve, or the Prodigal Son, she would ask a "who" question, and the smallest children would all shout out "JESUS!" On the surface it was cute and funny (partly because it annoyed the administrator so much), but it also deeply disturbed me. Two year olds were already learning to comply to "Sunday School answers", to shut off their brains and parrot back what they perceived would make us happy. And what really kept me up thinking, was Douglas Adams. In Hitchiker's Guide To The Galaxy, you discover that the meaning of life is a simple number: 42. That's the answer. The problem is, no one knows what the question is, for the answer to make sense. I read the Douglas Adam's work 15 years ago, but until yesterday I never realized just how profound it might be. We spend so much time fixated on knowing the answers, we diminish our education, our experience. We highlight the key points in the textbook. We have the audacity to ask, "Is this going to be on the test?" Knowledge is power. But where do we find knowledge? It is not in memorizing "facts." Those things just dupe us into a false confidence that we've got it all figured out. The answers are as useless as the number 42.

Disappointed

Ministry. In a lot of ways it’s a thankless job. No matter how good of a minister you are, there will always be somebody who dislikes you. There always seems to be a line of parishioners who think they can do your job better, and they remind you of it, from the returned bulletins grammatically corrected to complaints about mistakes during the liturgy. Even if you try sticking to a 40 hour work week, people will call you at home, get you out of bed, or want you to come home from vacation early. And best of all, there are those who assume you sit at your desk playing solitaire all day. If you develop friendships with some of your parishioners, you always have to be careful about boundaries. The upside, of course, is that you are able to touch people’s lives, help them through struggles and rejoice with them as they celebrate. Ministers give people hope, and that by itself makes it worthwhile.

One of the most wonderful side-effects of ministry to me, though, is the friendships with colleagues: those people who know all too well what you’re going through. These people know you in a way that even your spouse may not. We got a taste of this at our church in Dallas. It has a large staff and in the five years that Stephen worked there, we developed a deep appreciation for the fierce loyalty that group of colleagues exhibited. No matter what complaints parishioners had, they had each others’ backs. They vented to each other, pastored one another, sometimes corrected and took each other to task but they always put forth a unified front. If as a parishioner you went to a church employee to complain about a different employee, you had to prepare yourself for the possibility of an ass-chewing. They trusted one another and they stuck together.

When Stephen started seminary, it was my hope that he would begin developing relationships like that with people that would soon be dispersed all over the country. Networking, yes, but more than that, really. I could visualize that at some future conference or convention, Stephen will spot an old classmate, shout his or her name across the room, greet that person with a big hug and spend the rest of the time chatting in a corner, catching up, sharing the good and the bad, and plotting future partnerships. He is being inducted into a fraternal order of sorts and the outcome is the mother of all “good ole’ boy” networks. That phrase usually has a negative connotation, but I think that’s a shame. I am not talking about shady backroom deals and covering up wrongdoings. But tasks are so much more easily and enjoyably accomplished when they are shared with friends.

I am learning, however, that not everybody has this view of clergy life and certainly do not value it. Unfortunately dissention seems to creep in here at the old seminario and it makes me quite sad. Instead of one day greeting old friends with a smile and a hug, I worry that it will be a simple head nod from across a crowded room, or even worse, a turn quickly and look the other way, hoping to not have to acknowledge that other person. I don’t know if it’s simply that some seminarians dislike one another or that they just don’t value their time here and appreciate the opportunity that is right in front of them. I can’t help but assume that some people have never experienced relationships like what we had in Dallas. If they had, then they’d surely know better!

More worrisome to me than leaving here without a giant group of friends is what it implies about the future of church dynamics. If I could give one piece of advice to my friends who are graduating and looking for their first church it is this: find a rector that you could see yourself being friends with, a church secretary who appreciates your sense of humor, and a children’s minister who will go on road trips with you. If you can’t find that, then who will save your neck when the altar guild is on a head hunt and who will save your soul when you are in your darkest hour?

Fear

When I was a kid, I remember my family being in a scary situation. I have no idea what it was over, maybe bad weather, or an escaped convict lurking in the neighborhood, or maybe the ongoing saga of marital strife that defined my childhood, but I do know we were all in knots with very real fear....the kind that makes you want to hide under your bed and hold your breath. There was a woman with us, the grandmother of some close friends, whom we all called "Granny." She was a tough old broad, a God-fearing woman, but one who could spit in your eye from ten feet away if she wanted to. In her stern yet loving way, she admonished us to not be afraid, that fear is a sin because we are not trusting God to watch over us.

I told my therapist this story not long ago and, like most people, I imagine, she was horrified that this woman would shut down a child's emotions so completely, to tell us we were wrong to feel as we did. And not even just wrong, but committing a sin, a willful act of evil on our parts.

But in that moment, and perhaps more so now, those continue to be words of peace and comfort. Father Snapp in his sermon this morning talked about the snake in the garden of Eden. The Great Deluder, that sneaky bastard who is always whispering in our ears, convincing us so easily of the most terrible things. For me, it is to be afraid. In my weakest moments I believe I will be left alone, separated from those I love, either through death, circumstance, or by my own unloveable nature. Although I don't necessarily believe in the devil in a physical sense, I can see how helpful it would be to visualize that snake tickling my ear with that forked tongue of his. It is empowering to recognize the source as The Father of Lies.

So, to fear is to sin. Earlier in my life I wasn't even sure I believed in the idea of "sin." But now, with my particular experience, I feel like I can say there is no other word for it. It is the most palpable form of sin I have yet experienced, and boy am I a sinner. Despair so thick there were days I could literally not see the sun shining. There is hope in Father Snapp's words, in Granny's wisdom. I don't have to be afraid. Fear is a choice. In the words of everybody's favorite adopted mother, Marilla Cuthbert, "To despair is to turn your back on God."

And it's not really about choosing not to be afraid, all that is needed is just to turn back around and enjoy the sunshine that is already pouring down on all of us. The Prince of Peace has already empowered us, before we ever stumbled the first time....all we have to do is remember it is there.

Belly Button Lent, Part I

We are nearing the final hours of Fat Tuesday and I'm doing my best to polish off the cooler-full of beer residing on my front porch. I've put a lot more thought into this year's lenten discipline than I ever have before, but there's still time where I could change my mind, or maybe come up with something better. For the next hour or so, I have the luxury of giving up anything I want without having to actually deal with the consequences of my choice.......until tomorrow.

I've always thought fasting was rather lame, probably because I have such a deep connection with my stomach. I would never think of robbing it of what it rightly deserves. And if fasting is it's own end, then I still think it's lame. But I'm beginning to see the possibility that it doesn't have to be about starving yourself until God gives you what you want, like some big baby throwing a tantrum. For someone like myself, it is an easy thing to make some monumental decision and then go about my day like nothing had happened, and not think of it again until a week later. And I think this is the problem I've always had with Lent. I go through the Ash Wednesday service then wander about the rest of the day with soot on my face, and I wonder why people are staring at me. I need things to surround me and remind me of what I'm doing. I can't stay inside the church all the time, and I certainly can't carry off their icons to gaze upon endlessly, but what if there were actions that I performed in my daily life, that I could do a little differently, just to remind myself that I'm supposed to be focused elsewhere. And this is where fasting comes in (or *might* come in, I should say....I'm delaying decisions here). Unlike giving up something minor that I might only eat every once in a while, changing something significant about my diet that would require me to pause, think, and make a different choice regularly throughout the day could be a very real help. And not because I'd be a healthier person if I didn't drink sodas or eat fatty foods; that would just be deflecting from the much bigger (and scarier) motive of connecting with God on a real level.

So once I've gotten my body's undivided attention, then what? Yippee! I'm starvin' for Jesus! That just seems silly. I imagine some sort of ritual prayer, a verbal recognition of my own mortality and of God's infiniteness, to put myself in proper perspective within the rest of the world. Hunger pangs could then be a prayer tool, something to center myself with, and even be able to focus better on that part of my soul that needs to heal.

And..........time's up. I still don't have it all ironed out. Happy Lent everybody! I'll be thinking about you around breakfast time :)

"Slogging My Way Through The Slough of Despond" or "Hair Today; Gone Tomorrow," a melodrama in 3 acts

By now, after all my posts about it, I'm sure you all know that I've joined St. Baldricks. On April 16th I am shaving my head in solidarity with children who lose their hair during cancer treatment. My hair will be donated to Locks of Love in order to make a wig for one of these sweet kiddos, but more importantly, I will be raising funds for cancer research. Because St. Baldricks is purely volunteer run, 100% of the donations I receive will go directly toward research, and that is very exciting to me.

So, you all know WHAT I'm doing. The question I keep getting is WHY? I mean, sure, it's a great idea, noble cause and all that, but the hair bit seems a bit excessive, right? It has even been suggested that I cut my hair short, still donate the length of it, and retain enough for a cute bob. In the future I may actually do that, but for this time, my first time, I have to go all the way.

I wish I could say my intentions were completely altruistic, but to be completely honest, I am seeking to heal myself just as much as I wish to play a role in the healing of others. I am rounding the bend on the longest and darkest year of my life, having fought crippling anxiety, with the help of therapy and medication and a handful of friends who had been there before. I have been in survival mode for a long time now. Although not a bad thing in itself, it is by definition selfish, and I’m getting really tired of it. I am finally to a point in my healing process where I feel like the next step is to shake off the shackles of fear and despair that have held me down. I need to do something daring, something that scares me, and by so doing lend courage to those who really need it.

Mel's World Premier on the Blogging Stage

Well, folks, I have finally joined the masses and created a blog. The little green pig has for years been my personal totem. Those who have known me longest will get that, but for those who don't, it isn't terribly important. Suffice it to say, he is a little odd guy who is grossly misunderstood and underestimated and who has a penchant for making lemonade from lemons. One day I might tell you his story.

This is to be my outlet for whatever odd thing keeps me up at night. I hope you find it entertaining and uplifting.